The Shore

Orange and I took a min-break to NJ last weekend, and what a trip it was!

It was planned on a whim after finding a favourite band was touring again for the first time in, oh, I don't know...  forever? Not able to pass up the opportunity for shenanigans we pulled out our credit cards and purchased two tickets for the closest venue: NJ. Thank the sweet baby Shiloh for Orange's quadruple platinum hotel points and Air Miles on which the remainder of the trip was funded.

But you can't just go to Jersey for the night, right? Pfft. So we left Friday with plans of hauling our fabulous @sses to the Shore for the day, back in town (well, Hoboken) for the concert Saturday.

Let's begin by saying if I never have to drive in Jersey again, I will be a happy Library Lady. When an address can be as complicated as "US Route 1&9 78 local" (different from US Route 1&9 78), you know it's not a place you want to navigate. It's like a bad math joke... You can't even punch that sh*t into a GPS! Trust me, I tried (with Orange breathing down my neck.) And for those who might think I'm exaggerating and/or a bad driver, feast your eyes on the all-star road engineering pictured left. How many turnpikes does it take to drive one couple to fisticuffs? Ask the New Jersey city planners...

Once we actually arrived at the Jersey Shore, we opted to leave the car at the hotel and taxi to the boardwalk. Orange wanted to enjoy the weekend, and his fun was being stifled by my nails digging into the side of his face. The nice hotel lady hailed our taxi, and when "Linda" arrived she handed us her "business card" which read "I'll drive you to drink." Heck yes! Bet your butters that card is now proudly displayed on our fridge.


And Linda was serious... Without prompting she dropped us off at the front door of a place called EJs, home of the $2 pints, which naturally became our second, third, and fourth stop (*blush*). The boardwalk is exactly what you want it to be: deep fried mozzarella balls, Snookie hair, Guidos, old ladies picking up young men, "beat that beat up" house music pouring out of every arcade at ear-piercing decibles, and the best people watching I've had in a long time. And let's not forget more Rastafarian bananas than I could count!

Orange (ironically) got angry trying to win an angry bird. We took a ride on the iconic Shore roller coaster. I bought salt water taffy. Jim debated purchasing an "I heart puggles" garden stone (they were fresh out of "I heart truffle pigs"), and I got a back tattoo (I considered the Jesus piece, but opted my boyfriend's name instead...) And no, it's not permanent.

After buying Poomobile a pair of underpants with the words "Team Meatball" printed on the seat at the legendary Shore Store (note the Jersey Shore roof top patio in the photo), we stumbled over to Karma where we were told--in not so many words--that we were too unattractive to join in their reindeer games. Eight hours at EJs will do that to a person... So we took our fabulousness home and raided the vending machine in the lobby instead. I love me some Cheezits.

The concert on Saturday blew my mind. They are hands down the best group I've seen live. The talent is amazing, none of them actually playing one instrument, per se, but rather rotating duties throughout the night. At one point Brad was playing the bongos, the harmonica, and singing... WTF? The clip I've given you is crap, but gives you an idea of the crowd at Red Bull (which is the biggest venue I've ever been in...) If you don't know Dispatch, for a better look at the kind of music they're capable of check out the video of them at Madison Square Gardens:

Aside from the irrationally enraged mother and her seriously annoying infant sitting in front of us on the plane ride home (who consequently picked a fight with the both the flight attendants, sticking around to yell at the pilot after disembarking), this was a top notch mini vacay. Next time I'll bring my Bumpit.

A new blog post is coming, with pictures of our recent mini break to New Jersey (heck yes!) but I still have to upload the pictures... Maybe tomorrow.

In the meantime: who are these people who don't know they're pregnant? I stumbled on the show last night, and the girl was talking about the extreme cramps she was experiencing, and assuming she was getting her period "used a hairdryer on her abdomen"... She then promptly called 911 because "it felt like her abdomen was on fire".

I'm not a scientist, but 1) how do you not know you're pregnant and 2) how do you not know holding a blowdryer to your abdomen might, oh, I don't know, make your abdomen feel LIKE IT'S ON FIRE?!

Also, who are the actors who audition for this show?

"Um, so basically we want you to act carefree and la tee da and then boom, there are three fake children coming out of your woo-woo real fast in a grocery store dairy aisle and all this time you've just thought it was gas so you're panicking, you're panicking, you're panicking and then you're like 'oh my gosh, that's why I gained 350 pounds over the last 9 months?"

When are the Emmys? This is some award winning stuff, guys. And don't worry if you've missed it up until now because there are many, many seasons of this show... Like hundreds of these shows... Many women. Many babies, most of whom are named Shawntel, Mawntell, and Darknell (silent 'k').

"Your ear drum's connected to your... Sinus!"

Yesterday morning I woke to the sound of church bells, which was both lovely and surprising being that they don't usually ring in our neighborhood. "I wonder when they started ringing?" I pondered...

Last night on our walk Orange and I heard the bells again. "Isn't that nice?!" I said. "I wonder why they started ringing them?"

*insert awkward pause*

"Um, really? The church bells ring every weekend... are you telling me you've never heard them?"

Turns out my sinus infection was affecting (infecting?) more than just my sense of smell.

We take every opportunity we can to praise Lil' C for using the potty, the point of course is to reinforce the behaviour with positive feedback: "good job, buddy, we're so proud of you!" etc. etc. And he will proudly tell you any chance he gets that "when I use da potty I get wear 'Pool Ups'..." (that's Lil' C speak for "Pull Ups"... His pronunciation makes him sound Polish...)

Anywho, our praise is clearly working. Whether he's using the potty more or not I'm not sure, but this morning at breakfast when I did what he asked me to do, namely move over on the booth bench so he could sit next to me, he said: "tank you, Mana, I'm proud of you for using da potty."

And while I'm not rushing out to buy myself Pull Ups, I certainly sat a little taller and puffier next to my big boy nephew.

I'm sorry, but I really, really like this...

... Goosey Two-Shoes.

I like it almost as much as the story Beef told me yesterday about a friend of hers who asked her toddler son what they should name his new baby sister. His response? Officer Pete, of course!

Who needs 'em?!

Tonight at Ultimate Frisbee I really rocked the field. I caught three long passes, scored four points, flicked the disc, and broke through their dump and swing. I was pretty much game MVP, and while I wont go so far as to say I carried the team... I carried the team.

Go Zenomenon!

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I'm lying. I pulled both my hamstrings on the first point, cursed my way down field to half time, and sat like a lump on the sidelines for the remainder of the game waiting for Fingers to finish her all-star run in cup. Poo.

That'll learn me not to stretch...

*hobbles off to retrieve the bag of peas/ice pack from the freezer*

The Library Lady has a run in with nature...

There is a portly groundhog living under our shed, a family of raccoons cohabiting in the largest tree in our ravine including two of the wee-est (is that a word?) babies I've ever seen, a snail parked on the picture window, and a very protective mister and misses robin clogging up our eavestroghs with their home and assortment of chickies. Tonight on my drive home I had to stop the car and put my flashers on Northshore to allow a couple of bunnies to cross the road. Oh, and the other night I ran through a herd of deer. Seriously, like seven deer.

Combine this with the Canadian goose we found on the lawn last Fall and of course dearest Tripod, and you'd think Orange and I were becoming the Doolittles...

Just wait until we get our truffle pigs.

