Rage, rage, against the dying of the air filter...

I'm fairly compulsive about my car. I get the service checks when I'm told to, always take it to the dealership, and generally take care of Lil' Y. But I'm becoming more savvy on what I can and can't do on my own, and more importantly what I can have Mr. Lube due for me at a lower, yet equal service quality, price.

My next service appointment is tonight, and looking at the checklist of things to be done I noted I'm due for a new air filter. Bless him, Orange agreed to do this for me--saving me both the Toyota price and Toyota labour cost. Orange's services are much cheaper and can usually be paid in hugs. Here's the hitch:

We lift the hood last night to do the replacement and discover... There is no air filter!?

WTF?

At my last appointment in August, before my Labour Day vacation, I brought my car in and according to the service record had my oil changed, fluid levels checked, tires checked, and my air filter cleaned. I'm left to assume that after cleaning, dude forgot to put the air filter back in. That was six months ago.

Worse still, mid-September, in the midst of dad's stuff, I had to bring the car back into Toyota because whenever I idled it made a horrible rattle noise. I was told when I returned to pick Yaris up that "something was loose." Indeed. No doubt that "something" was the clips on the box my air filter sits in because whomever was last in there in August forgot to finish what they started!

To recap, I've had my car in for service twice, and both times someone failed to notice I was without an air filter. Needless to say I'm raising some serious stink over this and would appreciate any one's advice on how best to handle the entire situation.

Let's take a minute to be happy, hmm?

It's so easy to get caught up in the little things that make us unhappy (inserts in magazines that make it tough to flip the pages, a clogged drain, irrationally itchy eyes, and the oil that separates from natural peanut butter), it's rare we stop to think about the little things that make us happy. And there are so many of them! So let's do that, hmm?

1. Someone who drops off a handmade scarf. Especially a surprise handmade scarf, of the blue variety.
2. Sweatpants at the end of a long day.
3. Hugs. From my mom.
4. The feeling of success when one does something round the house with one's electric screwdriver.
5. Memories of visiting my Aunt Margie's house in the summer. Because it's so cold out now, and we always seem to be visiting her during the hottest week of the year. Yum. And because of the brownies and Koolaid. Double yum. And because it's Aunt Margie... And she's cute. And she's probably reading this right now... (Hi, Aunt Margie!)
6. Packing lists. And subsequently checking something off a packing list.
7. Making Valentines.
8. THIS video.
9. Crunchy peanut butter and banana rolled up. And some milk.
10. The thrill of riding a camel. I'm not sure what this feels like, but I would imagine it's pretty exciting. I have a button that says I rode a camel at the Toronto Zoo, but it's a sham... I talked my dad into buying it for me after one of our annual zoo visits, perhaps because I less than successfully lobbied for him to pay for the actual camel ride.
11. Pictures of babies I've known and love. Like Pants' little Bear, and my own Lil' C. Especially of my kiddies in onsies. Speaking of onesies...
12. Onesies.

Anyone care to venture some little happy things?

Ugh. It was such a good weekend.

Thursday night I hauled Bert over Orange's house for a dry run of what's to come next week when Mama LL and I abscond to the Caribbean. The three of us spent most of the weekend camped out, watching movies, and puttering. So fun.

I had Friday off for working a weekend prior, so in the morning I got up and quickly (and I might add, efficiently...) rearranged his furniture a smidge. And for the record, we both agree it looks a lot better in the new configuration. I think I might have a thing for feng shui (sp?) I got a pedicure (le sigh, thank you Beef) and returned a couple of regrettable shirts to Jacob. For heaven's sake, I even baked cookies (albeit, not very good cookies.) We watched Surrogates--blech... no good.

At this point, Bert is in total sensory overload with more picture windows to look out than one tuxedo wearing cat could ever possibly need, and a flight of stairs to boot. Orange is nervy over the volume of hair coming off Lil B, and is threatening to introduce him to the vacuum cleaner when I'm away. He tried rationalizing with him: "why do you need to shed so much? What about Rogain? Have you considered a hair thickening agent?" Hee!

Saturday, we went to Ottawa street to scope the antique stores for a desk. Although Orange's ability to work from home is a blessing, working from the couch/PS3/satellite is not a blessing. Ottawa street proved a bit too expensive however, while Ikea proved too... cheap. The free cookies and candy in the cafeteria, however, were well worth the trip from my point of view.

Mid afternoon we took a nacho and beer break, followed by a visit to Lil C' and the Beefs. We spent a good portion of late afternoon (ashamedly) watching the horror that is Jersey Shore, and considering how much gel we'd need to get Orange's hair to resemble that of Paulie D's.

At -27 with the wind chill, it was a cold walk to a late dinner in Westdale, especially considering how wee Orange's legs are. I think it would have been faster to either a) leave him mid-field and book it, fingers crossed he makes it or b) throw him over my shoulder and see how far I can manage. Bless him, mid-walk, hands-jammed in pockets, head down against the biting cold, he admitted "I really am a slow walker..." Thankfully the wait at the Bean Bar was short, and the amazingness of my dip platter more than made up for the cold.

Sunday included breakfast with Mama LL and an open house for an (unfortunately) conditionally sold house, followed by junk food and pizza in front of the Superbowl (yay Saints!) Both Bert and I were sad to see the day come to an end, but by 10:00 we were bundled and boxed, and headed back to the apartment for an early start and an even earlier work meeting. My saving grace is T-6 days to a week's vacation, warm weather, the sunny South, and an unlimited ice cream sundae bar.

Happy birthday.

Soup, there it is! Soup, there it is!

I'm all about soup these days. Sexy, huh?

For realsies. I can't get enough. While I generally believe eggs to be the perfect meal (what can't you do with them? Seriously? Try and argue differently and I'll be the first to call you dumb...), it would seem a weekend can't end these days without a giant pot of soup on my stove. Today was no exception. Although I worked yesterday (blarg), after farting around with Mama for most of the day I squeezed out a pot of BBB--beef, barley, bean. Yummers. In an hour I have 10 substantial meals, frozen, and ready to be reheated for lunch. No messy tuna to make, or turkey to sniff and wonder about the expiry date. Just bean-y goodness. IN A BAG!

Yes, that's right. I bag my soup.

A lady I work with, Lorna, taught me to freeze my soup in Ziplocks. Genius. Why my pea brain hadn't thought of this before, I'm not sure, but it really is the best way to carry out business. First, it takes up less space (in my already wee freezer) and second, it makes the defrosting process a lot simpler because you can squeeze it out of the bag and you're not stuck with a giant Tupperware soup lump that takes 10 minutes to heat. Bagged soup is the perfect individually sized meal.

My tips: let the soup completely cool and then put about three scoops in a medium sized Ziplock. Set your bag aside (I usually stand them in the sink).

When everything's been scooped, take one, lay it flat, and squeeze out the air. Wipe away spills from the zipper area, and stack one on top of the other.

The bags will sit nicely in the freezer, and when they're frozen you can stand 'em upright so they take up even less space, squeezing into all your freezer nooks and crannies (in between your salmon, mini pops, cookie dough, and frozen pizza... *blush*)

Forgive if this post is boring. I'm just a giant geek and easily excited by soup stacks.

p.s. What the stink? Was I'm On A Boat seriously nominated for a Grammy?! Don't get me wrong, even thinking about it makes me laugh my butters off. But really? Even I can smell the organization's desperation to reach a new demographic.

Oh yes it's lady's night...

