Twit.

So lately I have been coerced, persuaded and forced into peeking inside what is lovingly-dubbed 'Twittersphere' by my own twitterpated friends. They insist it's a practical tool for networking and doubly insist I sign up. But why? I have yet to figure that part out and they have yet to convince me.

It seems everyone and their Grandma are now updating their Twitter status every 9.5 mins. And I will admit, it is mildly amusing, but not enough to the point that I make an effort to stay updated. I already feel some people update their Facebook status far too often (I can't keep up!); perhaps this is the new method to their madness?

Does it not seem a bit vain to assume other twitter/ites/onians/philes want to know every mundane detail that's happening in our lives? I can understand Ashton Kutcher overtaking CNN and Oprah, but the rest of us don't lead such interesting lifestyles where our income is made from punking other celebs.

I sound cranky. I think I'll check out what my Facebook friends are up to-that oughta cheer me up.

School's Out for Summer?

Well, maybe not quite.

It's well into August now and raining outside. No kidding.

I stayed up late into the wee hours last night, hoping to catch a glimpse of this meteor shower everyone seems to be talking about. I caught about 5 falling stars, which considering I live in the city and can barely make out the Big Dipper anymore, is nothing to complain about. 

Oh, but it's not the same. 

As I sat outside on the deck gazing up at the night sky, I was suddenly back to my childhood summers spent camping with my family and cousins. All of us kids would struggle to stay awake as long as our eyes would let us to watch this phenomenon. After we were bored of campfire songs and the fire burnt out, we would all grab our blankets, lawnchairs and sleeping mats and sprawl out in a large clearing where the trees seemed to present the sky proudly. Sprawled out in a disorderly circle, our heads touching, little outstretched arms pointed out spotted satellites, and one by one we would nod off. 

Yes, even a satellite was a big deal. They were nowhere as near in abundance as they are today, which is sort of a shame. 

Falling Stars were unlimited and satellites were few; today, the opposite is true. 

So as I sat there last night trying to spot the burning lights shooting across the dark sky made light again from the city, I was able to relish a time I will always hope to return to: when everything was carefree and the life was as wondrous as the night sky.

Life Lessons From Randy

Many of us would find it difficult, if not impossible to conjure up an image of Randy Todd not smiling; it's almost as if the two cannot be apart from one another. If one were to ask those of us fortunate to have known Randy, to name one feature that really defined who he was, the answer would be his smile. Not only was it his most identifiable characteristic, it also told of his personality. It defined him.

Many of the reflections left by visitors to his Facebook page pay homage to his cheerful, fun-loving demeanor. People thank him for being the first one to show them kindness in elementary and high school, for getting into trouble with them (and no doubt helping them get out of it), for being a part of their memories. His humour was second-to-none, his character infectious, his zest for life contagious. He made friends with ease. There was no criteria for his friendship, you just had to be there and be willing to have fun. He was kind, fair and a friend to all. 

Trying to piece together rumours I had been hearing about Randy, without anyone to confirm what I had hoped wasn't true, I searched news articles of events that happened over the weekend in Calgary. Instinct had told me that the story of a young man who had died in a motorcycle speed-race, was the written end of Randy's life. It wasn't even that it involved a motorcycle, or that it was a race, it just seemed to be a spur of the moment opportunity that Randy would take. And it's not to suggest that he was reckless, as many inconsiderate readers with anonymity were blatantly stating, because he was not; no, it was simply an observation of the Randy Todd that I knew. 

He seemed to embrace what so many of us fail to see—that life is full of chance and opportunity. With that shine in his eye and smirk on his face, he would seize the moments that presented themselves to him. His own hobbies of music, skateboarding and BMX biking as a kid will attest to this and it was a rare moment I didn't see him participating in any of those activities. This side of him didn't change even as he got older when he discovered his love for cuisine and became a chef. His endeavours saw him move out to Calgary where he began to establish his life. Not one to accept the status-quo, he was a go-getter and after working as a manager at the Cactus Club restaurant, he decided to try his hand at real estate. Risks were not something he was afraid of, instead he pursued them. 

Randy was crazy about his family and the pictures and stories he leaves behind confirm this. I know that many of you who loved Randy are experiencing bouts of anger mixed in with your sorrow. No doubt some of you are wondering why he would put his life at risk when he has such a wonderful, young family waiting for him at home, when his life was seemingly perfect. Not one person who has spoken to him since he was married and welcomed two wonderful little boys into this world can deny that he knew how blessed he was. The Randy we all know would never chance losing that. But he was confident and full of fire and in the high of his life, the last moments of his life, took on another opportunity that presented itself. 