A long weekend away, for me just me:

Random updates from an AWOL librarian:

Wow. So, yeah. Not sure where time is going these days, but it's clearly not been spent here. Sorry about that, peeps. But get that hump off your back, its bad for your posture.

I can tell you I've been doing a lot of early morning hot yoga. And even though I really, really, really like my bed I actually look forward to getting up and sweating like a crazy person for 60 minutes before heading into my morning coffee. Gross, right? I know Beef is reading this and cackling with disgust alongside her "swarthy husband" (mom's words not mine...)

Speaking of the Beefs, on Sunday Orange and I babysat Lil C. Adorables. We played a lot of marbles, drove monster trucks, and watched Toy Story 3 with a raisin chaser. He kept wanting to kiss Orange on the mouth, which was confusing for Orange but hilarious watching C try and explain that he thought Orange was nice and funny, and get over here and let me give you a kiss, silly billy!

Today I had an appointment with the allergy doctor who informed me that besides a severe allergy to grass and pollen, I'm also more or less in an abusive relationship with my cat who is the asbestos to my nasal pipes. I've also has a sinus infection for, oh, about a year which I'm now on some serious antibiotics to kick. While Orange is pleased as punch to hear my heavy breathing at bedtime is soon to a thing of the past, I failed to tell him the doctor says a side effect of the antibiotics is "irritability"... Eee... Awkward.

I've discovered I have a crush on Zac Efron. Could be worse, I guess... Free Samples has a big one for Nick Jonas. Cue laugh track, please!

And that's it.

*taps at the microphone*

*static feedback*

Um, sorry to interrupt your regularily scheduled program, but I need to take a minute to express my total and complete HATE for the Tim Horton's ice cap commercials.

Carry on.

According to CBC radio, the world is due to end much sooner than 2012.

Not that I listen, but Fingers was poisoning my mind with their propaganda over stir fry this weekend and it was a small table (plugging my ears and yelling "la la la I can't hear you" would have been both rude and socially unacceptable in a pub that small...)

Orange, being a bit of a doomsday specialist, perked up at the opportunity to discuss his favourite subject. And so we got talking and the question was posed: if you knew with as much certainty as the wacko on the CBC did, that the world was going to end on May 21st, what would you do with your remaining days?

Enter BSB who until this point had been focused on his chicken curry.

"That's easy," he says.

Side note: those who know BSB might at this point guess he would spend his remaining days cooking an elaborate last supper for his beloved involving many courses of expensive meat and the finest bottle of Tuscan wine he could find... Or better yet, flying to Tuscany with his beloved to procure said wine and eat said lavish meal wearing a real Tuscan fedora on some sort of sun filled private villa. And he'd keep Punk and Little Tim in the guest house for last minute late night Parliament dance parties.

Or at least, that's what I would have guessed.

Wasn't expecting what I got, though.

"That's easy," he says. "I'd buy a bunch of jet skis and not pay for em."

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Qu'est-ce que F?

Damn you, Disney!

This morning, while eating my Kashi and drinking my tea, I caught the last 20 minutes of Toy Story 3...

... And spent the entire 20 minutes crying.

Yes, it makes me giggle, and no, I'm not 12...

Did you know Tim Hortons sells a donut called an 8" Long John?

(photographic proof procured by Orange of said 8" Long John)

You can get an 8" chocolate Long John or an 8" vanilla Long John.

I'm just sayin'...

3 random things:

1. Lil' C "peed in da potty" for the first time tonight, and I have the world's cutest voicemail from the proudest little peanut to prove it. Should you be interested in hearing it, let me know...

2. I did my first 75 minute hot yoga class tonight, and at 105 degrees in the room it was a toss up as to what I should do first: pass out or barf? I went with child's pose followed by a deep "sitting on my butt open mouth breathing" centering stretch. Aces. I'm determined to go back and show a braver face.

3. My cat is currently obsessed with a cat nip stuffed taco.

Never a dull moment in the Library Lady's household...

... Selfishly thinking I'm in need of my own bit respite care but with neither the vacation time nor the mental stability to support it, I made a somewhat pathetic attempt to escape the grind by fondling the new book truck at work. And low and behold in and amongst the knitting patterns, locavore manifestos, and The Harmonica for Dummies, I came across this little diddy:

Oh my.

Laser-beaming babies aside, for those of you who are contemplating, wishing, fingers crossing, body-temperature-taking, ovulation monitoring, hoping to be pregnant and/or already growing your own hump and corresponding fire monster scales, this book is for you. It's also great for those of us who have cats.

How about an excerpt, hmm?

Chapter one: The Swelling:

"Greetings, woman. You are gloriously full with child, living proof of the miracle of creation, or else you wouldn't be reading this. Unless you're just curious. Or you're a man, and you have some sort of fetish. Well, as long as you paid for the book and are not soiling it in a dim corner of your lcoal bookstore, we're okay with that... Our first question is: are you sure you're pregnant? It's a little-known fact that 83 percent of people who believe they're pregnant are not; of those people, 47 percent stuffed an embroidered keepsake pillow under their shirt to see how it would look. The remaining 59 percent are merely confused about how The Secret works. And for good reason!" (3)

It goes on to explain that it's possible instead of being pregnant you might actually be: not pregnant, hysterical, recovering from a plate of bad clams, a snake that recently swallowed a full-grown ewe, a pumpkin costume, unable to button your pants, nurturing an eight-pound subcutaneous grapefruit, or a man.

This book. Makes. My life. There are a glorious number of references to fatties, "unruly paginas", baby jerks, and silly questions like "how can I be sure I'm pregnant?" (answer: torso swells gradually until baby falls into underpants.)

As I type I'm secretly pilfering this title from the new book cart into my oh-so-professional Club Sandwiches Not Seals work tote (thanks, Hurr_ah!) to hole up in my office and giggle. I recommend a bout of this for all of you facing the next 2.5 hours of a Tuesday wishing something stronger than bad coffee came out of the machine in the lunch room.

It's time for everyone's favorite game!

Things you might be surprised to learn about me:

1. I generally don't keep ice in the house. This isn't a conscious choice--I'm not a Pagophob or anything--I just forget to make it. And we don't have ice cube trays, so... There's that.

2. I like listening to political non fiction on CD, thinking intently about the points of view, formulating an argument, and then not talking about them with anybody.

3. Its entirely possible the entire time I've been complaining about my "allergies," I should really have been complaining about my deviated septum. I'm not a doctor, and I don't play one on TV. I'm just sayin... It's possible.

4. I like love the show Trailer Park Boys.

5. I have to try really hard not to say things.

6. I feel a lot of guilt, this lent in particular, for many, many reasons, not the least of which is because Orange has been away for a few days and I've had the heat cranked the entire time. That, and I'm not doing enough for baby Jesus.

It's hard not to be inspired by my friends.

Take Fingers, for example--dude has a full time job and takes care of so many people, myself included, and on her down time she preserves, makes crock pots full of delicious things like meatballs and pulled BBQ turkey (homemade BBQ sauce, of course) and bakes fresh focaccia or perfect little buns which she then delivers to me in Ziplock bags (still warm!)

I'm not making any of this up... For reals... But back off and get your own besty, because this one is firmly taken.