Orange has absconded to Revelstoke for the weekend, which is perfectly timed for the upcoming high school lady's night (by which I mean the night my high school buds--Fingers, Free Samples, and Poomobile--descend on Casa de Bert for dinner, drinks, games, and shootin' the sh*t.)

I love these ladies, and I'm lucky to have them. We're talking a group of girls I've known for 15 years, if not more (dearest Fingers and I are working on 25...) They know all of my annoying habits, swallow my horrible jokes, humor my sarcasm, hold their tongues when an outfit really does make me look fat (or at least find a semi-respectable way of saying it's gross), and have held my hand more times that I can count. On the flip side, I think I've seen each of them at their best and their worst, not the least of which was the night we played drunken Old Maid wearing Poo's mother's muumuus.

Who knew we'd still be pulling the same shenanigans we started in grade 10 with post school formal sleep over parties? Certainly not me. Especially considering Free Samples used to refer to me as the Manatee.

Tomorrow will be no different than it was in 1996, with the exception of the fact we'll all be able to purchase our own beer, most of us will go home to our own beds, Poo is now married and thus ineligible for the randoms in my building (unless she's inclined to pash cats), Free Samples will be wearing heels (regardless of the rest of us in sweats and hoodies), and Fingers will artfully arrange a veggie platter. Mind you, she'll also bring a pack of nudie eighties ladies cards, but some things will never change.

*wink*

So flippin' cool!

So I'm in the middle of creating a presentation for one of the school board PD days. The presentation is on the importance of incorporating social media into the classroom, and specifically what photo apps are available to teachers and how they can be incorporated into school work plans.

Naturally, through researching the presentation I've come across some seriously cool things, not the least of which is Animoto, a semi-free photo presentation software that combines your photos with their stock copyright free music and arrangement abilities. It's super easy, and honestly, in less than 5 minutes I created this:

Note: while I know this is the second Lil' C post in a week, I've got a boat load of his pictures on my computer which made creating a presentation super easy. Not to mention his squeezy cheeks. Muchas appologies to those non-baby lovers out there.

Three completely unrelated thoughts:

1. I made Fingers some round, pink Jello Jigglers in honour of her pink eye, but I couldn't figure out how to get the Jello out of the container without ruining said Jiggler shape. It was a big ole fat mess. I must be the only person on the planet who can't figure out how to work Jello.

2. I heard an interesting statistic on my new favorite radio station, 95.3: 12% of Canadians have 'made love' with Hockey Night in Canada playing in the background.

3. Snookie, from Jersey Shore (don't judge me) is the female equivalent of Danny Devito.

Me and my buddy

'Twas a good weekend. Saturday night Lil' C, Mama LL, and I hung out. We climbed the stairs multiple times (and shuffled back down them), played, put circles in the circle holes and stars in the star holes, danced to Raffi, pretended the remote control was a telephone and made important phone calls to Stella (the dog) and daddy, and finished off the evening with some milk, stories, and a snuggle.

In the morning we cuddled some, ate some banana, shook our booty's to Sean Paul, and worked more on the circles in the circle holes and stars in the star holes.

Probs the best Saturday I've had in... mmm... *scratches head*... a long time. Thanks buddy. You were just what we needed.

From Connor

Things I think I can safely say I will never have:

1. An afro
2. A doberman pincher
3. Braces
4. A lowered car
5. A child named "Lamar"
   
6. A beauty pageant title
7. A Juicy Couture tracksuit
8. Six toes on one foot
9. Spam or Klick in my fridge
   
10. Implants
11. A knack for math
12. CBC as a programed radio station
13. A taste for short stories
14. A subscription to Sport Fishing magazine
15. Thigh-high boots

But don't quote me...

Energy spent being negative is a greedy waste.

I rolled in from my work dinner around 9:00 tonight still wearing some pretty serious grumpy pants (complete with horrible underwear lines.) I'm determined to make tomorrow better. So I changed the bedding and sprayed my Bath and Body Works pillow mist, put on my super attractive over-sized flannel pajamas, made peppermint tea, and settled into watch Diamond and Troy (who have been living in an RV for the last year and a half) purchase a $450,000 home with a power line in the backyard. Qu'est-ce que f-bomb? Bless them. They were happy.

It's truly ridiculous how a series of small yet nasty events (a bumped elbow, a dropped toothbrush, and a tablespoon of scalding coffee) ruined 15 completely unrelated hours of my life, non? That is to say I let these events ruin 15 hours. In retrospect, I don't think grumpy is really worth the effort. All things currently considered, and me warm and cozy in my flannels and peppermint. Tomorrow I launch my hastily organized charity soup sale for work, with the hopes of raising something... anything for the Red Cross.

Ugh.

I woke up this morning on the wrong side of the bed. I bumped my elbow on the sink, dropped my toothbrush, and burnt my tongue on coffee. I'm out of groceries, out of Kleenex, out of money, out of patience, and I couldn't find an elastic for my hair. My apartment is dirty, my clothes are dirty, my linens need to be washed, and I can barely see out the windows of my car it's so grimy.

I'm tired, I'm grumpy, I'm bloated, and I'm due at a mandatory work function tonight. I have a million things to do, and I don't want to do any of them. And the pièce de résistance? The underwear lines I'm sporting, only noticed while in the staff bathroom trying to cover up what I think is becoming a bald patch on the back of my head.

In the words of Alexander, it's going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

*snicker*

Have you heard about THIS?

*giggle*

I'm such a child...

Resolution drop-out

It's only January and I already feel like I'm failing with my New Year's resolutions.

Flossing is... a crap shoot. I've barely seen Fingers, and her new loft is wooing her more so than a trip to the Westfield Heritage Museum (rightly so...) I called to cancel cable (but keep the internet) and got sweet talked into keeping both for a reduced price (mind you it was seriously reduced, but still... where were my balls?) and then I got my car insurance renewal slip in the mail yesterday only to find my rate is actually supposed to GO UP by $30 a month. W. T. F. Seriously. I've had Lil' Y for three years now and each year the price of driving him has gone up. Is this normal? There have been no tickets or accidents or illegal firearms...?

Ehn.

That said, I'm minding my p's and q's at work and keeping my comments to myself. I'm running three times a week regardless of the poor Kleenex to snot ratio. And I feel good I at least made the call to Cogeco... The fact they pulled a Godfather and offered me a deal I couldn't refuse is beside the point. With the measures they've gone to in phone stalking me to answer their customer service questionairre, I wouldn't put a horse head in the bed past the Cogeco salespeople.

"'Cause Saturday night's the night I like...

Saturday night's alright, alright, alright!"

As a stupid fun Christmas present, Beef took me to Toronto for a Saturday evening, all expenses paid including shopping, tickets to Second City, and a swank room at the Hyatt. Can everyone say "heck yes"?! Since Lil' C has come on the scene, our time together is generally absorbed with "look at the baby, look at the baby" so setting aside 24 hours for me and she is a sweet treat. Heck yes!

We got in around 2:30 and went straight to Toronto's shopping mecca: Loblaws. 100% classy. We rode the conveyor belt escalator, bought a carton of wine, stocked up on treats for the hotel room, and cleaned out Joe Fresh. I seriously heart Joe Fresh.

After spending our hard earned--yet reasonable budgeted--dollars (thank you, Galen) Beef decided it best to use the GPS to navigate us to the hotel. Not being city girls, heaven forbid we get lost.

*ahem*

Two left turns later, we arrived. Needless to say, the entire technological experience was a bit anti-climactic for dearest Beef. So we parked illegally and made up for it by using the self-check machines, only to be later shamed by the concierge scared of losing his job to a machine.

