Pancakes and sausages in the woods

Last Sunday I made the annual pilgrimage to Mountsberg Conservation Area with momma, pops, and Beef. We make this trip every year at the same time to enjoy maple syrup, pancakes, and sausages in the woods. And when I say every year, I mean every year... Beef was in a backpack when dad started taking her.

Ordinarily it's dad, Beef, and I making the walk in the cold and damp to sit in a log cabin hugging our apple cider, sucking on our maple candy, watching the guy talk us through the syrup making process (did you know it takes 40 gallons of sap to make 1 gallon of syrup?) But this year was the first year we welcomed our chubby nephew. So it was extra special.

While Mountsberg might not seem like the most exciting place, there's something very comforting about it. Not much has changed, besides the new signage and the fact you now have to pay for a Clydesdale hay ride (no matter... we always walked the trail, anyway). We visit the animal barn, pet the bunnies, learn about the boiling process, pretend we haven't already sampled the free candy in the sampling hut, and go back in for seconds (hee!).

We pass over the same train tracks on every trip and make the same horrible joke ("A train just went by... Oh, how can you tell?... Because it left it's tracks behind it!" *collective groan*). We stand in the same line up and wait for our turn to order breakfast. I hum and haw over what to order but always get the regular meal, and soon after regret the decision (piles of pancakes are rediculously filling, and to quote Mitch Hedburg "pancakes: all exciting at first, but by the end, you're f*cking sick of 'em).


And then dad being dad, he always orders the large meal, complains about the hard butter, asks "are you going to use all your syrup?" to which we always reply "yes," leaving at least one of the pancakes behind uneaten claiming "I always do this... I always order too much..." He's like Bear in this picture, vibrating with excitement at the idea of eating his pancake pile.

I am a self admitting creature of habit, I know this. I know I'm nearly 30 and I should probs grow up and get a life. But with the exception of the Rocton Fair, I can't think of another time of year I enjoy more.

p.s. A great big "hidey ho" to Cousin Toque!

More coming soon. Promise. Will stop being a bad blogger lady ASAP.

Toddlers and Tiaras can kiss my butters...

... My boy's going to win his first beauty pageant!

That's right, peeps, Bert has been accepted into the Canadian Living Pet Contest!

W00t w00t!

Please click HERE to view his profile page, share it with the world, and comment if you like. The more shameless self promotion we can do here, the better our odds of winning... If you'd like to link to him from your blog (*cough All Y'ALL cough*) please do.

We'll find out April 1 if he's been chosen as a finalist. But he's so handsome in his tuxedo, I just know he's going to win the whole damn thing. I mean, look at him!? Mimi the jumping cat doesn't hold a candle to those paws. And I think my caption adds a little somethin' somethin'...

But don't worry. We won't let the fame go to our heads. I won't be a pageant mom, and there will be no spray tans or fake claws. And when we do win--because we will win--I'll be sure to come over and Dyson Ball DC25 Animal vacuum all of your homes (eat your heart out, Mr. Beef!)

60 km?

So.

I'm doing THIS.

Bit nervous doodles 'bout the whole thing, really. But I figured, what the McHeckersons, right? If I don't make it the 2.15 hour cut-off, I get a free shuttle to the finish line.

It's amazing what an orange-haired person can talk you into.

You may remember from such previous entries...

... Such as "Kitty Got Crack, and He Don't Care," that 7:00 a.m. is an interesting time at the YMCA. Mostly old chicks in large bathing suits. This morning, after almost falling to my death on the treadmill and getting yelled at "for not paying attention" when only I was paying attention see, but my foot fell onto the wrong part of the... Oh, never mind, that's another story all together...

Anywho, as I was saying, this morning, after the treadmill at the YMCA, I was showering and getting ready for work. I was sharing the shower area with two of the aforementioned ladies (from here on referred to as OCLBS) who spent the entire time talking about the other ladies they "work out with".

"She will have left by the time we're done in here..."
"Well of course she'll have left. She won't wait for us."
"Mm hmm."
"Not very nice if you ask me."
"Not very nice, indeed."
"I hope you noticed she only did 15-minutes on the calibrated bike."
"And did you see how winded she was?"
"Mm hmm. I saw."
"Well that's what happens when you only come once a week..."
*smirk*
*smirk*

I'm happy to report the other ladies were gone when we got back to the locker area. Can't say I blame them. I'd be gone too if my workout buddies were judging me for being 80 and not staying on the GD calibrated bike for more than 15 minutes!