LIVE is both a verb and adjective. Randy took on both meanings. He understood to truly live meant to taste, savour and experience life to its fullest—to be ALIVE.  He was also lively, full of energy and pursuit. He taught us all, as adults and as youngsters what it meant to be present in the moment; what it means to grab life by the reins and go for the ride. When you want something, you have to go after it, because an idle moment is wasted life. 

Hopefully we all have had moments in our own lives when we have experienced euphoria, a tremendous feeling of great happiness and well-being. It is in these short lapses of time that life is suddenly simple and carefree again. The urge is there to take it to the limits and to live with abandon. Some of us make it our mantra for life, others heed more caution. But we all make decisions without really thinking them over. We all feel over-confident in our capabilities, especially when life is going well and the cards are in our favour. If we had the ability to see where our decisions would lead us, we might think twice. If Randy thought for a second that this challenge would change the course of his life and that of so many, we all must know he would not have gone ahead with the race. 

But speed is a thrill and thrills let us experience life to its fullest even if there is an element of risk involved. And I believe that is what Randy saw on Saturday night, July 19th. A chance to celebrate LIFE for what it was and what was ahead. After all, it was so good. And it was. 

Thank you for being part of our lives Randy, they are better for having known you. 

RrrimRrrrollerrrr to the Rrrescue!

Big news here in the Land of the Strong and Free : 

Now you don't need to lose your teeth to find out if 

you've won a bagel or a Toyota Hybrid!

A man from Ottawa—with the true Canadian spirit of giving—has created a tool to help coffee addicted Canadians have an easier go at rolling up the rims of their paper coffee cups.

I was at a Timmy's establishment the other day while on a lunchbreak with my co-worker Steve. I noted that Steve has roller-thumbs, which implies he has the ability to unroll the rim of his cup with great ease. If you look carefully as you go about your daily errands in public, you can witness Canucks fighting their coffee cups to unlock the prize that is hidden in the rolled rim. Various methods are employed for this task: pearly-whites (or coffee-stained, depending on how determined one is on winning the prize), car keys, nailclippers (did anyone else just throw up in their mouth a little?) and the fingernails of nearby seated Timmy patrons (hey, we're Canadian, we help eachother out). I can tell you, that I was not born lucky enough to possess roller-thumbs. My teeth no doubt, will come back in another life to eat me as I have been left with no choice but to bite into the rim in order to learn if I am a lucky cash prize winner, or the recipient of one of millions of Honey Crueller and Boston Cream doughnuts to be awarded.

Because it is such a time-consuming and stressing task (and we Canadians are too laid back to be bothered with this sort of thing), the Timmy Ho's corporation has actually posted how-to instructions on their site to keep us double-double drinkin',maple syrup eatin', salmon fishin', hockey-playin' freaks, happy. 

And they are as follows :

Like the professional curlers we watch on TV, they make it look so damn easy; but the truth is when we try it, it's embarassing and humbling, and it's not so easy getting out of the hack when you are gliding on the ice with only a broom to support you and the skip is hollering at you keep the rock steady. No, it's not easy for us amateurs —we need to eat wax still, because like Steve we were not all born lucky with roll-up-the-rim-to-win thumbs.

Enter Paul Kind, from Ottawa. He has created the RimRoller , a small apparatus you carry with you on your keychain, guaranteed to be with you any time you might feel a pang for a double-double coffee, or suddenly feel really, really lucky. 

So I'm thinking... shouldn't we nominate Paul Kind for The Greatest Canadian?

The Way They Operate

gomez

Friday saw Courtenay and I once again, at the old but beautifully revamped Commodore Ballroom to see one of our most favourite bands, Gomez.

This would have been the fourth time we have seen these English boys perform since we first discovered their music eight years ago in our Welsh friend's small Peugeot car, during a visit to Swansea, Wales  

Now, it's a rare thing for the Welsh to speak highly of anyone or anything that is remotely related to the English, however Gomez seemed to have struck a different chord with Dan and Parker. It was the song Whipping Piccadilly that started our love affair with Gomez who seemed to use every oddball instrument under the sun to make their songs.

