How old is "too old"?

Ho hum pigs bum. I bought a pair of camouflage pants tonight. They look like this:
And now they's gots me thinking. Prior to this purchase, I was involved in a very deep discussion (not really, it was actually pretty shallow) with a good friend (let's call her C. Hietanen. No, that's too obvious. What about Cindie H?) I was worried that I might be too old for such novelties. We decided that the decision to buy or not to buy the camo pant really rested on the size of the print, the wash, and the cut... Bah. In the end, I think I went with the very pant we decided I was too old to have.

I've since realized I've been having that feeling a lot lately--too old to be taking CDs like 'Now 20' out of the library (for the record, I checked it out myself, and snuck it into my bag before anyone would see me.) Too old to be browsing the bar scene (Cougar pounce!) Too old to be choosing the 'Elle Girl' instead of the 'Maclean's' in the doctor's office waiting room...

So here's my question, dear Reader. How old is too old to be sporting the camo pant? At what point is it deemed unacceptable for me to be reading up on Misha Barton's make-up regime? And is it okay that I still enjoy Shakira?

Sometimes I find it hard to believe I'm 27 (*she writes as she reaches for the remote to her Nintendo prepared to play yet another hour of Super Mario*)

I've been thinking, and I've come to the conclusion I've had too many (*ahem*) "heavy" posts lately, and so for this, my next entry, I'm going old school for you, putting together a mish-mash of random thoughts. This one goes out to all you blog lurkers, perhaps too timid to leave a comment, stuck in an office somewhere, working on something tedious, something heavy, maybe looking for a mental break. You know who you are...

1. Congrats to my good friend WSM, literary genius and the smartest heterosexual male in the history of library school (with the exception of that James guy, maybe, but only because he used words like "Byzantine" and not in an 'I'm smarter than you' type way, but in an 'I know what that word means' type way...) Also, a big hurrah to Sleeves, who never gives up on what she wants, and who will--mark my words, dear readers--be a world famous chick-lit writer some day. I will by your book.

2. I really like that little person show on TLC. I don't know what it is about those damn little people. And is it me, or does the father, Matt Roloff, look like a smaller Richard Gere?

3. I just saw a commercial for toilet paper made with cashmere. Fo reals? Above and beyond, people. Above. And. Beyond. Is this really necessary? Discuss.

4. Sometimes you just need a fountain Coke. Are you with me?

5. Why is Britney Spears dating Mario Lopez? Has she never seen an episode of 'Saved by the Bell'? Two words: Spandex. Twins.

6. I've recently discovered that my cat has lips.

7. Smarties mixed in with your movie theatre popcorn are a good idea in theory, but a pain in the ass, practicly speaking. You spend all your time rummaging in your bag for chocolate love when you should be watching, say, Daniel Craig all nippy noodles on the big screen.

8. Did I mention my cat has lips?

9. I know this woman, and I can't help but notice that the ass of her jeans is always slightly askew. Like, the back seam, which should, hypothetically, run smoothly down the middle of your butt, is always seriously to the right on her. My mission, people, is to determine if her jeans are just messed up, or if her left ass cheek is SERIOUSLY larger than her right. Either way it's messed up, I suppose.

10. I had a dream I won $20,000. Random, I know. But can I tell you who happy I was when I woke up? I was actually cheering in my brain, with a huge smile on my face (much like the one I sport when I've been into the vino). Such a bummer. I was all "Oh... Oh, I see... I get it... There isn't really $20,000 for me... Yea, that's coo... You know... What evs" (*scuffs toe*)

And that's it.

On that note, I'm glad to see the return of a few familiar faces--Keri and Manrissa, who, oddly enough, both live on the opposite side of the planet... You still all "Kangaroo-a-go-go" Keri?

The Stereotype

So I'm working in this temporary position getting a branch of the library up and running for RFID. My end of the project is pretty much done, so I'm joining the legions of other librarians lending my boss-lady a hand getting the library ready for it's post-renovation grand opening.

It's funny, because as a librarian I've spent so much energy fighting the stereotype that all I do is shelve books and put things in order ("Oh you're a librarian? So, I guess you know all about the dewey decimal system and stuff, huh? Ha ha ha...") and yet my boss-lady and I stopped ourselves today from getting into a full on fist fight, hip deep in kids paperbacks, as to weather or not we should shelve the 1500 books we'd just spent the last 6 hours organizing and putting in alphabetical order left to right, or up and down...

Say it isn't so.

And just like that, things change. One minute you can be all "woe is me" and the next you're feeling a kinda giddy. It doesn't take much: good friends, a phone call from your Pants, shopping, a night out, and a little unexpected attention.

The latest question: at what point does one join the ranks of the Cougar?

I give up.