Up to the 15th floor! The room was beautiful. And we made ourselves super cozy by cracking open our tub of wine and relaxing into a bit of MTV's Teen Mom. More classy. Both Beef and I have our hearts set on Spring Rolls for dinner--I've already decided what I'm going to have, and she hasn't stopped thinking about it since she was there last nearly three years ago. Being Beef, she's already mapped the walking route to the closest location so after a quick change into our new Joe Fresh diggs we're off.

20 minutes later after walking up, down, up, down, up, down Queen street and checking in with an Asian convenience store/flower shop/pet store, we're unable to find Spring Rolls. So we give up and do sushi. We order Sapporo's to start. I get mine... I get mine... I get mine... But no one will bring dearest Beef a beer. Poor Beef. After asking three times, someone finally delivers a bottle only to find our bill charged with all off the mystery Sapporo's never fully delivered. Bizarro-ville. And of course, as soon as we leave Queen Sushi we're smacked in the face with Spring Rolls not two blocks away. Ehn!

Second City was ridiculous funny, and thanks to Beef's sister in law who works at the theater we had some sweet seats. We sipped our jug of Killer Lemonade and laughed so hard our faces hurt. Seriously. We asked the people sitting next to us to snap a picture... Camera's must be foreign to those in North Bay because this was the best shot our neighbor could get. I look hammered. I'm not. Really...

While the options were unlimited post-comedy show, we were more interested in hitting up our fancy room than glow-sticking our way around the club scene, and what more do you need than boxed wine and Ruffles? So we marched across to the hotel and slipped into something more comfortable. Read: sweatpants.

After a couple of hours of (super classy) trashy Real Housewives and ease-dropping on the party guests getting jacked up next door for a night on the town, Beef fell asleep on me mid-conversation. Classic Beef. By this time the Killer Lemonade has set in on me, though, and the sugar has gone straight to my brain. My sleep problem rears it's ugly head again and there's no way I'm falling asleep anytime soon. So I lay there. Waiting. For the sweet tang of sleep.

1:00...
2:00...
2:30...
2:45... zzzz...

BRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIINNNNNNGGGGG!

Fire alarm! Some dink in the parking garage thinks it'll be super funny to pull the alarm and watch a full night of guests clamor down the stairs in their PJs. Still awake, this isn't a problem for me. But poor Beef is seriously confused by the entire situation and being a teacher, super angry when most guests refuse to leave the hotel lobby:

We're following the rules! We're waiting outside! There are 6 fire trucks outside and the entire parking garage could be up in flames! Why aren't these people evacuating?!

A strongly worded letter to the hotel management is on it's way for not only the Hyatt's poor evacuation procedures, but the fact that only two elevators were working meaning at 3:00 am nearly 200 cranky party-goers (and two crankier sisters) were pushing and shoving their way onto the lifts trying desperately to get back into their luxury beds. Dearest Beef.

By 5:00 am I'm finally able to fall asleep, only to be back up and wide eyed by 9:00. So I high-tale it to the hotel gym--the GYM--and run my energy away. Beef thinks I'm crazy and hairy eye-balls my running shoes while she sips her coffee from the comfort of her duvet (like any normal person on a Sunday morning.)

When I get back from the coolest treadmill (over looking the Toronto skyline from the 19th floor) we spend another hour or so lounging around our suite, hitting up Starbucks and MEC before saying sayonara to the big T.O.

Oh how the other baby-free, independently wealthy, big city half live. Good times, Beef. Totally fun. Seriously wouldn't have traded any of it. Looking forward to next year's gong show.

Dear Much Music, 99.9, 104.5, 103.5, 92.5, 93.5, 102.9, 105.7, 106.1, and 102.1:

Please take the following songs off your play list tout suite before I punch-a-size your face for free:

1. Fireflies, by Owl City
2. Bad Romance, by Lady Gaga
3. Empire State of Mind, Jay Z
4. One Less Lonely Girl, Justin Bieber
5. Ice, Lights
6. Anything by The Stereos. Full stop.
7. Anything by Drake. Full stop.
8. Anything by Jason Derulo. FULL STOP.
9. Good Girls Go Bad, Cobra Starship. Ugh... Now I have it stuck in my head...
   
10. Cha Ching, by Hedley

Danke schön.

Sesame Street is on drugs.

"Near... Far... Near... Far..."

"Telephone... Brrrrrrring... Brrrrrring... Yup, yup, yup, yup, yup, yup, yup..."

"Just a teeny super little guy!"

What do all of these jazzy tunes have in common? You've got it! Sesame Street. Like any normal child raised in the 1980s I spent a good portion of my non-school hours glued to the shenanigans of Big Bird and his misfit crew of muppets and multicultural humans (R.I.P. Mr. Hooper). While some may say too much television for children is a bad thing, this soapbox can't possible encompass Sesame Street, what with the espanol and mathematical components (*jazzy beat* 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, tweeeeeeeeeeelve!) Give me one good reason why children shouldn't be raised by Sesame Street and I'll tell you why you're dumb.

Thanks to the wonders of streamed media, many of my favorite Sesame Street clips are now available online (including Captain Vegetable and Here is Your Life with host, Guy Smiley), all of which in retrospect are disturbingly trippy. But none can compete with the two-minute journey into the surprisingly psychedelic world of crayon manufacturing. Is there anything better than a box of 64 with a sharpener in the back?

For those of you not fortunate enough to have sucked the proverbial boob tube, you missed the opportunity for a daily mindf*ck (pardon my French, Aunt Margie!) Fingers, if you're wearing your new Hat Street toque, take it off, because you're about to have your mind blown:



Adding to the trip... Where is that child's lips?

Three completely separate thoughts:

1. Every morning on my drive to work I pass a woman in a mini van picking up what I assume to be the laziest child known to man. The house she stops at is on the left hand side and rather than pulling off to the right (the legal and safe thing to do) Van Lady pulls up onto the left curb blocking the entire road while she waits for the Lump to lop his way down the stairs. I'm ALWAYS stuck behind her, and once he's inside she ALWAYS immediately yanks across the road without looking.

Today I decided not to wait for him to ooze out the front door, only to find that, whilst swerving to avoid the oncoming traffic, her giant van butt is not only annoying and inconvenient, but one massive blind spot. Aces.

2. The heir to the Johnson and Johnson fortune, Casey Johnson, died on Monday night. This is sad and senseless indeed. But what I don't understand is how her loved one's immediately responded to the news. On Twitter.

"Everyone please pray 4 my Wifey Casey Johnson. She has passed away. Thank u for all ur love and support but I will be offline to be w family."

"This is a very heartbreaking time for me. I just want some privacy as I deal with the loss of my Fiance Casey Johnson. I'm heart is shredded."

"I just got news that my fiance is not dead but currently in a coma!!! Omg please pray that she will make it! Hang in there my love please!!!"

"I'm still in shock! Once again thank U for the outpour of love and support. I just wish to have some privacy at this heartbreaking time."

"I can't stop these haunting visions of her and I. We made such a lovely couple, only beginning to spend the rest of our lives together..."

All of these posts come withing an hour of each other. So it would seem the year 2010 brings with it a new definition of privacy. Go away Twitter. And take omelets, Michael Buble, jeans without back pockets, and people who cut their toenails in front of others with you.