And to think I used to fear the MAC gym for this very reason, the tiny Kinesiology girls in their booty shorts and crop tops judging my jiggly butters on the elliptical. Now I have to worry about the elderly secretly scoffing at my semi-committed bench presses.

Gawd. Does it get any worse?

Top of the mornin' to ya!

'Tis St. Paddy's day, to be sure, to be sure! And to think not 5 months ago I was myself a wee leprechaun travelling 'round the Irish countryside in a bus built for carsickness. Oh, how I miss it. Not the food, mind you. But a pint of Bulmers would slide down quite nicely 'bout now. And there's something about the music that just makes me smile...

In honour of this fabulous day, some photos from my Irish jaunt (click on the Guinness goodness for more):

Ireland

Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig oraibh!

Ahhh, the joys of being a woman...

Good weekend, all around, regardless of the foul mood cloud simmering over my head for most of it. Cheers, Mother Nature.

Friday night, Orange and I hit up the YMCA and after vigorously running out the frustrations of 7-hours of reference desk questions, I nearly passed out. Orange is quick on his feet, though, offering me the Luna Bar he keeps in his backpack for just these occasions. To which I reply:

"A Luna bar? Dude. These are for girls. This is a girl's granola bar..."

To which he replied:

"What? No. Pfft. What? No. Liar. You're a liar. What? No. Pfft. Pfft. Pfft. What? Really? No..."

To which I replied:

"See the pictures of the girls on it? See how it says "the whole nutrition bar for women"? See how it's full of folic acid? See how it's pink?"

...

Saturday, Bert and I babysat Little C while Beef got her hair did. 'Twas my first time. So we hung out, watched Sex and the City: The Movie, had some tummy time, cried, cried some more, cried a lot, wet our pants, ate some formula, and slept the slumber of someone who had been fake-crying for our mommy for an hour. All in all, a great success (no sarcasm intended, for reals). And I'm seriously looking forward to my next stint of aloney-on-my-owney time with my baked ham of a nephew.

Sunday I slept in. Much needed. I also hit up Winners with momma for some retail therapy. But while she stocked up on black capris, I tried on hats. And shoes. Bloated is never a good way to shop. I then ate my weight in chocolate brownies at family dinner, drank an entire pot of mint tea, and went to bed.

And then this morning I woke up with the world's largest bladder, due in large part to the aforementioned pot of tea. The good news is, my water weight will help with tonight's swimming regime with Fingers. The bad news is, Fingers now has to put up with my bloat and my foul mood cloud at tonight's swimming regime.

Good times.

p.s. Hi, Fingers!

As requested by Pants... And because I lurve him the mostest...

Desperate times call for desperate measures...

What was he was thinking? Seriously, what was he thinking?

I'm crushed. Totally and completely crushed.

And to think this was someone I actually trusted. Someone I thought would make the right choice. He's an adult, for feckin' sake! A grown man! A sensible man!

But all this time he had me fooled. No indicators... Nothing to say he would turn around and do something this... This... Rancid. This disgusting.

And don't get me started on how fake he is! He couldn't be more fake if he was a puka shell necklace being sold for "cheapy cheapy" on the beach of some 3-star Mexican resort. I loath fake, and I loath liars. And from where I stand, he completely sold out. Did what all the kids are doing these days. Threw away what we had... The relationship we were building... All because he wanted to be "cool"... To be "in".

Grasping at straws, man. You're grasping at straws.

Seriously. I really thought this was going to work out.

Kanye, how could you have been so Heartless?

Bed sores and Listerine

I'm not nearly as uncomfortable as I thought I would be after yesterday's spin class. That said, my @ss took a work out from the seat and it feels like I have bed sores.

TMI?

In other news, Orange has started to leave/bring things to the apartment, which is cute in many ways. Mostly because he qualifies everything before he puts it down...

"I'm just putting this here for now, just because I might need it later today, but I can take it with me when I go... If you don't want it? Or you won't use it? Are you mad?"

For the record, no, I'm not mad. It's difficult to get mad at someone who willingly plays boardgames with you, even though you've told them again and again that you cheat. And I never make him take it with him. I like that he's leaving his giant bottle of Listerine and tooth pick dental floss thingys here, even though I'm slightly concerned he's trying to politely tell me I have halitosis.