That trip to the UK was a memorable one for us, particularly in the end when our other friend Danielle, had decided to go to Amsterdam to stay with family, while Court and I had run out of money and were left without a place to kill time and rest our heads. We both shared my Discman and earbud headphones, as we sat out on the sidewalks of London and lay around on lawns of rowhouses with our all of our possessions beside us like a couple of hobos. We listened and sang along out loud to Weezer, Dixie Chicks and Natalie Merchant and vowed that the moment we landed back at home and got our hands on some money (with newly found jobs) we would both buy the Gomez album.

We've collected every album since and have seen them every time they've come to Vancouver, so in a sense they've become like old friends, and our little secret. With each show, their audience gets larger and larger and this time was no exception, but it's so hard to keep your mouth shut about something you love so much!

It's not often that the opener for the show is someone heard of en masse, but sometimes we get lucky. It was the second time we had seen Gomez perform that Jason Mraz had opened the night. At the time he was unheard of - but he was great and Court and I both went home with his album. This time around it was Ben Kweller. Court had never heard his music but I am a fan of his anyway and he deserves his own tour because he's so cool in his own right. He's an unlikely sex-god with his retro stylings and hair longer than my own, but he can play! And there's nothing sexier than watching a man on stage belting out tunes and jamming away. Ben has great charisma and it felt like a massive house party.

If they ever come your way, I'd suggest you go check them out - you're in for a good time.

God Speed My Friend (and don't drop the soap)

Somebody has to go to Afghanistan and give the Taliban a 'dick-in-a-box' and who better than my friend Stepan?

And here is Sean with his Big Gun *ahem*, ready and waiting.

Waiting for the Taliban you pervs.

geez.

Those of us (whether or not we say we support the mission) still here in the comforts of our home, pray that Sean makes it home safely. He's got the spirits, the will and the determination to make it out there in Afghanistan. Better yet, he believes in what he is doing so this will all be worth it in the end for him. I hope that someday the kids in Afghanistan can be carefree once again with their kite-flying competitions.

We will hopefully meet up again when you return home Sean, and Eric will greet you with his beer goggle eyes and Mark can dump his beer libations all over you in sheer joy. And Darren.... well I try to keep my blog as PG as possible so we will leave him out of this.

I will continue to sexually harass you, as per the norm, and life will continue as you once knew it Sean.

Be safe out there.

Tag, yer it!

I was tagged by Joy back in December when I was on my Blogger hiatus (which actually means I was so stumped by the Blogger-Beta crap I just couldn't be bothered to post or comment anymore!) so I'm a little behind on it. 

So here goes : 6 Weird Things You May or May Not Have Known About Me (or were afraid to know)

1. I always manage to fog up the windows of a car, and I don't even have to be involved in a heavy make-out session, or even a little one for that matter. Windows get foggy, you can almost always blame it on me. 

2. If you are talking to me and I am not looking at you, I will still need you to repeat yourself even if I heard every word clearly because for some reason I need to lipread in order to comprehend. Yes you can even mouth the words without using your voice and I will understand you. 

3. I LOVE Q-Tips! The moment I stick those bad boys in my ears I melt! It feels so good :) 

Even though it's clearly warned on every side of the box that one should never jam the cotton swabs into the ear canal, I get in there! Maybe this is why I never have to get my ears flushed out which I absolutely dread (unlike some other weirdos I know), or maybe this is why I don't have half my hearing.... hmm. I <3 Q-Tips!

4. My friends have dubbed me the Lady of Indecision. I can never seem to make a choice and commit to it, which explains why I have spent a good chuck of change on application fees for colleges and abandoned programs I bailed on before I even started. Hopefully this fall I can follow through with the newest endeavour I have. Fingers crossed *

5. One nostril is smaller than my other one - or rather it appears to have shifted at some point in my life. Maybe this is why I'm a window-fogger? 

6. I have never met my real father. Honestly I'm afraid to - the only photo I have of him is one taken at Christmas time in '79 and he looks oh so suave with his smarmy moustache and tightly curled hair and he's a bit hooped in this photo as he holds a candy cane in one hand, a hi-ball beverage of some sort in another and appears unable to keep his eyes open as he sports a goofy grin. He was a hockey player, something I only jump on the bandwagon to enjoy once in a while, otherwise aside from the same facial features and hair, I'm not sure what we'd have in common. Certainly not candy-canes and hi-balls. 