3. I'm back watching Kath and Kim on DVD, courtesy of my Irish-Australian buddy, Becca. Thank Shiloh for Kathy and Kim. While some of you may not appreciate the humor, this sh*t makes my life:

Goodies from New Years!

Whisky sours, big fat fires, drinking Jenga, and obsessive puzzling. Can you tell in which shot Orange is sick of both me and my camera?

New Years 2009 (err... 2010..?)

Ahh, resolutions. Call me 30, but new years is becoming less and less about the P-A-R-T-Y and more and more about good friends, good food, and good resolutions. Especially considering how many different ways I've spent the big night: sleeping on Cheryl whats-her-face from high school's cement basement floor trying desperately to drown out the choking sounds of Cypris Hill raging in the room next door; rockin' out in a Best Western hotel room in Canmore, Alberta playing hearts, drinking Pil; dead sober (and slightly hung over) in a Cuban discotheque with Dark Horse and Susie and a rag tag pile of tourists and questionable Cuban ladies who may or may not have been prostitutes.

Needless to say, snow pants, prime rib, and Bud Lite Lime at BSB's cottage was a welcome reprieve (even with the indepth conversation about merkins...) The hour and a half spent alone in the sauna the day of gave me lots of time to think about the year and what I'm hoping for 2010.

So *claps hands together* let's look at last year's resolutions:

1. Floss. Not so much. Although Orange introduced me to the wonders of the Dento-Stick, I'm still dentally challenged. This item will remain a priority for 2010 and I'm hopefully my Carlsburg years will bring dental maturity.

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. This actually happened, including the closing off of one student loan, the consolidation of another, and the switch to a rewards Visa . Can we say "three cheers for dividends"? While the occasional convenience store cash withdrawal does still occur, I'm more partial to the cash-back scenario.

3. Be a positive person. Sometimes I feel weighed down by my negativity, and it's an icky feeling. Still a problem, but in light of the events of the past four months I'm not going to psycho analyzing where my Debby Downer tendencies originate. Much like flossing, I'm still a work in progress.

4. Do the Guelph Try-a-Tri. Negative, good buddy. But I did (barely) complete the Paris to Ancaster bike race which I consider ample substitute.

5. Pop my RRSP cherry. Check!

6. Be greener. Hmm... Well, I hosted two pot-luck lunches at work, carry a bagless-lunch (*snicker "bagless" snicker*), cut out plastic bags, and continue to aim for optimal mileage in Lil' Y but I'm sure there's still more I could be doing. I wish we could green-bin in apartment buildings but it's still not an option. I guess I could get a worm farm and home compost...? But let's be realistic... That's a bit... Ew.

7. Push myself to do something I otherwise would not do. Well, Paris to Ancaster, captain-ing an Ultimate Frisbee Team, Dodgeball, and flying to Florida for a weekend are good starts. Running the Around the Bay, the Ottawa Half, taking ukulele lessons, and crossing the Paris to Ancaster finish line in under 4 hours (*fingers crossed*) are all 2010 possibilities.

8. Volunteer more. Still working as a Youth Mentor, but I'd say my Christmas charity project with the girls counts in this category.

9. Broaden my musical interests. Ehn. Not much, unless you count Dispatch, K'naan, and Matisyahu (thank you, Orange). I'm trying, though.

Not a total disappointment, and truthfully better than I thought I might do. Let's hope 2010 is a better year:

1. Floss.
2. Be a (more) positive person. Specifically at work.
3. Learn a new skill.
4. Finish my annual Bronte 10km race in 50 minutes or less.
5. Get a better deal on car insurance. God, I'm old...
6. Shock someone with a decision.
7. Give more.
8. Lose the muffin top.
9. Develop a green thumb.
10. Complete at least half of my birthday activities with Fingers.
11. Cancel my cable. Pray Shiloh I can convince myself to actually follow through.

Anyone else?

Gone to work for a much needed rest...

So much action this holiday season.

Note: 'action' meaning "comings and goings", not 'action' meaning "hanky-panky". Pervs.

Christmas Eve I left work at 1:00 pm for the farmer's market to purchase the traditional stocking fruit and Cheeses of Nazareth. Zipped home to get one last snuggle with Bert under the mistletoe before moving my stuff to the house for Santa, etc. Church, food, more food, some guy named Guido, cuddles, coffee and Baileys (yum!), presents, ride-on Fire Trucks, naps, snacks, A Peter Griffin Christmas, wine, turkey, bedders, and a partridge in a pear tree went flying by in a blur. Somewhere in there was a baby in a necktie, contraband in my stocking (to be secretly shared with Fingers... *wink*), and a man dressed as a Christmas tree doing a 10-mile run.

Santa was sweet this year, and I'm rocking my new winter coat with style. Bless him, as much as he dreads it Orange continues to facilitate my transition into a crazy cat lady (I think it's called "enabling") as he found and purchased for me a Kit Cat Clock--the very one I've been searching for since first meeting Bert! It now hangs with pride in my living room, and really is the bees knees.

Boxing Day I got a visit from Joe Fresh Sleeves, which was happiness indeed, followed by a sleepover party with Beef and her double-diapered baby. Is there anything cuter than a footie-sleeper? Maybe lil'C in a footie sleeper...

Side note: I've eaten more shrimp this holiday than ever before, and I worry that like a flamingo I may just turn pink.

Today I'm back at work, the majority of my day putting together a "look what I found at the library" display (the contents for which include the library's bizarrest and most interestingly underused items, including the Teddy Bear Encyclopedia, Have Your Poo Rolled Away by Dung Beetles: and 99 other things to do before you die, A Field Guide to Meat, Swahili Phrasebook, and Kitting with Balls.)

And finally, tomorry Orange, Fingers, BSB and I (and maybe Poo and BG) will hit the trails to cottage land for New Years up North--boardgames, beer, bed, and BSB's cooking = rockin' GTs. I'm spoiled. I'm not sure what I'm looking forward to more, though: snow pants, watching Orange stroke the big wood elephant (literally), or the outdoor sauna.

Happy New Year, everyone! Stay tuned in early January for a recap of my 2009 resolutions, and those for 2010.

"Merry Christmas, everybody!" love Library Lady and Prof. Grampy

I know, I know. I post the same video every year, and you're probably getting sick of it. But when I was eight, this movie made my life. So take your grinch pants off and start watching. I mean, the man makes a train set out of a tea pot! A TEA POT! I'm no scientist, but I'd say that's pretty amazing. Not to mention the vacuum cleaner ride-on thingy...

LL's Pictures with Santa, Take Two!

... And this one came in it's own fancy-dancy card!

Please note *pulls out laser pointer* the coffee cup stains *points to coffee cup stains* and pen markings *points to ma's signature phone doodle, 'hi!'*

Clearly this card was as treasured as it was intended to be, making my suffering through more poorly-costumed Santa laps well worth the effort. That said, considering this diddy is circa 1984-85, and the fact my mother has a nasty habit of throwing out anything not physically nailed to the floorboards, I'm shocked this actually made the move from not one, not two, but three houses (in two separate provinces!)

Thanks, mom, for the nod to nostalgia.

Inside the decorative card you get a great snap of me and my bestie, Ryan (this was pre-Fingers... although she lived in the 'hood, I was more into riding Big Wheels with the boys than playing with stinky girls..) Again, I apologize for the picture quality.

