Hey, Awolnation...
... I think your song would be a lot better if it were called "Snail"
This is how an angel cries
Blame it on my own sick pride
Blame it on my ADD baby
SNAIL!
SNAIL!
SNAIL!
Fingers is living the dream...
.. And I'm completely jealous.
Smarty pants Fingers who works for a certain provincial environmental body (*wink wink nudge nudge*) has a fancy new staff project... She's become an apiarists! Yup, she's a beekeeper. All summer long she and a few of her fellow tree hugging buddies have been raising 10,000+ bee babies in Orange's family backyard (small world), and she's doing delightfully well. While not yet at "farm status" they harvested 40lbs of honey last weekend to split between the five of them, with another 40lbs estimated before summer's end.
This past weekend we celebrated their success with a Bee-B-Q (dad would be proud of the punniness of this reference) and a demonstration:
Very cool, Fingers. Very cool.
In a controversial move, this spider has clearly chosen a side in the ongoing debate: print vs. eBook.
Err, then again I suppose she could be arguing print is dead, judging on the size of her web and being that it took us at least a week to realize she'd taken up real estate on our shelving.
But it has to be said (for those of you not in the library industry)... She's clearly a very smart spider as those of us with eagle eyes will note she chose to weave her web at the end of the 636's, which is the Dewey range for "animal husbandry".
p.s. No spiders were harmed in the making of this post. Spider lady was later gently removed from her home via coffee cup and released ceremoniously into the rose garden out front.
FYI, just so you know...
... The Metro grocery stores now have their Halloween candy on sale. So you best get out there and get it, your Halloween candy that is, because you know how it sells out, like, every year. If I've said once I've said it a thousand times "where did all the Halloween candy go?" I'm like a broken record! I know its always impossible to find Halloween candy in, say, September or October... So being that it's only August 15th and there are only, ooo, say 75 days left before the big day, you should probably go out and get your stock of mini chocolate bars.
...
...
...
Jebus Murphy! Really? I mean, really?
I hate people sometimes. Especially Metro grocery store people.
Three cheers for fresh Onatrio fruit and local produce and summer type foods! Boo to Halloween candy in the middle of August! Vive la resistance!
Welcome to the neighborhood!
Our new neighbors took possession of their house on Tuesday. They haven't been around, or so it would seem, and I don't think they've officially moved in yet (unless they are Swedish minimalists and/or their religion prohibits they from acquiring material objects.)
That said, they have moved in their lawnmower. How do I know, you ask? Because it's 10:45 pm and he's across the street mowing his 5' yard like it's a beautiful Sunday afternoon with one hand on the mower and the other on his shandy. Could it not wait...? I'm Just sayin. I'm sure the two houses on either side with 5 kids between them love it. The people perving through our picture windows is about to get reeeeeeally good...
And I thought missing the block party was bad.
Thank Shiloh for dumb f*ckin kitties... This is SO much better than a potato chip necklace!
If you haven't seen this, you're welcome.
I'm dedicating this masterpiece to Toque, Pants, Lil Fingers, and Susie... (although, err, perhaps better enjoyed outside the workplace ["strong language"...] unless you have headphones... *wink*)
"I think I'll run around for no good reason and act like there's stuff I gotta doo-oo...
Yup. Its a good day.
A right thumping in an Ultimate Frisbee game puts one in the mood to blog...
Saturday was date night for Orange and I. Having both worked during the day and with it being hotter than two squirrels fighting inside a wool sock (what...?) we opted for the easy route of dinner and a movie. Unfortunately, unless you want to risk getting shived by the underworld demons who frequent the downtown mall, you're somewhat forced to see your film at one of two mega complexes. The one or two independent theatres we have cater to a "mature audience" with the late show commencing at 9:00 (if you're lucky) which makes for a rushed dinner date, not to mention the endless candy wrapper crinkling and frequent bathroom breaks required by the other film goers.
So off we trot to the cleaner of the two theatres in the new part of town (meaning you don't have to hose yourself down with hand sanitizer in between handfuls of popcorn and touching the arm rest), thinking we'll eat at one of the restaurants in the complex.
