Galen Weston is a fox

Ordinarily, I'm against No Frills grocery stores. And for many reasons:

1. Although they have 14 different kinds of cheese, they never have the cheese I want. They have marble, and mild, and shredded mozzarella, and light medium... But not old cheddar. I can buy three packages of Cheese Stings for $2.99, but nary a block of old to be seen.

2. No Frills is home to the world's worst cart drivers. You know who you are. You're the same people who can't decide which way to go in a crowd--"Do I want to go this way? Yeah... Oops, wait no, I think I wanted to go left. Wait! Yes, left... No. No, it was right... I wanted to go right. Oh, wait. You know what? I think I'll just stop here in the middle of this crowd, blocking the only path through the mob, and think about it..." These are the same people who park their carts in the middle of the row, slowly meander the aisles, and stop to check out the shelves with their carts turned sideways so no one can get through.

3. No one needs 14,000 cans of Pork Beans.

4. I don't steal shopping carts, and rarely carry coins (I save 'em for laundry). So I'm generally sh*t out of luck when I need a basket at No Frills.

That said, in an effort to follow my New Year's Resolutions I'm trying to be more financially responsible. So last night I ignorez-vous'd my Fo'Tinos, and hit up the local No Frills.

The savings are redonk.

Thus, I'm a convert. I bought pitas that will go stale in three days (I'll just put 'em in the fridge...), President's Choice Vanilla Yogurt (instead of my Silhouette), lean ground beef (instead of extra lean), whole wheat Saltines (instead of Stone Wheat Thins), and 26 rolls (2 bonus rolls!!!) of toilet paper. I don't have storage for the paper, but I'll stick it under the bed until I can think of something to do with it. At $3.99, I couldn't pass it up, right?

Swimming, et al.

Fingers started me on a new swimming regime in training for my June Try-a-Tri. And I don't use the word "regime" lightly. She has me on a tight leash, and I'm working my buns off in that pool every Monday. Last night we swam a pyramid working our way up to 200 meters (eight lengths) in two minutes or less. In all, we swam about 1.75km in 45 minutes.

Side note: My cat is quickly eating me out of house and home. And when there was no milk in the fridge this morning for his daily fix, he backed me into a corner and assaulted me with his pillow paws and tiny nubbin teeth.

In other news, I've calmed down from yesterday--thank you to BG for his advice.

I am slowly going crazy, 1-2-3-4-5-6 switch...

How do you deal with a situation that's gotten so bad you literally have no idea what you can do to make it any better? How do you interact with someone who is so rigid and unapproachable you can't even begin to fathom talking to them? What do you do when you feel totally and completely backed against the wall? How do you move past the anger and frustration you feel at the inflexibility and selfishness, so you can begin to compromise with someone who has no interest in anything but themselves and their priorities?

I feel like I'm in Heidi's class all over again, and everything I say is followed by a "Yeah, but..."

Some random things:

1. The muscly armed landlord boy was over last night and will be fixing the heat ASAP. He walked in the front door and said "WOW! It's hot in here!" So that's a plus. No more having to stand in front of the fan for a cool down in between make-up applications and blow drying my hair.

2. I made flax muffins last night with cinnamon and cranberries. Super yum, and full of nature's laxative. If it hadn't been 10:30, I would have brought a few over to Fingers and left them in her doorway, just like she always does for me with her baking. I'll make a mental note to do that tonight.

3. I'm getting my hair cut tonight. Which meant I had to dye it again, because I looked like a skunk and was worried the hairdresser lady would judge me. And I hate the "Oh... She box-dyes" look I get from the other salon women. I feel the shame... I go to the box... (p.s. name that movie?)

4. I need a coffee. Perhaps I'll go French Vanilla?

5. That's it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

New Years 2008

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

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

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

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

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

Pet Peeve #1762

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

So just do eet. Okay?

Christmas Extravaganza!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

6) Yes, they will.

7) Bert likes the taste of pine needles.

8) Really? Just one? Ya think?

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

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

Christmas comes but once a year...

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

MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYBODY!

Fluff

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

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

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

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

Do you have a favorite Christmas song?

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

You seriously can't help but smile, right?

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

Santy Clause Time

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

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

The Inside-Outside

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hurrah.

"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire..."

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

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

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

"Mommy, why does Frosty smell funny?"

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

So now I'm p*ssed.

Don't expect another post.

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

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

Lovely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a flippin' experience.