What you won't be able to see in this one, especially beyond my blinding outfit, is that I'm once again not willing to sit on Santa's lap. While Ryan is comfortably seated, I'm awkwardly leaning against Santa's knee going to town on my candy cane (which no doubt had to be given preemptively in order to get me up near the big guy to begin with.) Santa himself has clearly given up on charming both of us, as he hasn't even bothered to look at the camera during our snap... To be fair, this is probably his thousandth of the day which would be a hard day's work at the legendary JS mall (scene to the childhood nightmare Fingers and I refer to as "the guy who threw lit matches at us".. but that's another story altogether...)

*sigh*

The last time I visited Santa with the intent to sit on his lap was during my undergrad when Beef and I thought we'd wow mom and dad with a cutesy sisterly photo shoot. Unfortunately, once again Santa oozed the "no feeling" resulting in yet another awkward picture with me standing slightly off to the side. I think it was when he asked me if I wanted a boyfriend for Christmas...

A couple of years ago I made the trek out to a pet store with Gary (the cat, not the uncle) as a Christmas gift for the human sea cucumber. This time around it wasn't Santa that creeped the little guy out (that cat, not the cucumber) but the other kittens on display at the store. He seriously couldn't have gotten out of there quicker, and barely made it through the shot without peeing his wee fluffy pants.

All in all, me and photos with Santa are like egg nog... just wrong. But I can definitely leave you with a Santa I'd actually pay to spend time with. It's probably best if he sits on my lap, though, because I'd probs smother him with my big butters.

Look at those wee boots... Hmm? Squishy.

LL's Pictures with Santa, Take One!

Excuse the picture quality, we're talking polaroid from 1983...

... But this picture says a lot. Creepy Santa man in some very unrealistic faux facial hair, and Library Lady fighting tooth and nail to stay as far away from him as humanely possible, complete with red, tear stained eyes and disheveled bowl cut (not to mention a ridiculous plaid jacket...)

The best part? Dad, trying to subtly stay out of the photo so he and mom can have what is a fairly standard childhood tradition: photos with the jolly man. I'm clearly not playing my part, however, as evident by my death grip on what appears to be dad's tan-on-tan three-piece corduroy suit.

For the record, this was not a phase. To this day I don't like sitting on strange men's laps. And the picture is still priceless!

Stay tuned tomorrow for LL's Pictures with Santa, Take Two!

Is it a bottle of scotch? A baseball hat?

Christmas, however different, is creeping into me. Secret gifts, homemade Christmas cakes, decorating my mantle, mom's bits n' bites, 24-hour carols on 105.7, a wallet stuffed with gift receipts, tree shopping with mom, an advent calendar on my desk, cold winter mornings, shopping lists, the Farmer's market, and night time drives to check out the neighbours lights.

There are so many memories tied to this time of year, huh? Each tradition comes with a new flood of feelings and smiles and tears and laughs. The year he hooked the tree up to an IV because it kept drying out over night... the year the turkey made no gravy *insert horror movie music*... the year Beef and I secretly unwrapped each and every present while they were at the Medical-Legal holiday party (Beef got a Coconut Joe sweat suit and I got a mommy and baby Barbie set with matching dresses.)

Some traditions we won't carry on (there's no one to buy a tacky comedic neck tie for, for example), but others we will (marzipan pigs, bayberry candles, and the 'Cheeses of Nazareth'.)

Any traditions you care to share?

Math even I can understand...

Christmas shopping
+ popcorn for dinner
+ strawberry thermal pajamas
+ new Internet treasures (Steve and merit badges on Etsy.com)
= a good Tuesday night

A list of things I need to confess:

1. I like the show 8 Simple Rules for Dating My Teenage Daughter. Don't judge.

2. There is a tub of cookie dough in my freezer that calls to me like the sweaty tang of the karaoke microphone, midnight, on a Friday night at Rays Place. Damn that chocolate chunk. And damn you cheap walking-distance pints!

3. I start listening to Christmas carols December 1st and still can't quit that sh*t until well after baby Jesus explodes onto the scene.

4. With daylight savings, I leave a light on in the morning when I leave the apartment. For Bert. So he doesn't sit in the dark. I said DON'T JUDGE!

5. I find Paul Plakas from X-Weighted disturbingly attractive.

6. I have a book on my library card that is well over a month overdue, and there are holds on it. The guilt is seriously eating me alive, but I'm not finished reading it yet.

7. My mother admitted to me that she wants shoulder pads to come back in style. This isn't my confession to make, but I feel I need to give her secret a voice/publicly mock her for this ridiculous wish. No telling, Aunt Margie!

8. In my life as a back-up dancer, I'd like Free Samples and I to learn the Let's Hear it for the Boys dance from Footloose. Whether or not we perform it in public is another thing (although secretly I'd love to...)

9. In my last Christmas shopping trip, I bought something similar to what one might classify "a slouch sock"... For me.

10. Tonight at the hair salon I walked into a glass shelf and pulled a Peter Griffin. Seriously. I thought I was going to puke it hurt so much. But an entire salon of well groomed people were staring at me so I put on my best "I'm okay" face and paid my tab. And whimpered all the way home. I now look forward to the giant monster bruise that will no doubt form on my arm--stay tuned for pictures.

And so it begins...

I'm getting snow tires on Monday. And thank the sweet baby Shiloh because I nearly collided with three guard rails, two Fords, and a semi on my way to work. Excellent. 70km an hour winds really shake things up down here in the So'O. Add that to the fact I drive a sewing machine on wheels, and you've got a big slippery mess.

Needless to say I'll be taking the long road home tonight.

Obvious product placement is starting to creep me out...

I stopped contributing to the statistics of American Idol many moons ago, but not before the gang started singing and dancing around the latest Ford monstrosity or a large Coke glass. Product placement has become an integral part of this show, and is one of the reasons I stopped following it (alongside their blatant capitalization of mocking the mentally disabled and/or sick.)

But I confess, I watch The Biggest Loser. I find the contestants inspirational, to an extent. For a reality show there seems to be less focus on the trash talk and backstabbing and more on hard work and support. For these reasons, it's actually one of the only shows I watch on a weekly basis (until Lost comes back, that is...)

But I seriously can't take the product placements! They're new to the show this year and they give me the heebie jeebies . In the middle of a workout session or a heart to heart, one of the trainers will turn to the camera and say:

"You can do this, Liz! You have the strength to push through and reach your goals. You're 22 years old you should be able to lift that 22lb dumbbell above your head! Damnit, Liz. Push! You're a strong woman, and this Extra sugar free Polar Ice gum will help you fight your cravings, giving you fresh breath and a whiter smile!" *insert creepy toothy smile*

It's... uncomfortables. Take THIS CLIP as an example... Thank god for Ziplock, hmm? And that's a mild example from last season, not nearly as seamless as those from this season.

It's like The Truman Show...

Self image is a dangerous beast. And if I really stopped to think about how much time and energy I've consumed criticizing myself, I'd finally have something to actually criticize.

Ironic, hmm?

Scary bananas

Orange and I went to see Paranormal Activity on Friday night.

Um.

Yeah.

I spent the majority of the movie with my fingers in my ears (when I get scared I plug my ears... strange, I know...) and the rest of it with my eyes shut. In between the ear plugging and eye shutting I furiously shovelled in handfuls of popcorn before scariness hit the screen again, leaving time to pull my feet up off the ground and get in the fingers-in-ear position.

I was planning on linking to the preview, but even the thought of Googling Paranormal Activity got my heart beat-beat-beating. So do it yourself...

Definitely worth the $5 cheap theatre ticket price (although Orange said my ticket was a waste of money because the only thing I really watched was the previews.)

I was treated to a charity auction tonight.

So fun!

