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

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

...If you don't enjoy Halloween!

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

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

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

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

Happy Halloween!

Le sigh, indeed.

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

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

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

I'm joking, of course.

Sort of.

Halloween is a hell of a drug...

And now, as promised...

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

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

Thank you... Thank you...

*ahem*

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

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

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

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

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

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

I think I finally have it...

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

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

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

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

What do you think?

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

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

Home for a rest...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pet Peeve #964

Sunglasses that fog.

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

I hate that.

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

Yoga

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

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

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

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

???

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

*record scratch*

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

Rec centre yoga is defs worth the $50.

The Weekend Wrap-Up!

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

*smile*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sweaty time

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

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

*shakes head*

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

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

Visitors be warned.

Yummers

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

Me?

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

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

You?

Four funnies in one week:

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

Hmm...

*taps finger to lip*

I'll think on it.

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



"I said we!!!"

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

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

Irstfay atesday areway alwaysway awkwardway.

Right?

Is there anything that Bill Murray can't do?

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

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

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

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

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

There was no comment to that.

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

Just thinking...

But thinking a lot...

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

Is there anything grosser than a humping dog?

*thinks to self*

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

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

Right?!

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

Will.
You.
Polka.
With.
Me.

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

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

*shifty eyes*

Sexy Bus Tours of Eire!

Dia dhuit!

Did ya miss me? A wee bit, perhaps?

Ah shucks *scuffs toe*

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

Le sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Doughmore Beach

Doolin

Coumeenoole Beach

Views near Croagh Patrick

Priorities...

Faerie Ring

Donkey Dealer in Dingle

*blows out candles*

'Tis my 29th year.

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

Yup. Just as I suspected.

...

I'm old.

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

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

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

OhmygoodnessOhmygoodnessOhmygoodness!

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

8 days of PAID. FARKING. VACATION.

*twiddles thumbs*

I'm excited.

*drumbs fingers on desk*

I'm really not doin' anything at work.

*slurps latte*

Did I mention I'm excited?

...

'Cause I am.

*shifty eyes*

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

Ehn!