Channeling my inner Fingers, I spent most of today making Mulligatawny soup out of a Chatalaine recipe I tore out of a library magazine (*shifty eyes*). And if I do say so myself its pretty darn good! I added peas and red pepper, and substituted a roast chicken for chicken thighs, but other than that it's a great recipe. I then experimented with the card making supplies I recently purchased making a birthday card for a soon-to-be one year-old, and now I'm considering ordering THIS groovy little kit because I think stuffed logs could really take me to the "Fingers level" of home keeping.

Around the Bay 2011

What a waste of anxiety!

I sweat so much over the potential weather, my preparedness, the road conditions, what I would wear, breakfast on the day of, my tummy the day after, my water to Gatorade ratio, cutting back on fibre, dialing up the carbs, the guest room in the basement (don't ask) ... You'd think I was heading into a war zone and not a 30 km race.

But as it turns Around the Bay 2011 was just about as perfect as it could get: seasonally warm, sunny (I got a sunburn!), great company (big thanks to Cousin Toque and Deep River for running along beside/in front of me...) and a fabulous photo finish. Not to mention a wicked New Balance technical shirt, my very own cheering squad complete with inflatable "#1" finger and oversized foam hat, and while I missed the free course-side wine shooters I did manage to scrounge me some free orange wedges, grapes, and jelly beans being handed out by well-wishing fans.

Final time: 3:06:45 (chip)

I couldn't be happier! And as for 2012 Well... Let's just say I'm not gagging to do it again. I thought that damn York Boulevard would never end! And besides, I've got 42.2 to train for next... Got to get a marathon in before the world comes to an end.

*wink*

Home again, home again, jiggidy run!

Such. A good. Vacation! The weather was amazing, the pools were blue, the sun plenty, and margaritas flowing. While the hotel appeared somewhat overwhelmed by the sheer volume of residents (running out of towels, running out of beach chairs, running out of food...) it rarely detracted from the company and laughs.

And the people watching was insane: more intoxicated 14-year olds than could field a football team! I'm not sure what was better: watching them slum up the main lobby after dinner, or drag butters through the breakfast line the next morning with their hangovers and baby brothers?

There are those nay sayers who would argue we were crazy bananas for travelling during March Break (myself amongst them up until last week) but for all intensive purposes there were virtually no snags in our trip, aside from the one small threat of refusing to let me leave Cuba after losing my embarkation form... It's amazing how far "please and thank you" will get you!

(Lil' C couldn't get enough of Orange. And I can't get enough of this picture...)

(Would you believe this was a kiosk at the airport?!)

p.s. four sleeps to Around the Bay. And I've just realized I'm registered as Library, Lady rather than Lady, Library. Blarg. So if you're looking for me in the results, look first name first... And yes, mom, I know I know... "You big loser!"

Cuba! Cuba! Cuba! Cuba! Cuba! Cuba! Cuba! Cuba! Cuba! Cuba!

Bha!

On a crazy whim, I bought two tickets to a concert today...

... In New Jersey.

*jumpy clappy hands*

Orange and I got muchas excited when he randomly checked the Dispatch website and found they were touring this summer (and have no fears, peeps, these tickets were purchased from a legitimate source--there's no fooling the Library Lady this time around!) Of course Dispatch rarely if ever tours, and they never come to Canada when they do, and what with our being:

A) cheap
B) broke

... we decided to go the economical route, forgoing a more glamorous trip to Chicago or California, choosing instead to trot our butters down to the Shore for a summer weekend. I'm pretty pumped, man!

Spontaneous mini-breaks are exciting. And not having any ideas of how we're getting to Jersey or where we'll stay when we arrive, makes it all the more fun.

So unlike me, huh? Who is this person...?

And to think I volunteered for this...

We leave for Cuba on Saturday, returning in one glorious beach-filled, sun-soaked week. While this is by all accounts a reason to celebrate, it also means I'm down two training long runs for ATB 2011 (we leave at 6:30 am this Saturday and are in travel mode most of next Saturday, as well.) Not that I'm complaining! But my fear of the 27th is mounting, and I swear I can feel those 30km breathing down my neck. Needless to say, each training opportunity I have is important if not dreaded, feared, and grump-inducing.

With this in mind, I set out on Friday night to prepare myself for one final long run on Saturday morning, and to make it an all around positive experience for myself. You know, running is fun "rah-rah" and all that jazz? Who am I kidding...

Regardless, I laid out my clothes on the dining room table, bought myself a bagel to eat for breakfast (maximizing my carbohydrate intake and minimizing gas to cramp outtakes), charged my iPod, and set my alarm for 6:20 so as to be on time to meet my running group for 8:00 am sharp. All things accounted for!

What I was not counting on the next morning was rain. Lots and lots of rain. I took one glimpse at the tsunami raging outside (perhaps a slight exaggeration...) and promptly returned to bed. I could justify my laziness--running should be fun, remember? Even I can do that math: rain + run = bad news bears. Yet still, the stink eye from my cold, lonely sneakers was too much to bare. And so I resolved to get up at 8:00 and reassess the situation.

8:00 am, bagel consumed, body hydrated, rain still in torrential downpour mode. No longer able to delay the inevitable, I strapped on my hydration belt, packed my energy beans, and set my tasers to stun. I was out the front door and into the dogs and cats, armed with the attitude that in two hours the entire miserable experience would be over with, dogging puddles and other soggy runners calling out "lovely day!" as I zoomed past.

And true to my word, 2:18:47 later I rolled through the back door, 25km under my belt, feet soaked through to the point of wrinkled toes and more blisters than I can count on my hands. I could and did literally wring out my MEC running jacket, my cold fingers frozen into hideous claws from hours of clenched fists. But, peeps, not only can I say I did it, I managed to do it in a reasonable time with only two birds flipped to fast passing cars, one loud "F*CK" innocently dropped during a particularly gruelling uphill battle, and approximately 2/3 of the race course tried and tested.

All in all, a horrible way to spend your morning, nothing I'd recommend, and something I'll choose not to do again (except that one other time, when I'll be doing it with 15,000 other crazy people, and oh yeah, add another 5km onto that distance...)

*eye roll*

Goodness me. And to think I volunteered for this...

There have been two new additions to the Orange-LL household!

Now, now, peeps. Hold your horses. Don't go jumpin' to them there conclusions. There are no babies--human, feline, or otherwise--crossing the threshold. I'm talking inanimate additions:

1. I bought my first hand blender! Beef talked me into it after we made last week's ginger parsnip soup, and I'm already in love. Orange has me drinking protein shakes after long or stressful runs, and the lumpy hand shaken powder, milk, and frozen raspberry concoctions I was brewing just weren't cutting it. So along with the mulligatawny soup I plan on making next week, I'm blending up my fair share of shakes and I LOVE THEM! How did I exist before my hand blender? What can't you blend? Well, nachos, for starters... But otherwise the uses are too many to count and I'm pretty excited to get 'er all blended.

2. In one of his romanitical gestures, Orange bought me (or should I say Bert?) a Litter Locker. Now before you give him the cut eye for giving me a poo box (I admit, I gave him a bit of that same cut eye when he first announced there was a present for me in his car, not thinking said present would relate to litter...), let me just say that for those of us dealing with poo-type situations, the Litter Locker is totally worth the investment.