OK so the rules go as follows once you're tagged you have to tag 6 more friends so my victims are going to be :

Erica 

Trish

Dara

Lindsay 

Nicole

Sarah

The Devil wears a Candy Shell

These bad boys right here are what cause me to whine about the added 30 lbs I gain starting from February right clear through to May. Forget the Christmas weight everyone's sporting once January rolls around, I usually hold off all Christmas treats so I can go bok-choy on Mini-Eggs! The Easter Bunny is always welcome at my house, Santa on the other hand can take a flying leap off the rooftop of my house unless he can convince Cadbury to make these year-round. I know that sounds harsh, but I'm an addict.

Be warned, they are so good and yet so very, very bad.

The Two LoveBirds

Now please don't get me wrong, I'm happy that the two young kids seated behind me on the train have decided they are going to be eachothers next suitors to swap lovespit. New love is exciting, I've been there (I hope to go there again... Cupid, I'm waiting ). And I can remember the silly antics of being a teenager as she squeals and turns away from him at his teasing remarks, only to bring her back in for a suckface session. I don't mind this.
But the meeting of their lips, the tossing of the puck in their mouths, the crackle and pop of spit, the licking, the slurping, the smooching, smacking, and short gasps....are really starting to drive me crazy.

xoxo

Before Her time

I can remember when 30 was old. I remember thinking our local nightclub had an 'older crowd', and now I am that older crowd. 30 isn't looking so old anymore.

My BFF (bestfriendforever) Courtenay and I went to that nightclub last weekend with my younger sister and her BFF - and we left around midnight. We felt overdressed, old and withered. When did it all happen? Where did the last 5 years go? I look around me and my friends are shopping for christmas presents for their husbands, wives and children. I don't feel my age - sometimes I wonder if it's all been a dream, like I stepped out of my own life for a breather and forgot to check back in.
Life is funny that way. It doesn't feel like that long ago that I last stopped to look at the flowers, but I know I've long forgotten what they smell like.

Courtenay's roommate Sherry passed away of cancer just the other week. She too was just in her 30's. I remember her cheerful disposition, all her fridge magnets proclaiming that we must be HAPPY and carry positive energy with us wherever we go lest life's trials drag us down. She tried her hardest to possess these auras, and even when she wore a scarf around her head to keep out the cold and when she went for her chemo treatments to ward off the breast cancer, she remained focused. When they declared her cancer-free, we were convinced those brightly coloured fridge decorations were on to something. She didn't lose sight that life can pass us by quickly if we don't take time to look at it, cherish it and hang on to any moment of it we can.

The cancer came back, but this time in her brain. I was still thinking magnetic thoughts, as I am sure Court was and we thought Sherry would win this too - she was after all the type of person who was meant to live her life in all its entirety, she was entitled to. But it was only a matter of weeks before it took her down - Sherry became blind, could not eat and eventually was unable to move. The night before she died, Courtenay, Brooke and I were talking about Sherry's condition and about possibly visiting with her. We talked about the quality of life Sherry would have in her condition and that it could be months still before it would take her - even then we still gave her a lifetime to live, because she was the type to pull through. She didn't. She died early the next morning.

The last time I saw Sherry was last Christmas at her Home Depot staff party. She came with makeup on, earrings and a bright festive scarf on her head. She was feeling great and getting better. Her hair was growing back and she was getting stronger, enough maybe to come back to work. I didn't see her again, instead I settled for updates on her condition, first positive and then rapidly getting worse again. Life passes us so damn quickly if we don't take the time to notice - I should have come to see you again and reminded you about your magnets.

Sherry, I hope you are still dancing on the tables wherever you are, shakin' your groove thang.

"Asshole!", "No thanks, I've already got one."

Ahhh you gotta love public transit. The driver was telling those of us who had no choice but to make one with the front window in order to get on the damn bus, how he was accosted by a passenger yesterday who didn't have the money to pay and didn't care. Mr. Bus Driver said he was willing to let the guy on free but it was this passenger's flippant attitude he carried with him when he just strolled on without asking that ticked him off most.
I wouldn't piss off a driver who holds your life in his hands - besides you never know when you will meet him again standing there on the sidewalk in the pisspour rain and he mows through the ocean of a puddle you're standing beside.