There's this girl that I know, and I think it's fair to say she's embarking on a new relationship. It's quite cute, really. Lord knows, after all the wieners she's had to deal with, she deserves a gooder. Things are moving along "swimmingly" (to use her word). There's been wine. There's been lots of talking. I think there's been some kissing... She's happy, and that makes me happy.

But here's the thing, and I'm not really sure how to tell her... As happy as I am for her--and believe me, there's NO ONE out there happier for her than me--there's this little awful, disgusting, shameful part of me that just can't muster up the enthusiasm I know I should be giving her. She has stood by me through everything, thick and thin, and she's always had the words I needed to hear. And now, at the very moment she should be getting them from me (the 'give me the scoop!' or the 'tell me all about it!') I just can't do it. Just thinking about all those wonderful feelings she must be living--the butterflies and the rethinking every wonderful kiss--makes me realize my heart is still sitting in a plow truck somewhere in Edmonton, and that I'll never have that same heart back again.

I only wish there was some way I could tell her this without sounding like the gross person I feel I'm being.

New Column

For those of you dedicated readers (helllloooooooo [hello hello hello]... is anybody out thhheerrrrreeeeee [there there there]...) you may or may not have noticed I've been spontaneously adding to my profile column: a picture of my peanut, and a picture of the cutest baby alive. Well, surprise surprise, dearest fans, I've got another addition to make! I bring you (drum roll please):

The Freebie Five (as inspired by Lainey)

They are, in particular order...

1. Joaquin Phoenix
2. Josh Holloway (the actor, not the character)
3. Jim Halpert (the character, not the actor)
4. Daniel Craig
5. Clinton Kelly

Now, I should preface something first. These are not, as typically explained, the five fantasy boyfriends I could... you know... without guilt, should they come to my door and ask. They are, rather, the five fantasy boyfriends I'm allowed to have without explanation.

They are not the top sellers at the box office, i.e. your Georges or your Brads. They are not all your macho-i-est, nor are they necessarily straight. But I loves them. And I don't have to explain why.

So, your challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to post your freebie five in the comments. Hurrah for (some) boys!

Jealousy is a bitch.

"Little Thing", Dave Matthews Band

I can't remember where I was going
But I can't remember where I was leading to
Or what led me to you, but
Oh, and the weight is all through my head
The look of you, the sound
The way you laughed at me
From then and then, I didn't know where I was going
But always I cry

And so, hey, oh
The hands that pour my hands on you again
Hey, I will beg you, I'll beg, oh
See me, please find me again
Oh, I'm lost again
I sit here drinking coffee
Or water depending the time of day
But, oh, you're with me like a ghost of a mother
Oh, you're with me like the pain of a father
Oh, I wish I, I wish I could call you something
Other than the guy that I saw then...

...Do I even cross your mind lately
With more than just a laughing
Did you think as you walked away, maybe
You were, hey
Oh, I hope you did
So, hey, yeah
You would, you would have been feeling
The same thing as I am know

Halloween

Honestly, it's gotta be my favorite day of the year, next to Christmas, and Thanksgiving, and the day we go for pancakes and maple syrup at the sugar shack in the woods, and any day that involves cheesies, kitty paws, or Lost... But next to those things...

This year, as an extra special treat, Heather and I dressed as Hansel and Gretel. I was Hansel, Heather... Well, you can figure it out. We did not, as my mother wanted to know, go door-to-door. But we did paint the town. It was ridiculous, really. No, sorry, it was actually so beyond ridiculous, it was ridonkulous. But we had fun. So much fun. We danced. We flirted. We drank German beer (how fitting?) We distributed candy and bread crumbs (well, actually they were more like croutons). I'm mean, who could blame us for looking that silly when there was that much fun to be had?

Hope your day is filled with mini chocolate bars and Rockets (although, I always traded my Rockets for those molasses candies, because I hated Rockets...)

Chubbs

I'd like to send a great big "howdy doody" out to all my fat babies in the house.

Whoot! Whoot!

Yea that's right... That means you, and you, and especially you, Chubbers. Yea, you know what I'm talking about. That's right. You over there in the corner with the peanut face. You with your chubbified cheeks, so fat they should be illegal. You and your sausage legs all bundled in a blanket--don't think I don't know you're in a onesie under there! Oh, I know... Probs wearing your little stripey pants, too. Damn cute, fat babies and their tiny legs.

But for reals... Welcome, cutie. We've all been waiting on you. And you arrived fashionably late, as all ladies should. And you arrived looking better than we could have imagined. You're fabulous, sweetheart. And I mean it from the bottom of my fat-baby-lovin' heart.

Props to Madison, y'all.

Paula's Home Cooking

Apparently anyone can get a cooking show on the Food Network, because as of today I've officially discovered the worst of the worst.

Her name is Paula Deen, but you gots to imagine it said with a thick Savannah accent, a la "Pawow-la Dah-een". She's this woman who started her own cooking business in Georgia, and her specialty is something called 'Boston Butt'. I'm not sure what that is.