But the best part of this second addition is actually the searching I did on the PetSmart website for the damn thing. My coworker and I were literally in tears at all the images of litter pans and litter related goodies on the PetSmart page, and the "cat models" they've hired to Vana White the damn things! Click HERE for your own sneak peak. My favorite is hands down the Cat Genie 120 followed closely by the terrified tuxedo in the Genie Dome.

My question is: who's cats are these? Do I really need the image of the cat half-in-half-out of the pan to indicate that this is in fact a poo box? Can you  imagine if this was your job!?

I'm not exactly sure where to begin with all the ridiculous wonderfulness this weekend!

1. Thrusting one's hips like a "porn star", grabbing one's "snatch", and thumbing to one's bum...

Uncomfortable turns of phrase? Yes! Also a number of the moves Fingers and I learned in our inaugural Kettle Bell class Friday night!

The event started as awkwardly as humanely possible (I'll spare you the details) and continued in a progressively bizarre manner, including someone in the class continuously and rather loudly referencing her "jiggling thighs" and the majority of the evening being unconsentingly caught on video tape by the gym owner as he recorded the first Kettle class for the studio's webpage. At one point the instructor told Fingers to "use her huge chest" for momentum...? And if you've seen Couples Retreat you'll appreciate the horrible comedy of watching the instructor demonstrate The Swing on your neighbor whilst repeatedly chanting:

Boom... Boom... Boom...

A workout, to be sure, but not an experience I'm gagging to repeat anytime soon.

2. Beef and I took a cooking class today at the local community college, taught by a local chef: Comfort Food 101. On the menu was chicken curry pot pie, parsnip ginger soup, roasted root veg with maple glaze, and baked pears with a green tea syrup glaze.

But while we enjoyed the undeniable talent and charm of our instructor, our fellow classmates were a strange group, to say the least. Don't get me wrong: they were lovely, lovely people. But while I am by no means a wiz in the kitchen (hence the class...) I know to hold the handle of a pot when stirring, that sweetbreads are not pastries, and that while yes, duck, chicken, and goose are all considered "poultry" they are in fact, different...

3. We taped out of our culinary adventure around 2:30 just in time to hit up the teen dance championships taking place in the same venue.

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And the only thing more awkward than using the word "snatch" in a post you know your mother is reading is watching 16 year-old lyrical jazz dance solos.

All in all, a truly cultural weekend full of learning experiences: the planks in Friday night's class taught me running has given me some crazy strong abs (which are hiding under the not-so-surprising muffin); Orange was right: truffle pigs ARE where it's at; and yes, there can be bad renditions of Footloose.

There's something to be said for intuition.

I am a firm believer that there is a sixth sense. An awareness that sends shivers down one's spine, goose pimples to appear on one's arms, or causes the thinker to wonder what dark recess of one's mind a random thought has been pulled. I think we often choose to ignore or push away these intuitions because they are usually sensing a situation or issue we're choosing to ignore for whatever unpleasant reason--no matter how many times it proves itself untrue, we convince ourselves that if we ignore it, surely the issue will fade away like a sneeze that never manifests itself from the initial tickle.

I thought of a professional friend last week... Someone I worked with in a brief capacity a couple of years ago, but who was so lovely and so vibrant that we took special care to keep in touch from time to time. I was a reference for her in her first professional job, we had lunch a couple of times, and there was the odd email update on her precious dog, Minnie, and her new home in a commuter town north of the city. I thought to myself late last week "I should email her and check in on the job and the house, find out how she and her newlywed husband are... It would be nice to mentor her in the way my good friend, Rosie, has mentored me." And so I added to my mental list, "get in touch."

I found out today that she passed away on Friday. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. And truthfully, in one of the saddest ways possible. The news hit me like a truck. I actually pushed my chair back from my desk in disbelief, shaking my head and covering my open mouth in shock."No, that's not true. I just thought about her. No. It can't be. Things like that don't happen in 2011."

I can still see her pretty smile, her bouncy curls, and her natural spirit that put anyone and everyone at ease. I know last week, some part of that spirit passed through me, bringing her to mind, allowing me to reflect on the memories I have of her. I will endeavour to celebrate her in the effort I put into my work, knowing how great an impact she would have made on the profession. And I will mourn the loss of someone who was robbed of life too soon.

Busybusybusybusybusy

I like being busy because it means:

1. Lists. I like lists.
2. The day moves quickly.

It can be disconcerting though, when you repeatedly get to the end of your shift and think "It's been 8 hours already?" The work is enjoyable, though, and when you're in something new and developing fresh skills and talking to people about subjects that are totally foreign to you... Well, it's just plain nice to be using a new part of my brain and to have shed the burden that was becoming a uncomfortably comfortable job. Savvy?

I'm also reading a disgusting amount. Mostly because I have to, what with the book clubs, and programming selections, and reviews I'm responsible for. But I've been in a reading rut lately so it's refreshing to turn into a book now and again as opposed to the TV. So far, that list has included:

• People of the Book, Geraldine Brooks (not recommended...)
• Every Last One, Anna Quindlen
• The Abortionists Daughter, Elisabethe Hyde (she just had to spell it with an "s", huh?)
• The Oultander, Gil Adamson
• Nine Lives of Charlotte Taylor, Sally Armstrong (loved it!)
• and my next is Midnight at the Dragon Cafe, J. Bates Fong

Anything anyone wants to suggest as a possible read to add to the list?

I'm really into the Local Natives right now...

Tomorrow is my dad's birthday.

And because five years ago he signed me up for a cell phone as a Christmas present, and regardless of how many new contracts I've signed and/or how may conversations I've had with Telus explaining that:

A) He died.
B) I am 31 and thus responsible enough to have my own phone

... they continue to send my "happy birthday" text messages on this day. I suppose I should be grateful for the opportunity to make as many free local calls as I want tomorrow?

Nah. I'd rather continue thinking Telus is just a bunch of @ssholes.

Happy birthday, Pop. And (pardon my French, Aunt Margie) f*ck you, Telus.

Coincidence?

On Saturday, at the start of my long run, I was pooped on by a bird. One blob, a direct hit to the centre of my right sneaker.

Last night, I pumped exactly 40L of gas.

Today, I bought a lottery ticket.

Cheaters never prosper.

Something I thankfully learned a long time ago. But it looks like I'm getting the last laugh again with yet another cheater (and so is Susie, and Orange too!)

The wanker who scammed us out of money for the Mumford and Sons tickets last October has been identified by police. I was contacted by a Detective Constable in the city and asked the specifics of my case and as of this morning with a little back info from me, charges are pending.

Take that, sucker!

*karate chop*
*kung foo kicks*

I ran in the extreme cold and have subsequently lost feeling in part of my earlobes.

One would assume one's lobes are not connected to one's eyeballs, and yet there are those who would claim the frost touched more than one of my senses. Last night we were watching the football playoffs and in-between the Chicago-Green Bay game and the Pittsburgh-NY game there was a brief flash to a Sports Centre sportscaster who, sitting at his desk looking at the camera, said (and I quote):

"Thanks for watching the game, I look like I'm tanned."

At which point the channel then cut to an unrelated commercial.

DID ANYONE ELSE SEE THIS?!

I'm really into this song right now.

p.s. An update on the deer situation: I'm currently at work, but while Orange was at home this morning talking to a Jehovah Witness at the front door (don't ask...) a stag ran down the street into our backyard. The latest, I'm told, is that Stag and Tripod are eating together under the spruce!