Last night a lady got on with her much younger co-worker, and evidently she wasn't accustomed to taking transit. She made an appointment in another city not considering traffic or weather, and didn't give a hoot about whose ears she was yelling and bitching in. The bus I take is normally jammed full of people trying to get home - sometimes the driver will even let people in through the doors on the back of the bus. This was the case last night when she became irate, stomping mad at the people trying their luck at getting on the bus through the back.
"HEY! HEY! YOU! ALL of you fuckers trying to cheat- You can't do that!"
I look at her, smoke is practically shooting out of her nostrils - she's mad at the world and in a bad need of a drink and a smoke as she tells all of us unfortunate bystanders surrounding her.
"Everyone calls me a bully - at least nobody on this bus has had the guts to call me that, yet."

We slow down to a stop again where incredibly the driver opens the back doors to allow even more people on.
"Oh! What assholes!" I watch her get up from her seat and proceed to yell at all the weary workers who have pushed their way through the back doors; I'm fed up at this point of hearing her snarky smoker's hack and complaints so I turn around and tell her "The driver is letting the people on through the back because there's no room up front and the driver doesn't want to be a jerk and let them all stand in the cold and pouring rain. "
It humbled her only for a moment, unfortunately.
She then turned her attention to the poor guy who came with her - screaming and hollering his name; we could all see that even though he had his iPod cranked he could hear her; we all watched him turn crimson and start to make his way as far as he could from her. Poor guy.
Apparently he has an asshole too - hopefully he won't bring her with him tonight.

The little son-of-a-grinches that steal Christmas

Yes I know I have been MIA for a little while, but I didn't go far - but I'm back now to do my duty which is save our hard-earned money from going down the drain.

A little FYI, courtesy of one of my fave bloggers Norman who has informed her many readers that there is some thievery going on in the gift cards department.
Maybe it's because of lack of creativity, too much laziness or just plain procrastinay-tioon-eh but almost all of us resort to buying one of our loved ones a gift card every Christmas season.
You see them on the racks all pretty, colourful and convenient at stores like Old Navy, Chapters and Future Shop but now this is not a good thing. If you must buy a gift card, go directly to a cashier and ask specifically for a card that has been out of the public's reach (preferably stored away nicely in their cash tills or drawers, or better yet their vault!

Snopes has it explained here and it's been classified as truth so protect your pocketbooks and spare the tears of the little ones by reading up on why. And have yourself a Merry Frickin' Christmas you Grinch punks who do this to decent hard-working folk; may your shriveled hearts be served to you on a silver platter this holiday.

To me fair friend, you can never be old...

Nettie, my mother's best friend and strongest encourager in her battle against cancer, died this morning from her own fight; it was something we all expected was coming as her cancer had been in her life for several years, but even death draws faster than we can prepare for. After all the ups and downs of hopes and dreams and promises of new medicines to buy more time, the end has to come eventually - we just pray it never does.
I spent Thanksgiving dinner with Jeannette and her husband Marcus and his sister Lynne who came over from Scotland. Being Scottish both Marcus and Lynne have a great, quick-witted and biting sense of humour - and while Jeanette used to snort when she laughed, it took all she had that night to nod her head and grimace. And though looking at her reminded me of my mom the week that she died, a breathing skeleton with vacant eyes, she still had her fire because she got up on her own, unannounced to get the gravy started for dinner. Even with everyone trying to sit her back on the couch and take over she snapped back " You will screw it up!"
She even had a plate of dinner, with her hubby's Yorkshire puddings made the right way with two eggs and milk on the kitchen counter to warm to room temperature.

Marcus told the infamous "Marky and Nettie Love Story" after dinner. Though physically impossible with all the drugs in her system Jeanette seemed to have a glow come from within her as he shared their wild tale of true love. She sat there with her eyes closed as if listening to a bedtime story, and every once in a while she would open her eyes and look at her husband and give him a knowing, loving look. He told of how they met in the 70's - Jeanette was working at UBC and Marcus was working on the ships in Scotland; his brother was attending UBC at the time and was an acquaintance of Nettie's. On a short break from the ships, Marcus decided to come over to visit his brother and as it happened there was a party the next night. Of course Jeanette was there and according to Marcus, the moment he laid eyes on her when they were introduced it was like he was struck with a big arrow of certainty and was immediately high on the love drug. They were both in relationships with other people at the time but had both been so smitten with one another that they knew that no matter what the outcome was, they would have to be together. Marcus continued to tell us that they spent the next night together ( although no sex was had) and the next night (when the sex was had) Marcus asked Jeanette while they were taking a walk together "I know this sounds a bit insane especially considering we've only known eachother three days, but would you fancy getting married? Oh and could you let me know soon, my trip is coming up short and I've got to get back to the ships."
It wasn't until a little later on that night after Marcus had told us the story and everyone had gotten up to tidy up the dishes that Jeanette had mustered up the strength to tell me this : "Heather I didn't know much then or know what to think, but all I knew when I met Marcus and he asked me to marry him, that NO was not an option. "