Which I don't.

Do I?

*twiddles thumbs*

p.s. Do you know how difficult it is to teach a 92 year-old how to use a computer? 'Cause I do.

Spinning class this morning.

Almost.

Killed me.

Legs.

Like jello.

Wobbly.

Thank you, Nina.

*wobbles off*

To quote Foghorn Leghorn: "Lookit here son, I say son, did ya see them feets attached to that there baby?"

Le Sarah baby foot crack.

Delectables.

15 hours and counting...

Isn't it true, when something's right in front of you it's often hard to see it's there. But man... As soon as you take it away... Blam! You realize how much you needed it.

What's that expression? Absence makes the heart grow fonder?

Mattresses, etc.

Last night, after dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Beef and the calf, I trotted off to Home Sense. The bed "situation", as I like to refer to it, was becoming dire. While I don't begrudge my free mattress and box spring (with or without the mouse poop), I do find myself caving into the centre quite a bit. It's annoying, and because I'm 30 this year I feel I'm qualified to admit it's also bad for my back (le sigh...)

I bought myself a mattress topper for $60. It's this big, poofy, faux-down pillow that I strap to the mattress. Add to that my mattress pad, freshly washed linen (which, I might add, my gramma gave me when I moved in to my apartment, and it comes from her trousseau so it's super old and a billion thread count and so lovely soft and crisp...), the fleece blanket my Aunt Margie made me some 10 years ago, and my new-from-Santy-Clause duvet, and I was actually giddy to get into bed last night.

Seriously. Giddy. I did a little "oooo" dance before I got in.

Totally worth the $60. Ohmygoshponies!!1!!! I woke up this morning in a giant cloud of mattress topper love. Even Bert was impressed when I let him in for a pre-shower snuggle. He burrowed in for his spoon a bit deeper, talking the whole time... "Meow meow meow." And if Bert agrees, it must be good. He's even cheaper than I am.

Being cheap...

I've mastered the coffee machine at work.

While we have a "Seattle's Best" cafe in the library, I feel guilty buying myself a coffee every morning, especially when they sit at $1.85 a pop. It doesn't really go with my whole "lack of guilty pleasures" Lenten resolution. So my fall back is the coffee machine in the lunch room, which ordinarily dispenses acidic brown water. But at $0.50 a mug, you can't beat it.

*ahem*

The trick is to hold your mug off to the side to avoid the superfluous water dumpage. All you get is the brown stuff (and some rogue coffee grounds.)

*adjusts smart person glasses*

Yup.

I'm basically awesome.

The Secret of Spaghetti Cat

Has anyone heard the legend of Spaghetti Cat?

Okay, here's the scoop, as found originally on The Modern Materialist website. This sh*t is gold, Jerry. Seriously. It can't get any funnier on a Tuesday.

There’s a clip making the rounds surfacing from a New York FOX morning show called the Mike & Juliet Show where, during a segment about young women binge drinking, a picture of a cat eating spaghetti was inexplicably played. The original clip:

*wipes tears from eyes*

It doesn't matter how many times I see it, I still laugh.

Sources say the picture was totally, one hundred percent played on purpose. Apparently, an anonymous Mike & Juliet staff member reports spaghetti cat was originally from a segment on their Pet Talent Show. This particular cat ate spaghetti with a fork, but when the cameras were on, it completely froze up. As one can appreciate, this made the people working on the show laugh… A lot.

Cut to several months later and the staffers are talking about the Dump Button. TV shows, I'm told, have a five second delay in the event something goes wrong--a lawyer sits in the control booth, and in the event someone swears or falls or goofs or whatever they'll hit the button which cuts the audio, and goes to a different camera.

Normally, when they hit the button, it would cut to a shot of Times Square or the audience. But the Mike and Juliet staff thought it would be hilarious to cut to the shot of the Cat Eating Spaghetti, and, when the girl in the segment cursed, that’s exactly what happened.

*sigh*

Such genius.

Topped only by Winnebago Man... "I f*cked up the word rear..."

Woo doggy!

It was an important night on the Rock of Love Bus with Bret Michaels*.

We started the night on a group date, playing a high energy game of tube-top ice hockey, a baby doll standing in for the puck. Unfortunately, Melissa was body checked by an opposing team member and the impact caused her implant to leak. But don't worry, she was well enough to make it on her three way date later that evening.