(two deer in the across-the-ravine-neighbour's backyard)

I know I'm 31 but...

... Holy feck, I really want to see THIS.

There is a deer living in our backyard.

We first noticed her on December 27th while we were unpacking Christmas gifts, back at home after the holidays. She was sitting underneath one of the large picture windows, curled up tight like she had been there since Hanukkah. At first she didn't notice us gawking at her through the curtains, but soon turned her pretty head, no doubt feeling the beady eyes of her Peeping Toms upon her. If it was possible, I swear you could literally see the "ahh, sh*t" look cross her face, realizing she would now have to find a new quiet place to shelter.

It was at that point we realized she had a broken leg, or some sort of serious leg injury. She got up, and slowly began moving done the ravine. No matter how discreet we tried to be in our staring she refused to stay in the yard and soon found her way into the across-the-ravine neighbour's yard.

But it would seem our house is still her sleeping spot. Night after night she returns to our picture window to snuggle against the wall, sheltered in the curve of the house from the wind, protected by the blend of her fur into the brick, as captivated in the quiet of our home as we are.

Concerned for her comfort, we eventually made the dreaded call to Animal Aid. We were worried she was in pain. But the visit from AA was anticlimactic... There is nothing they can do for a three legged deer. They can't destroy her, as it would involve firing at a moving target in a residential area. And you don't see many deer in full leg casts. AA told us to call them if she became immobile.

So as it stands, Tripod (that's what we are choosing to call her) is squatting in our yard, eating our carrots and bruised apples. Orange leaves salted water near her sleeping nest, and every morning over my Kashi cereal and hot coffee I watch her walk/hobble away, down into he ravine for her daily constitutional.

We've noticed other people supporting her with deer pellets and veggies. I've emailed our local celebrate vet to ask for advice.

Orange wants to get her a salt lick...

Bert's just happy to have a new sister.

So apparently it's possible to be addicted to ventriloquism...?

Who are these people?

In other news:

1. I started my running clinic last night in preparation for ATB. Now, ordinarily I'd say I was a pretty confident runner--far from the head of the pack, but I hold my own. Until last night.

I was literally the ONLY PERSON in a room of 60+ that hadn't run the complete race before, and when they posed the question to the group and I, the lone reed in the wilderness, raised my hand in the back of the room, I swear the record stopped and crickets were audible.

The cheese stands alone, I guess...

So I rallied, and while stuffing down a raging cold, readied myself for my first interval experience. And... I felt about as fast as this guy.

Me hopes I leave my grumpy pants at home on Thursday...

2. I called Lil'C "my partner" a few weeks ago--"come on, partner, lets go!"--and now he calls me his par'ner...

I heart this.

3. Are the holidays seriously over?

Resolutions 2011

It's a big year, what with our coming into the final 24 months of the Mayan calendar--December 2012 is just around the corner, peeps! So it's time to pony up and make some resolutions before the world comes to a crashing end.

2010 was a pretty good year... Lost of firsts, and some surprising seconds. Here's hoping 2011 is just as eventful with more time for family, friends, and fun.

As a review, in 2010 I promised to:

1. Floss. Yup, Orange got me on board this gravy train. Although I'm embarrassed to say we do this together in front of the TV. Perhaps not the most attractive habit to get into...

2. Be a (more) positive person. Specifically at work. Still working on this one, although the libearian camp I went to in early December certainly helped with this. 

3. Learn a new skill. Yoga (thank you, Fingers!)

4. Finish my annual Bronte 10km race in 50 minutes or less. Ha! Yeah right... But to counteract this I ran the Ottawa 1/2 Marathon in 2:00:11 which I think is pretty damn good, and a killer Boxing Day 10 Mile Race in 1:35.

5. Get a better deal on car insurance. God, I'm old... This I'm sad to say was a dismal failure for 2010, but with great hope for 2011, in a combo attempt with Orange and his house insurance. The joys of cohabitation!

6. Shock someone with a decision. Hmm... Well, I accepted a new job in 2010, did I tell you that? I'm now a slightly bigger deal, in a substantially larger, personal office. It was a wrestle back and forth between two opportunities. In the end I took the less impressive, less financially profitable path. Shocking? Maybe not. But a big change none the less...

7. Give more. Check, check, and check.

8. Lose the muffin top. Le sigh...

9. Develop a green thumb. Totally! Orange's house fed this resolution with ease, and after tilling and tending to the front and side yard in spring and summer, I'm eager to see what I can do with the space in 2011. I've already got plans to expand the gardens and to get Orange's mom in on the work with her crazy knowledge of perennials.

10. Complete at least half of my birthday activities with Fingers. Another failure, although we did do a lot of other groovy things together, like yoga, Florida, Zenomenon, our/her first race (*eye roll*). I'm determined to dig this list out of my moving boxes and get to work on it for 2011, though.

11. Cancel my cable. Pray Shiloh I can convince myself to actually follow through. Ha! Done and done, although technically I only cancelled it because I was moving into Orange's house where he has a satellite receiver... *blush*

As for 2011, well, let's get things started off right:

1. Put more into investments and get more financially minded.
2. Take a risk. A big one.
3. Learn something new.
4. Travel somewhere.
5. Be more empathetic.
6. Run Around the Bay in less than 3 hours.
7. Get a better deal on car insurance (!!!)
8. Start taking vitamins daily.
9. Lost the muffin top...
10. Get out of my reading comfort zone.
11. Eat more locally.

Anyone want to volunteer theirs?

Just in case we don't talk tomorrow...

... Christmas comes but once a year. And now it's here!



Merry Christmas. Peace and joy to everyone and theirs.

I'm Catholic so I'm allowed to giggle at this...

I've just baked my weight in ginger snaps.

I love a good snap. They're the best for coffee dunking and milk dipping. One of my favorite parts of the Christmas season--although closely tailed by Christmas Comes But Once a Year and my annual Christmas Eve trip to the market--is perhaps the exchange of Christmas baking. We make the standard macaroons (which I could eat until the cows come home...), Christmas cake, and grandma sends shortbread and mince meat pies. But then there are the peanut butter squares and Nanaimo bars from next door, and the ladies at church give us bacon buns, BSB shares his nuts with the neighbourhood (tee hee...) etc. etc. etc.

In Edmonton, a friend used to make butter tarts that were to die for, and were even better when kept frozen and eaten cold. Yum!

I'll now add to this annual mix my snaps, which considering the company I keep logically must be of the ginger variety. Being that my butters hardly needs 60 sugared cookies, my peeps best keep their eyes peeled for random deliveries. Speak 'nay' now or be sure to receive your fair share...

There is merit to organization...

... Says the librarian.

Because of the super duper Christmas spreadsheet I'm rocking, I was able to power through the mall tonight and in less than an hour cross nearly a third off my list. This isn't to say I'm not putting thought into my gift giving, 'cause no one loves surprising someone more than me, it's just trying to find the time to squeeze it all in.

And truth be told, I love being jammed into line with a million other people at Christmas time, routing around in piles for the right size or colour or scent. It's like a tamed-down version of The Amazing Race with a Feliz Navidad soundtrack and without the $250,000 grand prize or watermelon in the face...

p.s. Although we have a wood stove, I hesitate to use it when Orange is away because with my luck I'd cause some sort of damage to his newly varathaned floors. So in an effort to increase the festivity in the house I downloaded the fireplace app...