I will miss Jeanette so much. Saying goodbye to her is like letting go another piece I had left of my mother - grief comes back again, though this time it is a little easier, and a little more bittersweet.

To me, Fair Friend, you can never be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey'd,
Such seems your beauty still. - William Shakespeare

3:24 am

Note to self *

Buy DECAF coffee.

Don't get too close to me - you'll wish your Mama never had you.

Evidently this evening I'm a wee bit cranky (Schmoe, be thankful you are working tonight. <3) and the end is nowhere in sight.

Today at work was bearable thank goodness, because it was just me and the new kid, and bailing was not an option. See my monthly issues are a bit more of a pain to deal with than what seems to be the average woman's ordeal. I keep telling myself that if giving birth ever becomes a reality in my life it will be like a picnic in the park just with sweltering heat and little pests everywhere, but a lovely, uneventful picnic lunch nonetheless. I must have a fantastic level of pain tolerance in order to be able to function when the bitch is in town. She always overstays her welcome and is known to hang around for a full seven days, and even sends her things a week ahead of time sending me in a mad dash for supplies and hard drugs and sends my fiance into hiding. When he has detected it is safe for him to come out, he tells me that two weeks out of the month are enjoyable for him -poor guy. Oh whatever, he still proposed to me.

So after work this evening I go to the store and I go about getting my usual groceries. I of course needed to make a stop into the feminine care aisle. I reach to grab a box of tampons when a male store clerk comes strutting down the aisle like Mr. GQ and asks me assuredly if he can assist me with anything obviously not taking note of where we were both standing. I gave him a blank stare as I held my box of tampons in mid-air, wondering if this guy was trying to be funny or completely out of his mind thinking he could possibly know more about women's feminine hygiene products than me. I swore I saw the colour drain from his face when he clued in and with a start looked at the O.B. box of buckshots in my hand, took one look at my face and bolted.
I didn't think so.
Well he made me forget about the pain for a moment.

I finally got what I needed and made my way to the register, and of course waited in line behind a guy with a fist full of coupons. It's probably my upbringing, but seeing a guy being so frugal with his groceries and taking enough time to cut out the rebates is really odd; I'm still not sure where I stand on that right now, you might want to ask me later.
By the time bizzo is finally rung through, cashier girl is working double time and has already started scanning my items through and before I can tune back into the real world after reading about Oprah's secret love-child with an Alien, it has come time for me to pay. Always wanting to be one step ahead, I go digging through my purse to find my wallet deep within; once located I try to find my debit card which is NOWHERE to be found. And now I am annoyed at myself. I am crampy, bitchy, flustered and now embarassed because I am holding up another customer who is heaving air and sighing so much that I cast my steely glaze their direction and the hint is taken. Cashier girl tells me to take my time, it's probably in my bag; she understands because she does it all the time. Well that annoyed me because I am really organized for the most part, this kind of shit doesn't happen to me, and I am not usually spacey and flighty but this bitch has been here almost a week and it's time for her to go cause she's wreaking havoc. Just to top it off, as I am tossing things out of my purse like Mary Poppins, I hear a familiar annoying voice at the end, "Can I assist you to your vehicle with your purchases?". I look up slowly to face none other than BuckShot boy from the Menstruation section.
"No. thank. you." I growled back in a tone that said "Can I help throw you into oncoming traffic?"
Finally I located the damn card, paid and got the hell out of there. Unfortunately with my period comes nausea, and it didn't help when 'Pee-Man' was there waiting at the bus-stop to get on. I seem to think this man suffered a brain injury of some sort in the past, because while not that old he is not completely altogether, as in a few pieces short of a puzzle, a jig-saw type. There are two smells that absolutely make me want to wretch and that is the smell of human urine ( most strong in the city when people pee on the exteriors of buildings) and cat piss. 'Pee-Man' unfortunately for all of us, smells like both; and today was particularly bad. I didn't know how bad right away, I just knew the moment that I saw him standing there picking his nose as if he was seeking the Holy Grail, that I would smell him and I might be sick. AMAZINGLY enough I held it together by covering my mouth and nose to avoid any asphyxiation and vomit inducing as well as turning off my hearing aids so I couldn't hear him clearing his noise by forcing the air out of his nostrils hoping to loosen up the walls.
Oh Lord help me.
Save me from this insanity.
Save this world from my insanity.