Together with Beverly, Brittaney (don't confuse here with Brittanya) and Maria, Melissa went with Brett in the Rock of Love Bus for a romantic evening at Big Al's, the best strip joint in the South. Brittaney and Melissa used to be strippers, see, so they got their moment to shine up on stage. Beverly wasn't impressed, though, I think because she was worried her three kids might see her on TV with her hoo-hoo on parade. Although Brett "doesn't like to pressure girls into doing what they don't want to do" he thinks Beverly is being a big of a "buzz kill".

Needless to say, Melissa had a bit too much to drink and when she got back on the bus she drunk dialed her BOYFRIEND to tell him she thought Brett Michael's had hair extensions... That maybe his hair wasn't real.

Well. Gasp, etc.!

The other girls took the moment to further their own interests and immediately informed Brett of Melissa's infidelity and lack of commitment to the Love Bus. He called her on it. She said she felt he didn't appreciate her. He said "we haven't even had sex yet" so why were they wasting time being so serious? Why can't they just have fun? She made some important points about how the leaking silicone might be impairing her judgement, and they agreed to continue "rocking each other's worlds".

But Melissa got punked, because Brett called her on her lies in the middle of the backstage pass ceremony! Oh snap! Yes he did! Surprisingly, Brett chose buzz kill Beverly to continue the tour, as well as Taya, whom Brett said he needed more time with because all he knew about her was the she was Brazilian and drank too much. But poor Brittaney was sent packing. He said he thought she was stealing the other girls socks, and although he enjoyed her porn films, she wasn't the rocker girl for him.

*I watched this show for research purposes. I am a true journalist, digging for the facts, and reporting on the stories that matter to you.

"Kitty got crack, and he don't care..."

The gym in the morning is not usually something I'm into. But when a busy week of grandmothers and volunteering and parental trips to Panama call, running is not my priority. So when always smiley, happy Nina (of Nina's Bistro and Wine Bar fame...) asked me to go with her on Tuesday morning, I stepped to the challenge.

7:00 a.m. is an interesting time at the YMCA. Mostly old chicks in large bathing suits. The occasional young professional getting sweaty before work. But the relief of leaving work at night and thinking "I should go for a run..." and then realizing... "Ooo. Wait... I've already been for a run..." was phenomenal.

In other news, I'm offish detoxing Bert. The laser pointer has become the cat equivalent of crack, and I can no longer enable his addiction. Catnip is one thing, but laser crack is unacceptable in the Library Lady household.

And the countdown begins...

Today is Ash Wednesday, and for us Catholics in the bunch (holla!) we know this means the start of Lent, and for me, the start of no chips, popcorn (movie or otherwise), and a general attempt to be a nicer, better person.

This year, I've copied Poomobile and ordered 100 bracelets from the Complaint Free World campaign, which ironically arrived today. The whole idea began with a minister in the U.S. who challenged his community to a month of no complaining--no whines or grumbles or negativity. And the idea took off! The bracelet is to act as a reminder to you of how much/little you complain. When you catch your self in a complaint, you move the bracelet from one wrist to the other (which I'm assuming for me will actually cause carpal tunnel, because I sometimes feel weighed down by my negativity.)

Eventually, you'll recognize how much you're complaining, and make a more conscious effort to focus on the positive. Which is the challenge I'm going to extend to my coworkers. I'm also going to add in a change box, and every time I complain I'll try dropping a dime or nickle into the box to see how much I generate for charity. All in all, coupled with an overall lack of chips and popcorn, I should come out of Lent a more positive (broke, skinnier) me.

So today is day one. No complaining. Especially in blog posts.

No pet peeves during Lent.
No lists of things that bug me.
No mention of silly coworkers or irrational customers.

Think I can do it? Anyone want to try it with me? I'm raising money for the United Way

Side note: NO, you don't have to be Catholic. NO, you don't have to be religious. Sheesh. I'm not going all "Catholic" on your @ss. There will be no religious posts, or biblical references. Accepting the baby Jesus as your Lord and Saviour is not a requirement here at Bread and Jam (but being a nice person is... And that means you Innapropriate Lurker!)

*shifty eyes*

The Oscars, but not really...

In honour of the Oscars, without having to actually watch the Oscars, Orange and I rented The Changeling last night.

So what did I think of Angelina's Academy nominated performance? Orange captured it best:

"What? That's it? Way too long. And Tomb Raider was so much better. Two words: T n' A."