NetFlix blows my mind...

I've just spent the last 30 minutes perusing their ridiculous collection of offerings and I'm not sure where to start:

An Education?
Season one of Mad Men?
A PBS documentary on the Amish?

How is Blockbuster still in business? Hallelujah, Play Station 3.

And save your breath to cool your porridge, Beef... Yes, there's an app for that...

Things there are a lot of in our fridge:

1. Bags of lettuce
2. Bags of milk
3. Bags
4. Bars of cheese
5. Jars of peanut butter, both natural and the fake stuff
6. Ketchup (thank you CostCo...)

*sigh*

It's like I'm reverting to 2001. Next thing you know I'll be eating Kraft Macaroni and Cheese out of the pot.

Somebody... Intervene... Please... Before I end up in a diaper.

Decisions are gross.

Is it okay to admit that?

But after 31 years I'm coming to the conclusion that I need to get better at making them, because what I have to say can be pretty good (from time to time... Although the decision to back shave my hair when I was 11 was perhaps not one of my best [thanks mom...])

What truly impresses me, though, is watching my friends and the decisions they've made over the last few years and the places they've gone because of it. Not always comfortable choices, not always popular choices, but decisions they had to make, for lifestyle, happiness, and opportunity.

So this one goes out to all y'all, and you know who you are. Thank you for having the b*lls to stand tall for what you want and need. You've inspired me in many ways, some of which you'll never know.

Thank you for being brave, peeps.

"I'll I want is what is coming to me! All I want is... My fair share!"

This past summer I had the pleasure of a play date with Belly's baby girl, who's not so much a baby anymore, especially now that she's packing her own backpack to bring with her where she goes (the contents of which include a stuffed bunny, some Goldfish crackers, and one purple plastic princess high heel.)

I can't make this sh*t up.

It would seem Belly's baby is not alone, however. I guess princess accessories are what all good girls are as asking for this Christmas... This gem comes to me courtesy of Fingers and her ridiculously adorable quasi-niece whom I haven't seen in quite sometime, but judging by this letter, is someone I'd like to hang out with:

Dear Edie:

Please come visit sometime soon, and please bring your ridiculous cuteness with you.

Sincerely,

Library Lady.

I played Guess Who for the first time in many moons last night.

It's a classic game, really. Totally fun, and totally ridiculous. We laughed our pants off. You know how to play, right? Two players, both holding a board with flip-up tiles, each tile with a different face. Choose a card from the deck of faces, and take turns asking descriptive questions to determine which face your partner is holding.

Seeing the face tiles again for the first time brought back a lot of memories. There's Max, the Mario-esque character; Bill, the jaunty red-head; Susan, who wears too much make-up; Richard, the sinister prick; and my favourite, Herman.

While the premise of the game is totally simple, you can really shake things up based on the questions you ask. The way I see it, there are three ways to play Guess Who:

1. Take the classic route, and ask the generic questions that, provided your brain-to-trigger finger synapses are functioning properly, will win you the game in the most direct manner possible. If it's the thrill of the win that fuels your fire, take this path of least resistance and you'll surely capture the Guess Who cup. Stick with questions like:

• Are you a man?
• Do you wear a hat?
• Are your eyes blue? 

2. If you're a gambling wo/man, walk the wild side. Seriously consider the tiles on your board, and make note of their unique physical attributes. If you're smart, you'll pull out those differences that will eliminate the largest segments of the population first, while challenging your partner to take a closer look at their person. Consider questions like:

• Do you have free hanging lobes?
• Does your person have crows feet?
• Does your person appear genuinely surprised?

3. Unleash the gauntlet and move beyond the physical. Really "consider" your tiles... Think of the man behind the face, and the life they lead outside of the Guess Who game board. This is my preferred method of play, and while more subjective and thus substantially more likely you'll encounter differences of opinion between your partner and yourself, thus increasing the chances of your making a monumental mistake, it's decidedly more fun. Questions might include, but are not limited to:

• Was your person ever part of the military? If yes, consider flipping down those tiles wearing a beret (obviously), those with a snarly face, and those with a moustache (I'm just sayin'...)
• If your person was in an orchestra, would they sit in the brass section or the string? If your opponent says "string", consider flipping down those persons with large lips, puffed cheeks, and/or a red face ( from blowing on those horns...)
• Does your person have a substance abuse problem? If yes, consider flipping those tiles with shifty eyes, those who appear either too happy or too sad, and the dishevelled (David)

All in all, if you're looking for something to do this weekend, consider Guess Who. I'm pretty pumped to pick it up again tonight, and can only imagine how a wobbly pop or two will improve the event.

p.s. THIS clip made me laugh. A lot...

It never rains but it pours...

FYI, I had to double check the exact phrasing of that saying before titling this post... I often get these types of things wrong:

• "Play it by year..."
• "Per say..."
• "Possession is five eighths of the law..."

But seriously, man the levees and secure the shutters because a sh*t storm has blown into town.

You know when your brain reaches maximum capacity, and you're thinking about a million things at once, trying to cram as much into a single day as possible? "Can I get to the bank at lunch after I get that shower gift but before I run to the grocery store for that frozen pizza I need for tonight, and do you think I can eat soup at my desk?" This is how it is right now. I make lists of lists. And then I staple the lists together. And then I stare at my lists and wonder when in this poop hurricane I'll find time to suck back the stack of leadership books I promised to have digested by December 1st?

Today I left work 30 minutes early, with the promise of taking a 30 minute lunch tomorrow. I'm literally running on borrowed time...

The worst part? I feel like I've lost all ability to make small talk, because in the middle of a smile or laugh or simple conversation I'm thinking "will I have time to put in laundry when I get home and dry it before 7:30 am, because I don't really have anything to wear to work tomorrow..." And then I feel bad, because I truly do care, and I like the small talk, but my brain feels like a deep fried chicken ball.

And I don't even have a child! How you baby mama's do it, I'm not quite sure...

Bottom line: there are a lot of people out there who currently feel exactly... the same... way. I know it. In fact, one of the reasons I feel like a Chinese take-out staple is because you people are all in your own poo hurricane and I want so badly to help. So let's all do as Byron, the yogi, instructs dearest Fingers and I every Tuesday night: connect with our breath, relax our shoulders, feel compassion for our knees, and focus on something that's dear to us.

Me? I'll focus on you people and channel my positive energy your way. [[[[[{}]]]]]

(That's a computer generated interpretation of my positive energy flowing your way... Can't you just feel the chi?)

I don't usually post sh*t like this...

... So forgive. But this puppy is way too cute. Seriously. He'll make your day, whether you like dogs (Beef) or not (Library Lady). This chunky little dude melts even my cold, unfeeling heart.

Click HERE to be overwhelmed with squishy paws, golden rolls, and ridiculousness.

And as they say, happy Monday.

Raise your right hand and say it with me kids:

"I promise to keep away from lead paint dust and lead paint flakes."

Thanks to Hurr_ah for this gem. Hey, Lil' Fingers! Maybe Mother Bear's Game could replace Boxhead at your next Camp party?

Just an idea... Lead is everywhere, you know.

Three things that did not improve the day:

1. Getting the recommended flu shot and the subsequent flu-like symptoms that the nice public nurse ladies insist you won't get, including that creepy bruised feeling in your arm where the needle went in.
2. Left over salmon and peas for lunch that you really never wanted to eat when it was fresh salmon and peas.
3. The Little Couple marathon on TLC.
4. Tooting three times in yoga class.