I used to help with this auction when I was a kid--collecting bid sheets for the silent auction, acting as a runner for the live auction, and general grunt work--but this was my first time attending as a full fledged adult with a full fledged Visa card and access to the free table wine. Yes, yes, and yes. So I got myself all "did up", packed my cheque book in my fancy purse, and worked my clickity clack heels out to the car.

First up, the silent auction, where I lost out on a carpet sweeper, a tub full of chocolate and candy, a spa package (I was bidding on it for Fingers because I knew she liked the place...) and a three month membership to a local gym. Poo.

But! 'Tis a silver lining to my little black raincloud...

... I won two tickets to Medieval Times Dinner and Tournament! W00t!

*pats self on back*

Next up, dinner. And everything was mini. Mini cheeseburgers, mini fries, mini turkey dinners, mini pizza... Needless to say, I sampled a little bit of everything, including the free chocolate candy cane martinis and the chocolate fountain with l'ananas and mini cookies (of course). Fancy people in fancy dress eating plates and plates full of fancy mini onion rings. Awesome.

The live auction was next, and 'twas a bit of a bust for me. But I wasn't really in the market or a home renovation, Leafs tickets, nor dinner at Queen's Park with the MPP (wtf?) But they seemed to do pretty well, and more than one lonely soul bid on a night out with the fire department calendar men... Would you believe someone paid $1000 for that?

All in all, I had a blast. Did I need two tickets to Medieval Times? No. But I did at 8:43 pm tonight with only 2 minutes left to bid, and a flurry of people behind me pushing to get to the table (no doubt they were all competing for the designer one-cup cappuccino maker next to my Medieval Times prize, but still... I had to defend my territory...)

What can I say? The adrenaline got to me...

*psst*...

... We lost our semi-final match in dodgeball last night, so Captain Awesome and the Awesome Express is officially done for the season.

...

...

*shifty eyes*

...

*whispers*

I couldn't be happier...

Seriously. The worst losers of all time. I enjoy myself a win or two, but I haven't name called, stomped and kicked, or argued with a ref since grade school. I think they were glad to see Fingers and I go, because we were the only two who were all "yay team spirit" while they spit nails at our inability to dodge, duck, dip, dive and dodge. Meh. I'm not loosing any sleep over it. I think I'm offish retiring my dodgeball gloves.

p.s. Sit down, Carl Wolf.

Oh. My. Ehn.

Boot camp has been over for a week or so now, and with the exception of moving between the couch and the kitchen and some weekend Christmas shopping mall walking, I haven't really done much, "physically speaking." Making the decision to run Around the Bay requires a commitment to a 30km training regime, so I seriously need to kick my butters into high gear.

So a friend and I decided we'd motivate each other. Getting back into the early morning groove, we decided we'd get our training out of the way first thing in the a.m. This translates to meeting at 5:30 am for a 12 km run three times a week with increasing mileage every week...

Yeah.

So.

Fingers will tell you I'm not a morning person (unless it's a Sunday morning, and I get to sleep in, and go for breakfast at Rays with Orange for poached eggs--soft--eaten over the latest View Magazine), so I'm not exactly sure what possessed me to agree to this madness. The Gestapo my friend, on the other hand, is permanently peppy, which is is a really good thing and I'm certainly not faulting her for that (in fact, I admire it...) Except at 5:30 in the morning when I'm carrying 10lbs of bloat, and it's misty and foggy, and I've only had 5 hours of sleep, and I haven't eaten, and my ankle hurts, and I only have 3 Kleenexes and I've already used one just running to my friend's house, and I still have 11km to go... (and for the record, Gestapo friend, these aren't excuses... I was a walking/talking hot dog at 5:30 am...)

I hated everything this morning, including myself, running in general, my friend's dog, my iPod play list, the guy I passed on my way out who was on his way in, my pajamas for being warm and cozy, the length of my friend's legs in comparison to my own stumpy peg substitutes... Ugh. I especially loved it when she stopped to do tricep dips while I caught up after lagging behind 99% of the run (the only time I sped ahead was when she stopped to pick up her dog's poo... *thumbs up*)

Needles to say, I'm not gagging to get back on the horse. I'm scheduled to get my @ss kicked meet my friend Thursday morning. Here's hoping I can get my butters in better gear before then. Because "feeling the shame" (to quote Slapshot) twice in one week does nothing for one's self esteem. I might as well be lapped by another unicycle...

Dear Santa:

How are you? Well, I hope. I'm told global warming has upped the temperature your way which must make those long winter nights more bearable, hmm? Has Atkins reached the North Pole yet? If so, I would be happy to offer you a smoothie or protein bar on the big night rather than the standard sweets platter. Think about it; let me know.

It's been awhile since you last heard from me, but that doesn't mean I haven't thought of you often. Every day, in fact. I'm always trying to live like a good girl--I say excuse me when squeezing past the other ladies in the narrow Winners aisles, I eat all my vegetables (including the brussel sprouts and beans), I've played nicely with my sister, and I like to think I've been a good sport (see: 8/31/2009).

As such, I have a few items on my list this holiday season. The obvious request isn't really your territory, so I won't bother asking. But I will ask if you have any connections up there, could you be a pal and pass on a message? Tell him I said "hi" and ask him if in heaven if they have roast beef dinners on Sundays.

Second, I'd like to ask that we keep the snow in So'Oh to a minimum. That isn't to say a white Christmas wouldn't be nice, but parking around my apartment has reached capacity and I'm concerned what snow windrows would do to the already desperate situation. A sprinkle here and there for looks, crunching boots, and pretty views from my windows is fine. And I'm not opposed to more the Ellicottville way for the New Years ski trip. But that's IT. Seriously, Santa. I mean it.

Third, I'd like to lose my muffin top.

Fourth, if in your travels you come across self-cleaning kitty litter, I'm your girl.

Fifth (and this is a big one), I'd like to win the Lotto Max. I'm not trying to be greedy, but I really think I deserve it, and you can count on me to share the wealth. Cheeseburger Happy Meals for everyone!

Finally, if the Lotto Max isn't an option, I'd like a set of dachshund pillows. Random, I know. But if I can't have him, a mild deep freeze, -10lbs, less poo, and approximately $45 million, dachshund pillows are a nice alternative.

My best to the wife and elves little people.

Sincerely,
LL

Let's celebrate Bert, shall we?

One year ago today his over sized paws came into my life, and we haven't looked back since. His penchant for fluid mechanics, room decor (or relocating the toilet paper rolls to other places in the house), and partying hard (read: going loco over plastic springs and talking to the bathtub) have cheered me these last 12 months.

Three cheers for Bert:

Hip hip meow!
Hip hip meow!
Hip hip meow!

So...

... I'm thinking about doing the Around the Bay race...?

My friend Nina more or less floated the challenge out there, and after talking with Boot Camp Man and realizing I've got 19+ weeks, I think it's doable. My understanding is the hardest part of the entire event is the training in anticipation of.... Well, that and the weather, which is totally unpredictable at that time of year... And then there's the fact the last half of the race is more or less uphill... And we can't discount the fact you're "technically" not allowed to wear headphones, which to me is just sheer ridiculousness because who can run/workout/drive/do anything without music?

So really, the whole thing is probs going to break me, much like the nightmare I now like to refer to as the Fugi Paris to Ancaster 60kill-me-ometers. But what's a spring without almost wetting your pants in public, hmm?