She has the most nasal voice I've ever heard. Today she made something called "Sausage Balls" (I've linked you to the recipe, just in case you feel so inclined...) These taste treats involve opening a box of biscuit mix, adding a pound of sausage meat, and a package of pre-shredded cheese. Roll them and bake them for 10 minutes or so. And such is the glory of the Sausage Ball. Don't forget to mix generic mustard and whipped dressing (not even mayonnaise) for your dipping sauce. You'll be happy to know this recipe will yeild you five dozen Sausage Balls.

I mean, for real? Is that all it takes to have your own cooking show? Open a box of Bisquick and slop some Hellman's in a bowl? Sick. I can't stop laughing. I keep saying "Sausage Balls" over and over in that awful nasal Savannah drawl... Say it with me: Sausage Balls. Sausage Balls. Sausage Balls.

Bhahahahahahaha!

I like Monkeys

The pet store was selling them for five cents a piece. I thought that odd since they were normally a couple thousand each. I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I bought 200. I like monkeys.

I took my 200 monkeys home. I have a big car. I let one drive. His name was Sigmund. He was slow. In fact, none of them were really bright. They kept punching themselves in their genitals. I laughed. Then they punched my genitals. I stopped laughing.

I herded them into my room. They didn't adapt very well to their new environment. They would screech, hurl themselves off of the couch at high speeds and slam into the wall. Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into its third hour.

Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive: they all died. No apparent reason. They all just sorta' dropped dead. Kinda' like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. Damn cheap monkeys.

I didn't know what to do. There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my room, on the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase. It looked like I had 200 throw rugs.

I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn't work. It got stuck. Then I had one dead, wet monkey and 199 dead, dry monkeys.

I tried pretending that they were just stuffed animals. That worked for a while, that is until they began to decompose. It started to smell real bad.

I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in the toilet and I didn't want to call the plumber. I was embarrassed.

I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortunately there was only enough room for two monkeys at a time so I had to change them every 30 seconds. I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so it didn't all go bad.

I tried burning them. Little did I know my bed was flammable. I had to
extinguish the fire.

Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys in my freezer, and 197 dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed. The odor wasn't improving.

I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my monkeys and to use the bathroom. I severely beat one of my monkeys. I felt better.

I tried throwing them way but the garbage man said that the city wasn't allowed to dispose of charred primates. I told him that I had a wet one. He couldn't take that one either. I didn't bother asking about the frozen ones.

I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them out as Christmas gifts. My friends didn't know quite what to say. They pretended that they like them but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in the genitals.

I like monkeys.

Reflections on a Home Coming:

1. Things never change.

2. The fact that things never change is somewhat comforting.

3. I've always believed that my father had the uncanny ability to find the most boring things on TV to watch. I've since realized that for the most part, these "shows" have one unifying theme: Tiger Woods. I'm pretty sure Tiger Woods is the most boring person alive.

4. Grammas are always good, especially when they take you with a triple jump on the checker board.

5. Traffic in Ontario is gross. So is the sheer volume of minivans on the road. Subsequently, minivan drivers are gross. I've always been good with math.

6. Ontario's Pizza Pizza is superior to Pizza 73. I'm sorry, Hurr_ah and Sleeves, but It's true. It's the dipping sauce. I love the creamy garlic dipping sauce.

7. I miss my library ladies. And WSM. But he was one of the girls at school anyway, for the most part. So really, I just miss my library ladies. Both from school and from work. And then there's Pants/Rosie... Besty.

Books Books Books

I'm feeling the need to puff myself up a bit. So here goes.

Over the course of the last year and a half in my stint as a Children's Librarian, using my lunch hours, breaks, and lengthy bus/LRT rides, I have read or re-read, interspersed with copious picture books, the following junior and YA titles (in no particular order):