 Add "poor math skills" to this list.

Cute he is, yes.

Successful Halloween it was, mmm.

Thank you to...

... Lil'Fingers for bringing this crucially cerebral article to my attention: Dogs Looking Depressed in their Halloween Costumes.

The hands down winner in this sad competition is the pug.

-----

October really is the best month--the return of sweaters and jeans without sweating, candy apples once again become socially acceptable, and we celebrate Thanksgiving, closely followed by my second (near first) favourite holiday: Halloween.

Like Claire, I'm a bit fanatical when it comes to Halloween, driving all over the countryside looking for a collection of white pumpkins for my ghostly jack-o-lantern display, forcing Orange to buy full-sized chocolate bars to hand to perfect strangers just so we can be "the good house" on the street, spending hours perfecting a ghoulish motif in the front yard. While I haven't gone so far as to dress dearest Bert in his own costume (tuxedo aside...) don't think I didn't contemplate it.

I thought turning 30 last year would have put an end to this foolishness, but every year I come back with an excited bubble in my tummy. I think I've come to the conclusion I will never be too old for this holiday, nor will the excitement of costume planning ever get lame...

... However lame that might make me.

Update:

We were scammed.

People totally and completely suck.

I'm sceptical to a fault

As previously mentioned, I heart Mumford.

Knowing I was desperate to see them, Orange scouted out three tickets online on the Mumford website from what appears to be a very sweet girl/fan who herself is not able to make the show. Orange has made this sort of transaction before, and is willing to go ahead with the sale on a hope and a whim that the tickets will indeed arrive in the mail next week. I, of course, am sceptical of the entire situation. I poked holes in her story and my inner "Thomas" doubted all over him:

Why isn't she able to go? Where does she live? It's convenient she's four hours away, huh? What if we EMT her the money and she never sends the tickets? What's her motivation to send them after we give her the money? How do we know she even has tickets? 

Needless to say, Orange backed off the expense.

Bottom line: I work hard for the money I have and don't want to throw it away. Especially not an amount that would seriously put a dent in our "basement fund". But I realize I'm also being very negative. So taking a page from dearest Orange's book, I took a chance and emailed her myself. I got the same sort of information from her, offered her $50 less a ticket than Orange did and she gladly excepted. In fact, in reality, she could be selling these on Kijiji for ten times the amount I'm offering her... As it is, she'll only be making $15 a piece off us. Unless of course, she's scamming us entirely... Le sigh.

Blarg.

Anywho, I'm taking the chance and chalking it up to a "learning experience". Either I'll EMT her the money and in a few short days receive my Canada Post Priority mail package with three hard copy Mumford and Sons tickets, and my faith in humanity will be restored. Or I'll EMT her the money and in a few short days I'll be broke and broken hearted, my faith in humanity confirmed. I'll start filling my mattresses with cold hard cash, wandering around places like Walmart shouting things like "Get off the grid! Trust no one! Beware of Satan, he lurks on the Mumford and Sons website!"

I have many talented friends...

1. Poo takes amazing, candid photographs.
2. Free Samples can do taxes using long division.
3. Fingers could organize a herd of cats.
4. Orange plays a ridiculous guitar (although he's very bashful about this, and will probably throttle me for even mentioning it...)
5. Pants paints beautifully.
6. Beef's soup is out of this world.
7. Both Susie and Belly can dance like they're on Electric Circus.
8. Sleeves is a beautiful writer.
9. Hurr_ah is the best customer designer I know.

Out of all my friends, though, I'd have to say BSB is the most talented.

When we first started our "hanging out" so to speak, he lived in a hovel down the street from my apartment. Being a Contractor with his own business, he was kept busy improving other people's homes--additions, renovations, garage-mahals, etc. Although I'd heard about his legendary skill, I'd never seen his handy work myself.

Then a few summers ago he built a bunky at his parents cabin.

From the ground up.

Without a drawing, beyond the one in his head.

While he had an assistant at the time, the work was primarily his--from the design, to the construction, to the finishing touches. To this day, I'm blown away when I pull up to their cottage get-away and see this brand new building blending perfectly with its surroundings as though it's been there the last 100 years. What blows me even further away, is that he's built by hand a structure that  (2012 notwithstanding...) will still be kickin' 100 years from now, long after me and my career-esque contributions have faded into the abyss...

BSB has since turned his attention to his own home which I've come to love as if it were my own. Both he and Fingers have put so much love and effort into it, it's simply unrecognizable: they did away with walls, built a brand new kitchen, installed a second floor where before there was none, and a finished basements with *gasp* (working) closet doors!

*wink*

Up for sale and ready for a new owner, this is one house I'll be sad to see go (where are we going to have our Cinco de Mayo parties now!?) But while I'm playing the little black rain cloud "pining" for the coziest house around (excuse the pun...), I am proud as a parent at how hard the two of them--in particular BSB--have worked. His skill truly amazes me.

(although I still wouldn't call him to refinish my antique chest... *wink*)

Yoga x2 = 3x the comedy!

This is math even I can do.

I (thought I) started two different yoga classes this week.

First up, a surprise birthday gift from dearest Fingers: 10-weeks of yoga at a local studio. When Fingers registered us with (get this...) "Saffron", the studio owner, she was given two strict instructions:

1. No revealing clothing--shorts, tank tops, etc. Nothing immodest. In other words, no yoga clothes.
2. No eating 3 hours prior to the class. Apparently flatulence is a problem.

No joke.

Needless to say we were both expecting (for lack of a better phrase) a bit of a sh*t show last night. What we got was an amazing, relaxing, semi-private class with an hour of poses that will eventually, over the course of the ten weeks, turn into flow yoga. I'm pretty excited. After a high-impact weekend (helping Fingers with a move, extensive yard work on a three-tiered lawn, and a long run) I could literally feel the aches and pains melting out of my back and legs.

That said, Shavashna yoga included two of three yoga surprises:

1. Byron, the yoga instructor, had a moustache.
2. Mid warrior pose, a cat came strolling into the room. I gather he's Saffron's cat, and has the run of the studio. Judging by his size, I'd say he could use a bit of yoga himself...  Fingers said during savasana he was licking her fingers.

The second yoga class I'm registered for is here at work. As a fundraiser for the United Way, a staff member who is part-way through a yoga instructors course, is offering 8-weeks of morning yoga in an effort to fulfil her voluntary instruction hours before the big exam. So I was up at dawn's crack this morning to get my bran buds and coffee in before setting off for work an hour and a half early.

Well puff my cheeks and call me gopher (as Dad used to say). Wouldn't you know it, our classes start next week! So here I am at work at 7:40am wearing yoga pants and flip flops, ready and excited to downward dog.

Meh. Perhaps this is Buddha's way of getting back at me for thinking about dinner during last night's meditations...?

Cow bell isn't enough anymore...

I'm currently pretty much obsessed with Mumford and Sons.

I'm not sure if it's their totally unique sound or what. The lyrics? Maybe it's the banjo? You know my thoughts on banjos. But I literally can't get enough. They are on my permanent play list. I have a sickness, and the only cure is more Mumford and Sons.