So what you say, Cousin Toque? Think you could make you're way down here for this one? Consider this your official challenge. You'll have plenty of time after your Olympic schtick and I know you're way more prepared than I, what with the half marathons you have under your belt. It'd be just like that scene from the Lord of the Rings with Viggo, Orly, and the dwarf chasing the big orc guys arcoss the New Zealand countryside... Hee! Guess which one I'd be?

It was a big weekend in the Library Lady household...

First off, Little C's first birthday. Hard to believe my little buddy is one, but he is. Such a little man: playing with the big kids, fighting over who gets to use the digger, wearing a collared shirt and mini blue jeans (complete with a belt), and eating his first cheesie *sigh*... Oh the milestones.

As you can see, Auntie Library Lady made him a dump truck birthday cake which was eaten by the fist full (as it should be.) He's quite good at managing his eating, so don't let the picture fool you--grilled cheese cut into soldiers, tiny bites of melon off the rind, working his own sippy cup like a big boy. There's a hilaripus video of him eating a bowl full of macaroni and cheese. When it's available (get on that, Beef) I'll post.

Second, Mama LL and I booked a vacation for February. Mama and papa liked to 'holiday' twice a year, and so they should. Mama and I will continue the tradition with a nod to pop--a cruise of the Caribbean (dad loved boats of any size and shape, and was prouder of the pictures he snapped of last year's cruise through the Panama Canal than you'd think humanely possible...)

I'm excited to do this with mom. Dad and I took many a trip together--E-ville, Jasper, Mount Tremblant--but this is the first mother-daughter solo mission and I'm happy to go along for the ride. I think she worries I won't be entertained, but I can't imagine why: sitting poolside sipping specialty drinks, indulging in an afternoon ice cream buffet and late night mid-ship slot machines? Um, yes please. Don't forget a side of off-board excursions, spa treatments, an on board running track, FRESHLY MANICURED LAWN FOR LAWN BOWLING, PUTTING, AND CROQUET, and the weekly glass blowing show (wtf?)

We're taking a brand new ship called the Celebrity Solstice from Fort Lauderdale to San Jaun, St. Maarten, the BVIs, and home again. We opted for the ocean view balcony, reserved aisle seats on the flight, and the more convenient Toronto airport.

I'm excited to experience this with her, and to *fingers crossed* make this very... mmm... "uncomfortable" first time more bearable. Because it must be done. She deserves it.

Really?

EZcracker. The new way to crack and separate eggs.

Two words for this one: wow.

Almost as bad as the Bumpit, or as Orange refers to it, "the hair thing-a-ma-who that makes you look like a cheap (creepy) wh*re." Quite possibly the worst infomercial of all time--turning these women into Coneheads certainly doesn't entice me to purchase their product...

Reality Bites was on tonight...

... And while Ethan Hawke is by no means a catch (see: Ethan cheats on Uma circa 2003), Troy Dyer is one sexy b*tch. This movie is tops in my book, and the soundtrack? Uh. Well, lets just say in highschool I listened to it so much on my Sony Walkman I burned through the tape.

TWICE!

I think kids these days would say: BOOYA!

World's cutest infestation

Ladybug! Ladybug!
Fly away home.
Your house is on fire.
And your children all gone.

All except one,
And that's little Ann,
For she crept under
The frying pan.

This long running rhyme is totally bizarre and furthers my thought that just because you can, doesn't mean you should.

That said, the first stanza (pow! Where'd I pull that out of, huh? Stanza? Man, that's almost as good as pangea...) perfectly describes my house at the moment. Because Ladybugs... y'all gots to go home. Didn't your mothers teach you company was like fish: after three days it starts to stink. Seriously. How long can you guys and gals hang around my drapes and lamp shades? I don't even understand how you're getting in here! To quote Mitch, it's like I have an infestation of cute.

I feel like I'm eight again, trapping stray ladybugs in glass jars and releasing them into the wild (read: a cold, slow death, but perhaps better than through the taunting over sized paws of a cat with too much time on his... err... hands?)

Three completely separate facts relating to my weekend:

I am shamelessly addicted to arcade games that give you little tickets for playing them, that you can then exchange for tiny Asian-manufactured prizes. My 1-year old nephew has a thing for Abba and willingly sat patiently in my lap for the first 20 minutes of Mama Mia! (that's all we had time for before nap time, diaper time, big-boy-clothes time, snack time, and shaking-the-poker-chips-on-the-floor-time). Orange makes a ridiculously good chili, and waiting for a bowl was well worth the 11 months.

Summer GTs

I was going through my camera tonight, and rediscovered pictures from the summer. It feels like a lifetime ago! May 24, girls weekend, Labour day... Le sigh.

Some of the goodies:

Memories of a beautiful day, a 60km Bike Race, numbness from the waist down, coming close to losing control of my bodily functions, and crying through the last 5km. Would you believe I've had nightmares of this bike race? 'Tis true. Hopefully Paris-Ancaster 2010 will see me break the 4.5 hour mark *blush*


Mid-day patio drinks in T.O. with Poomobile and Free Samples. Yummers. Is there anything better than shopping and lunch? Someday I'll be retired and I'll spend afternoons with my ladies "lunching". But girls, why didn't someone tell me my bangs looked uber greasy? Hmm?


Beach volleyball, backyard BBQs, "Average Sized Men" (and maybe one too many banana drinks for Big Guy...?)

Winning big ($2.40) at the Dog Races. Could I be any more excited? Could it have been any hotter? Could it have been anymore fun?


Floating meat... Fresh, hot, hand delivered floating meat, to boot! Who she's delivering it too, I'm not quite sure. But she was bound and determined to egg-beater her way over there!

Paddle boating with Cowtown Heather. I'm in clear violation of the boating laws... Note the beer in the cup holder... Meh.

Orange being mistaken for a flower... Again... W00t w00t! Can you see the Segwun in the background!?

Sunset in Port Carling... Taken from another patio... After patio beers... And fries (eeee... oh but they taste so good!)

Family portrait. Minus Bert. But plus my rock awesome slippers, purchased from the alwasy fantastic Stedman's V&S.

Thanks for the good summer, peeps.

And he's a parent?

This is one of those few instances where the unfortunate minority ruin it for the well intentioned majority.

This morning on my drive into work, I passed a man "doubling" on his bike with his young son (maybe 5... 6 years old?) along one of the busiest roads in the Hammer (buses, trucks, and an insane amount of cross-city traffic.) For those unfamiliar with doubling, this is the process whereby the bike driver (in this case, the father) sits on the bike seat and the "doubler" (the child) sits on the cross bar. It not only looks but feels awkward, because the driver has to pedal around the body of the doubler. We did it a lot in elementary school when you wanted to get somewhere fast with a friend.

I have no problem "sharing the road" (as the latest environmental campaign requests), but I will not share the road with @ssholes like this. I won't share the road with bikers who bust through stop signs or red lights. I won't share the road with bikers who ride the road and hope the curb onto the sidewalk when it's convenient for them. Because if I collide with you when you breeze through a traffic signal it's MY fault.

And p.s. grow up and wear a helmet, for farks sake. If it's law I wear a seat belt, it should be law you wear a helmet. Because when you choose to ignore the rules of the road and I smush you in my sewing-machine-on-wheels, it'll be you going through my windshield, not me.

D*ck.

Dear Nestle:

Having spent the past twenty minutes aimlessly navigating your newly revamped yet ironically annoying website for a comment form, I have decided to abandon the idea and will try emailing you instead. Perhaps you would be so kind as to pass this on to your colleagues in the Smartie department by means of smoke signal, carrier pigeon or ouija board.