Menopause is looking real good these days.

Johnny Appleseed - AMEN!

Last night concluded all of the Thanksgiving shenanigans that might take place during the weekend with my family; it was also my cousin Nantina's birthday.

My aunt went on a baking frenzy this weekend and believe it or not made a killer pumpkin pie so I really didn't need to waste all my time buying the mass-produced styrofoam junk in the stores - whatever, I'll still eat it. My aunt also made two attempts last night to bake my cousin a cake. A simple no fuss 'any-dumbass-can-do-it-so-can-you' Betty Crocker type cake. Of course my aunt being a careful baker checked on the progress and upon seeing uneven shape on the surface thought that bubbles in the batter was no good and so after a few minutes of baking in the oven, proceeded to take the pan out and bang it on the counter, thus letting all air out of said bubbles. I don't need to tell you I am sure that the result was a VERY flat sad looking cake. It did not rise much more. She then flipped pan the over and the 'cake' flopped out. This sad brick simply would not do for her adult child and so she insisted she have another go; only this time would let the cake do it's thing. Everything was going according to plan the second time around, my aunt carefully making sure noone spoke too loudly or walked too 'heavily' in the house should the cake fall again. It all looked quite beautiful (a better word for 'normal') when she removed it hot from the oven; however things went terribly, terribly wrong when she flipped it over again to remove the cake from the pan and instead of coming out nicely in one piece it had come out in pieces. I'm sure my aunt was cursing herself because she knows as well as anyone that you are supposed to let the cake COOL before doing any flipping or any removal.

I will say that no cake goes uneaten in my family, and it doesn't matter what condition it turns out to be, just hand out the forks and they will have at'er.
We also do things according to traditions, however we also create our own. Instead of turkey we opted for beef dip for dinner - I'm sick of the bird anyway, it's over-rated. As usual there's very little of anything serious happening at the table, normally jokes are told and people are mocked and it's another day at our house, but as all families should do, we reflected on memories and went round the table sharing what we were thankful for in our lives. It went a little something like this:
Cousin Nantina : "I'm thankful for my mother who makes me not one, but two cakes because she loves her daughter oh-so-much."
Me: " I'm thankful to have an Aunt and Uncle who love us and support us."
Sister 1 : "Ditto"
Sister 2 : "Ditto"
Uncle Neil : " I'm thankful for John Labbatt." ( as he looks fondly at his beer can) " No but in all seriousness, I am thankful that 'The Rick Mercer Show' and 'This Hour Has 22 Minutes' has been moved to Tuesday nights because otherwise I'd be missing them right now."
Aunty Lou : " Wow Neil. That was moving. (rolls eyes) Well I am thankful for all my family whom I love, even though they are a little crazy and morals are questionable. And I am thankful for my little granddaughter Alyson and her sister or brother inside her mummy's tummy."
Alyson : (makes funny face) two year old's statement is inaudible.
Cousin Ian : "Yeah I wanna ditto what Aly just said and also I am thankful that I can pass gas and it doesn't hurt. I just did, did anybody hear it? It was AWESOME! Felt soooo good."
Alyson : shrieks of horror and disgust " NANA!! DADDY STINKY!"

And of course we ended it all with the glorious birthday cake that almost never was.

" And so I thank the LORD! For giving me the things I need, the sun and the rain and the appleseed! The Lord is good to me! JOHNNY APPLESEED! AMEN!