They're playing the Sound Academy on November 13th and while tickets are completely, totally, and irrevocably sold out (they're sold out everywhere...) I'm committed to standing outside the venue willing to exchange large amounts of cash for any kind of seat that will get me through the door. It's rare I get this kind of musical inclination so I'm going for it (and hope Orange will tag along, being that he's beyond musically versed and has scalped many a seat.) While I've seen my fare share of concerts, I haven't been this jazzed about someone for awhile. And h*ll, if I can do it for Octoberfest and Walter Ostanek I can certainly do it for modern talent.



If you haven't already, go out and get yourself Sigh No More. You won't regret it.

If I was on Facebook, I'd start a group called "I'm sorry your house was destroyed during that hurricane/tsunami/earthquake... Hate to say I told you so, but you should'a let FritoLay keep it's noisy bag."

I read in the Globe and Mail yesterday that Frito Lay was pulling it's SunChip biodegradable bags from the shelves of all US distributors because of customer complaints over the bag being "too noisy."

While I have first hand knowledge of this noise level (in Florida, Orange and I tried desperately to open a bag of Harvest Cheddar on the sly with dearest Fingers asleep in the room next door... needless to say our covert cover was blown...) the occasional *crinkle crinkle* is hardly something to complain about. And sweet baby Shiloh, it's hardly something to post dozen of YouTube videos about or start social networking groups over! Nearly 50,000 people are boycotting SunChips on Facebook. Clearly, time to these idiots is worth about as much as our planet.

I'm happy to report Canadians are not so cochlear sensitive, nor so feckin' stupid. The SunChip bags on Canadian shelves will remain both delicious and biodegradable. So the next time you're in your local Quickie Mart, pick yourself up a bag of French Onion or Peppercorn Ranch and give them a *crinkle crinkle* just for me. Then pat yourself on the back and congratulate yourself on being of superior citizenship.

"Having a pet is like buying a small tragedy for your family..."--Chewbecca

Goose went to the kitty basket in the sky yesterday.

After weeks of barely eating and drinking, his wee fuzzy body finally said "I think I'm done." And although a tough call to make, mom finally brought in the vet who did all the right things. After 15 years of being our runt, it was time to let him go. And we know he's up there in heaven with dad, lying in his lap, kneading and purring and drooling just like his old ridiculous self. The cat who was more routine oriented than a rooster, who took ten minutes to get comfortable on the couch, who pulled Liberace-esque shenanigans to get his way, but who liked his cuddle more than I like cheesies (and that's a lot...)

----------

A good friend of mine has always said, "having a pet is like buying a small tragedy for your family." So true. There's never been a time I haven't had or desperately wanted something fuzzy in my life--Mittens (19 years), Hobbes (5) and Goose (15), Gary (*shifty eyes*), Dr. Bert (3 and counting!) We all know we'll most likely outlive these pets, and yet they worm their way so far into your heart so fast, they become another family member. They unconditionally love you, slobber you with love and affection, all for a few pieces of kibble, a splash of water, and the occasional snuggle/foil ball...

And so, regardless of the heartbreak they bring when they do in fact punch out, I'll continue to have/want/beg for a pet. Their comedy alone is priceless. And if you're reading this and your fur ball is somewhere close, pull them in for a squish and kiss and thank Baby Shiloh for bringing us pets.

RIP, Goosey.

And none of those "Swarovski Crystal" figurines, either...

There was a time when the ongoing joke amongst friends was that with every new relationship I began, I would inevitably receive the gift of Sea Monkeys. For real. Three separate relationships started (and subsequently ended) wherein the first gift was that of brine shrimp. And while I appreciate the novelty of Sea Monkeys, my curiosity more or less peaked at the age of 12. So I'm left wondering: what was it about me that screamed "dehydrated shell fish"?

Along the same lines, I'm now currently the owner of multiple... Nay, numerous... miniature personal library kits. At the moment, I probably have half a dozen of these little gems in my possession, all of which have been gifts from very well intentioned friends. And while I made active use of my first personal library kit, I'm not quite sure what to do with the rest...? Wallpaper the spare room? Line the litter tray? Label and date my sweaters?

I'm slightly concerned what the third gift phase of my life will bring. Pray Shiloh my Carlsberg years don't bring with them a body language that screams "Royal Doulton"...

"Deep Thoughts by Orange" will likely become a reoccuring theme on B&J because the kid is so damn funny, I can't resist:

A random statement at 7:30 this morning:

"Besides mythical creatures, does anyone really play the harp?"

I can't make THIS STUFF up.

So many random thoughts...

1. Fall TV is killing me. Now that I'm installed a l'Orange, I'm blessed (cursed?) with satellite and consequently the ability to record any show I might want to watch. Going for a run? We can start House an hour late. Need to grocery shop? No problem... I can record Community and watch it tomorrow. UGH! Now there's, like, 12 hours of recorded TV I have to catch up on before the new week's episodes start. And Obama thought he had problems...

2. Cousin Toque, my personal Ottawa Superstar, has travelled half way across the planet to ride elephants, fill up on tandoori, and cheer on our Canadian athletes as an ambassador to Canada at the Commonwealth Games. His official title is "Media Attaché". I have no idea what that is (I thought an attaché was some form of briefcase...?) but it sounds very impressive. More impressive, however, is how hard CT has worked to get this position--a true example of what perseverance will get you. Conquering Kilimanjaro, the Ottawa Marathon, the Vancouver Olympics, and now Delhi... I mean this in all seriousness: is there anything you can't do?! Totally and completely inspiring.

Follow his footsteps HERE.

3. Thanks to Manrissa for introducing me to THIS LITTLE GEM. For a good laugh, click away... I recommend starting with "The Party".

4. My workplace is really into Book Trailers. Specifically, having staff/me create them. I don't mind, though, because it's a random opportunity to play at something creative in an otherwise left brain environment. This is the latest trailer of my creation for the newest Anne Brashares novel, My Name is Memory. Although a little "history heavy" at times, I'd recommend it for sure!

5. During my last week of holiday's, Orange gave me the best surprise. After five days of totally miserable cottage weather (cold and wet), we woke up on the Friday to sun. Totally amazing! I was just getting ready to head down to the dock, book in hand, primed for some much needed sun time when...

"Damn," says Orange. "I forgot to pay my credit card bill. I'm going to need to go into town to the bank. Will you come with me?"

Say what? Nah uh, I'm not going anywhere. I've been waiting all week for some heat and now that it's here I'm going to stuff my self with it. But of course after several minutes of "Please? Don't make me go alone..." I caved, throwing on my grubbiest clothes worn all week in front of dock fires, and topping my greasy hair with a toque. I hardly needed to dress for a car ride...

Needless to say, our trip to the bank was a beard for the real purpose beyond our drive to Gravenhurst: a birthday trip on the RMS Segwun! There's nothing more fun than the "boop boop booooooop" of the Segwun steamship tooting it's way past the cottage, and here I was getting my very own 2 1/2 hour lunch cruise, complete with turkey dinner! Hands down, the best part of our vacation. It's just too bad I didn't think to slap on deoderant... Thank heaven's I remembered a bra...

*blush*

Here's a video of a drive-by boating and the Segwun's subsequent courtesy toot. I'm losing my mind... Orange is... Well... Losing patience with my camera work:

"Damnit, Library Lady!"

If you have two minutes to waste, do it with this:

Right in the kisser, indeed.

"They don't call it the Amazing Race for nothing..."