As I'm writing this e-mail, an individually sized box of so called "Smarties" sits in front of me, open, and yet disturbingly full. It would seem you've not only spent obscene amounts of money redesigning your website, but you've decided to "touch up" your product as well.

Let me preface by saying that I am a huge fan of the original Smartie product--your chocolate, your sweet candy coating, you clever yet effective early-1990s marketing campaign, and the always amusing bi-product of the infamous red Smartie: the Smartie lipstick applique.

That being said, while I have always been excited to "eat my red ones last", it would seem the product that currently sits before me consists of 12 failed medical experiments. Am I to understand you've added flavourings to your Smarties? Purple Smarties now taste like the unpleasant-in-any-circumstance-let-alone-in-a-Halloween-treat CK One; the orange like indelible marker; the yellow like Tide detergent. Although not a scientist, and as I always eat my Smarties in colour order, I have no idea if the other colours carry the same foul flavour, although the numbers (three out of eight) support the inevitable.

What I suggest is this. After replying to this email with worthless assurances that the matter was sufficiently researched via focus groups, targeted market research, and client input, why not leave it until the one night of the year (Halloween) when your product will reach the largest number of ideal clientele, and we'll see where your so-called "improvements" have taken you. Children the world over will sift through their candy, sadly passing by your happy blue box looking for anything other than the upsetting perfumed Smartie. Your once addicting popular sweet treat worthy of sucking very slowly and crunching very fast will fall to the bottom of the bag alongside the raisins and mini Eat Mores. Years from now, when our landfills are overflowing with tiny oblate spheroids of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, pink, and brown perhaps you'll realize the magnitude of your horrific error and regret messing with perfection. Shame on you.

So the next time you consider improving your product, I seriously suggest you consult the people at Thrills. Who, you ask? Exactly. Ahh, the popularity of the detergent-flavoured candy.

All my best,
Library Lady

Fingers and I are enrolled in a Boot Camp...

...and we're rounding the start of week two. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a month we're up at dawn's crack (literally... 5:30 am) to bust our chops. We lift weights, run obstacle courses, do sit-ups and push-ups, and try our best to emulate the Gladiators (minus the g-strings and nicknames like Blaze, Nitro, and Diamond...)

This honestly couldn't come at a better time, because the temptation of miniature chocolate bars and individually packaged chips is redonk. On Friday night, three otherwise normal adults and I sat around a bar discussing Halloween treats: those worthy of trade, those needing to be smuggled into secret hiding spots, and those you'd take or leave (or would stuff in the freezer for desperate times...)

Top five favs:

1. Individually packaged cheesie bags.
2. Mini Crispy Crunch
3. Mini Crunchy
4. Mini Butterfinger
5. Molasses Halloween candies

Bottom five ew-gross-blech:

1. Rockets
2. Twizzlers/Nibs
3. Individual caramels
4. Those random foam-jelly candies shaped like tiny hamburgers or fries or vampire teeth
5. Candy corn

Take 'em or leave 'em:

1. Mini Kit Kat
2. Mini Coffee Crisp
3. Double Bubble
4. Tootsie Roll
5. Suckers of any kind...

You?

I've always been a terrible sleeper...

I've been having a lot of vivid dreams lately. Don't know what that's all about. I'm talkin' wake-me-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night-because-they-seem-so-real dreams. Recently, I woke up convinced I had H1N1. I was so convinced I had to get up and check the symptoms online to confirm my oncoming cold wasn't swine flu.

Well... *shifty eyes*... It seems I could learn a thing or two about online research, because after a visit to the doctor Monday night following two days of fever, aches, and a smoker's cough, it turns out my initial nocturnal diagnosis was correct: I do in fact have H1N1.

Now, before we go all loco here I should clarify: I have "low grade influenza". This is a fancy way of saying I have a bad flu. I'm not in quarantine, although I've been told to stay away from work until the symptoms (fever and aches) pass. Lets keep our fingers crossed that's Thursday. Although I'm feeling substantially better than I was yesterday, I think another day away is probably best for all involved--I sound A LOT worse than I feel and nobody needs me hacking and sneezing all over the keyboards and phones.

That said, being inside watching TV all day is... boring. Thankfully dearest Beef made a drive-by drop off with Lil C', leaving enough soup, Kleenex, and trashy mags to sink a ship. And Mama LL always knows the right thing to say and do (god bless the microwavable heating bag...) My biggest concern is the possibility of my having infected Orange, Beef, Mom, and Fingers because I've spent a lot of time with all as of late. I've told them all to stock up on vitamin C and to get lots of rest... With a seven day incubation period, I've got all extremities crossed. Pray Shiloh no one else gets sick.

Ugh.
*sniff*
*cough*
Blarg.

My Favorite Memories of Dad--Part III

When we were kids, we used to spend 2-3 weeks in Southampton at a cottage we rented. Dad spent the night before leaving packing the car to the t*ts (pardon my French.) He was a packing genius, completely spatially adept able to cram thousands of pounds of stuff into all spaces left unoccupied by passengers.

Somehow, mid-car ride (the majority of which was spent listening to AM 900 CHML Toronto Blue Jays baseball), we'd stop and pick up a tiny rental TV and VHS player and one of us would sit with it on our laps. Dad used the TV to expose his girls to "good movies" like Mash or Cannonball Run, and the original Around the World in 80 Days. He'd wear track suits and get the fireplace going and sit watching with us toasting marshmallows, showing us that the perfect golden 'mallow came with a combination of patience and rotation.

I vividly remember BBQ-ing with him in the sandy yard. We'd come up early from the beach because "the men" (me being a dude until the age of 13 made me an honorary part of this twosome...) had to heat the charcoal. Dad spent hours trying to lite the damn thing, for which I'm surprised there haven't been serious chemical repercussions (*shifty eyes*). He was always proud of his q-ing skills, and never let the grill defeat him. The smell of a charcoal is still one of my favorite summer scents.

It was also Dad's idea to teach us euchre. His patience was unending, as 9 and 13 year-olds are not the best strategists. I remember the year he taught Beef Rummy 500 and I was so jealous I made mom promise to play 500 games of Crazy 8s. Whether or not he wanted to, he always agreed to play games with us, and that continued to today always humoring me with Phase 10 and Yatzee.

He taught us to windsurf at the cottage, and took us sailing in the neighbor's tiny Laser boat. He taught us badminton and bought kites to fly on the beach. He explained the tides of Lake Huron, and used the flags that lead down the main street to teach us the Provinces, Territories, and capital cities.

He'd walk with us down the boardwalk and buy his daughters french fries. He'd walk us the other way down the boardwalk to buy his daughters ice cream.

And every summer we'd have a day to ourselves. Mom and Beef did girly things, like lunch and shopping, and dad and I went golfing (and he'd let me drive the cart.) We'd pack lunches and he'd have beer and I'd have root beer. In the afternoon we went to the pond and in our rubber boots we'd walk through the marsh and he'd point out the ducks and their eggs, the water spiders, and the tadpoles.

In the evenings we'd watch the sunsets from the boardwalk. After thunderstorms he'd get us up early to see the holes in the sand where the lightning hit. If we couldn't sleep he'd sit on the side of the bed and build you a nest of pillows and blankets and talk you to sleep from the toes up. He was always the first one up, on the deck with is coffee and crossword. And he was usually the last one to bed, with his scotch and sh*tty mystery paperback (broken spine and all...)

He's so vivid in these memories, you'd swear I could reach out and touch him.