Skellig
Whales On Stilts
The Clue of Linoleum Lederhosen
Kissing Tennessee
Fifteen
The Luckiest Girl
Jean and Johnny
Sahara Special
What Mr. Mattero Did
Catherine Called Birdy
Lucy Whipple
The Midwife's Apprentice
Matilda Bone
The Cat Ate My Gymsuit
There's a Bat in Bunk Five
Coraline
Among the Hidden
Princess Academy
Shug
Ida B
I am the Wallpaper
The Star of Kazan
Kira-Kira
Gossip Times Three
Girls
Worth
Spying on Dracula
2gether, 4ever
Kensuke's Kingdom
All Alone in the Universe
The Bailey Game
Spiral-Bound
Endymion Spring
Flipped
Bad Girls
Girls in Love
The Illustrated Mum
Feed
Noughts, and Crosses
Forever
The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants
The Second Summer of the Sisterhood
A Great and Terrible Beauty
Rebel Angels
Wild Orchid
Nicola and the Viscount
Grecian Holiday
Spanish Holiday
California Holiday
Ready?
Looking for JJ
The Perks of Being a Wallflower
The Fattening Hut
The Red Kayak
Someone Like You
That Summer
This Lullaby
Keeping the Moon
The Truth About Forever
Just Listen
A Northern Light
The True Meaning of Cleavage
The Isabel Factor
I Capture the Castle
Looking for Alaska
The Minister's Daughter
Perfect World
The Raging Quiet
Alice MacLeod: Realist At Last
Alice, I Think
Miss. Smithers
Girl, 15, Charming But Insane
Girl, 16, Absolute Torture
The Giver
Gathering Blue
Messenger
Silent Boy
The Beckoners
Love, and Other Four Letter Words
Sloppy Firsts
Second Helpings
Charmed Thirds
Not the End of the World
White Darkness
Feeling Sorry for Celia
Sang Spell
Teach Me
Angus, Thongs, and Full-FrontalÂ…
On the Bright Side, I'm NowÂ…
Knocked Out by my Nunga-Nungas
Dancing in my Nuddy Pants
Away Laughing on a Fast Camel
Then He Ate my Boy Entrancers
Startled by his Furry Shorts
How I Live Now
Small Steps
The Safe Keeper's Secret
The Truth Teller's Tale
Sumemrs at Castle Auburn
Dust
What My Mother Doesn't Know
No Shame, No Fear
If We Kiss
What Gloria Wants
Hard Love
Sorcery and Cecelia
Summer Sisters
Nellcott is my Darling
My Sister's Keeper
The Pact: A Love Story
The Tenth Circle
The Book Theif

(*ahem*)

Puff Puff.
That's all folks.

Just Call Me Oprah...

So I was on TV this morning. Yup (*stretches*) just another day in the life of a Children's Librarian (*pats self on back*). It was for Raise-a-Reader, which premiers tomorrow in the Edmonton Journal. Look for me in the library centre fold... Hey! Not that kind of picture! Get your mind out of the gutter.

But seriously. Heather from Hamilton says I'm like Oprah. So who wants to be the Gail to my Oprah? Hmm? Only, as Heather says, I don't look like a pug dog without my make-up on.

Thanks, Heather.

Gold Star

I would like to arrange something like this with my library peeps:

(p.s. A gold star to the one who can name the fantastical movie this is from...)

Susie: You guys, I'm really going to miss this place.
Coop: Me too.
Ben: Hey, let's all promise that in ten years from today, we'll meet again, and we'll see what kind of people we've blossomed into.
Susie: Yeah!
Ben: What time do you wanna meet?
J.J.: You mean ten years from now?
Coop: Let's meet in the morning so we can make a day of it.
Susie: Okay, so what is it? Is it like 9:00? 9:30?
Coop: Well, let's say 9:00, that way we can be here by 9:30.
McKinley: Well, no, why don't we say 9:30, and then make it your beeswax to be here by 9:30? I mean, we'll all be in our late 20s by then. I just don't see any reason why we can't be places on time.
Gary: Okay, then, it's settled. 9:30 it is. All agreed?
Together: Agreed.
McKinley: Good, because I have something at 11:00.
Gary: You just have like a trapper-keeper full of appointments, right?
McKinley: No, I just have something at 11:00, and I can't change it, because I already moved it twice.

Royal Smart Person

A royal smart person (namely, Hurr_ah) once said:

"Tis far better to get your life started in Hamilton, than to wait for it to end in Edmonton."

I think I shall make a t-shirt with this bit of wisdomostiy.

Bravo, Hurr_ah.

I don't ask for much. I mean, seriously. I'm already doing everything I can to make this as painless as possible for all involved. We're supposed to be grown-ups, right? So when I ask for honesty, I expect honesty. That's not a lot to ask for... It's not like I'm asking for a loan, or a job, or something else that would be considered a major commitment that I can't think of right now...

I don't understand where/when things took this turn. I don't understand. I don't understand. I don't understand. It makes me feel as though I've done something wrong. As though I'm the bad one--the one to be avoided and forgotten.

I guess in a way, this gives me a reason to hate him. I just didn't want it to come to that.

A Tribute to the Small Things in Life:

Due to recent 'issues' in my life, Pants has been sending me distractors--items of goodness meant to keep me busy at work, where for the most part I'm busy already, but when I'm not... Well, you know... I'm procrastinating.

But I digress.

The latest distractor is the God-send, Lainey Gossip.

Lainey is fantastic. A total cow. She says all the things we're thinking, but in a deliciously funny, well written way. For example: THIS.

Warning: if you're not into celebrity news/trashing, then don't hit it up... Savvy? (as Lainey would say)

There. That's all the warning you'll get. Now click on it, and get your fill of hilarosity.

p.s. I've added her link to my 'Favorite Places to Visit' section, by the by.