Now... I'm going to digress here for a minute: I'm part of a design team for a relocation of a building at work, so I know for a fact that there are parking requirements for any new build, as in a certain number of parking spots are required when you're planning out your space. The lot we were planning to park in tonight is a communal lot for the movie theatre, Kelsey's, Milestones, Montana's, Starbucks, your mom's house, etc. etc. etc.
This photo is taken from where we parked in comparison to the back of the building we were planning to eat at, because apparently (along with our invitation to the GD block party) we also didn't get the memo that everyone and their everybody's were planning to be in this mall tonight, or is it that 35 parking spots for 5 major retailers isn't enough?
Canada isn't the only thing that aged this weekend...
Orange and I spent the weekend at the cottage with his younger siblings and their friends. We had a lot of fun--lots of "boy-type" activities involving BB guns and chainsaws and illegal firecrackers purchased from the Aboriginal Reserve 15 minutes down the road...
Translation: I relished a great deal of time all aloney-on-my-owney in a deck chair with the company of Mr. Sun and two good books (Amy and Isabelle and The Other Side of the Bridge.)
That said... While great company, the brothers and sisters have aged me. 'Tis true. As if merely being 32 were punishment enough, it was their description of my iPod tunes as "classic old school". And then there was the time I referenced a timeless scene from the movie Anchorman only to be met with blank stares (none of them knew what I was talking about!):
Ron Burgundy: Discovered by the Germans in 1904, they named it San Diego, which of course in German means a 'whale's vagina'.This scene is amazing.
Veronica Corningstone: No, there's no way that's correct.
Ron Burgundy: I'm sorry, I was trying to impress you. I don't know what it means. I'll be honest, I don't think anyone knows what it means anymore. Scholars maintain that the translation was lost hundreds of years ago.
Veronica Corningstone: Doesn't it mean 'Saint Diego'?
Ron Burgundy: No. No.
Veronica Corningstone: No, that's - that's what it means. Really.
Ron Burgundy: Agree to disagree.
Damn them for being 18! Damn them for only being 11 when this movie came out in theatres! I have a sudden urge to apologize to my father for flippantly dismissing his recommendation I watch the movie MASH or give Doug and the Slugs a chance.
*stumbles off to look up the meaning of 'swag'*
(A term I'm told the kids these days are using...)
Egg on my face
I came home from visiting Grandma on Sunday to find my block having, err, a block party at the end of our court (in other words, directly in front of our house...) Sweet, right? And I would have been totally cool with it, HAD WE BEEN INVITED!
*sniff*
*scuffs toe*
We are the token d.i.n.k.s. on the street and the only house without playground equipment on our front yard. We are also the only house not in the street every night, chattering about juice boxes and Leap Frog with at least two children heaving off our legs (not that I'm bitter... I have a very lovely cat.) But we always smile and wave and make efforts to chat people up when we see them. And I'd love to be included in their reindeer games if it wasn't weird for me to join their post-dinner shenanigans carrying Bert in a Baby Bjorn. So I stick to the sidelines and water my plants and hope to get invited to the block parties.
Needless to say, both Orange and I threw down the WTF when we rolled into our driveway sidestepping the toddlers and sidewalk chalk.
"Why didn't they invite us?" questioned Orange, peering out from behind the curtains.
Mom and the Beefs we're on their way to our place for a family dinner regardless, but shared our slight with equal angst. We concluded "we had been weighed, we had been measured, and we had been found wanting" and that seemed to include (exclude?) fun things like block parties. Fine. Whatever, neighbors. We don't need you or your pooy parties, damnit!
So we had our dinner, and went for a walk, and as we left we awkwardly waived to the @ssholes blocking our driveway with their balloons and BBQs and smiles, and hoped our body language conveyed our indifference.
Le sigh.
-----
The Canada Post strike is over, so last night when I got home from work I checked the mailbox for the first time in a week. No mail yet. But I did find our invitation to the block party.
The Shore
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.
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!
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!
...
...
...
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.
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