*food fight ensues*

For the Love of Pumpkin Pie

For some odd reason, I have not been able to get my hand on some pumpkin pie for about the last three years. I never used to care much for it, that nutmeg flavour really didn't jive with my tastebuds but as it always happens, the foods you hate as a kid suddenly get tastier with age (that or your tastebuds have all been killed off.). So in an attempt not to miss out this year I went to the store and bought two - one for myself and roomie, and another to take to my family's tonight for dinner. I went to one store near my apartment first, but they didn't have whip cream so I wasn't going to waste my time with the pie if they don't have anything to top it with. Just like how I can't eat my pancakes without syrup, I cannot eat pumpkin pie without the whip cream; and it can't be just any kind of whip/whipped cream, it has to be the CANNED 'whoooooooooosh' kind, not the frozen 'Cool Whip' edible-oil-product(or in other words trans fat)-in-a-tub stuff, nor the liquid cream in the carton that needs sugar added and a good beating - it has to have a nozzle and it has to make a noise. It is the only way to eat pumpkin pie. And I would prefer it be chilled ahead of time, thank you very much.

I blame my mother for this pie insanity.

What's up with this new canned chocolate whip cream? I'm all for chocolate in any way, shape, form and wrapper, and heck I will probably end up with a can of this whip cream in my hand, but what is it FOR? Oh I know, it's for the lonely Saturday nights watching movie marathons without Schmoe. * sigh. When he's here I'm sure I will find other uses.

This year I will not be having turkey - no, in fact I am having both Thanksgiving dinners with Scottish folk so there will only be roast beast, smashed tatties, turneeps and peas and Yorkshire pudding with gravy - oh and now, there shall be the heralded Pumpkin Pie. Bring on the whip cream!

whoooooooossshh!

Giving Thanks and Astronomical Wedgies

This weekend is the Canuck Thanksgiving; when I was younger I remember our dinners being loud, busy and full of hooliganry.

My family used to congregate down at our trailer in WA state and there we would meet up with our other family members and countless friends; it wasn't unusual to have more than 50 people in attendance, but this often resulted in quadruple the amount of food and several turkeys (one year we named them respectfully 'Charles, Princess Di and Camilla' - they even wore crowns.). There was always a large group of kids that we counted on being there and of course we would run around causing trouble, with the dogs chasing after us getting in the way of adults carrying trays of food, peeling potatoes and carrots and heaving picnic tables to form a dining area not unlike a mess hall. It was chaos and everyone loved it.

We were fortunate most years to have our friend Lisa Brokop join us for the weekend; this usually meant she was taking a break from recording or touring or just home to visit from Nashville. She always brought her guitar and would treat us to songs around the campfire, with her mother playing the accordion by her side. One year, Lisa brought her friend Doug Flutie with her for the big dinner - I of course had no idea who this man was, but figured he had to be famous enough when all these people came to my trailer and they weren't there to see Lisa. My dad would pester me to get his autograph, but never told me who he was. I know now he was a famous quarterback football player for the NFL; his brother Darren plays for the CFL. Now that I am older, I see him endorsing cheap long distance phone companies and breakfast cereals on t.v. whereas his brother has taken his place as a football star. That's gotta hurt, just a little bit.

As a kid I was pretty contemplative and was often caught deep in thought and analyzing the person in front of me; I remember watching this Doug Flutie man sitting in my dad's lawn chair in my yard in front of my campfire with my dog running around him as he talked about his kids and Sesame Street. I was baffled as to why my dad, a proud, silent man would be so coy as to ask me his young daughter for this man's autograph. What was so special about this guy? Hardly a hero, in my opinion.

Now that Thanksgiving is here again, I look back on those dinners that I so looked forward to every year, when everyone was carefree and when life seemed to hold fewer burdens. I think about the loved ones who are now gone and those whose lives are drawing to a close, never to join us again and I am saddened. But with pain comes the opportunity to consider what is still left to be enjoyed, what Thanksgiving dinners are yet to come when the children of years ago now have children of their own and a new generation is born to carry on their own carefree ways. I know that even though my trailer is gone and my parents will not be joining my family this year, that some things will never change - jokes will still be told, skits will be performed, children will sing and dance and my cousin Ian will still give us all wedgies when we least suspect it. Ya gotta love family.

How to Scar Your Child for Life

I first saw this a couple weeks ago and laughed my head off and quickly forgot about it. Today I was reminded of this sick contraption as I was thinking about how some people I meet in my daily travels (even my own family members, dare I say) seem to be a bit 'quirky' and I start to wonder what happened to them in their childhood that would make them so odd as adults. Well whatever it was, this gadget shown above is the 21st century's version of the ultimate trauma inducer.

This thing here is called the 'BabyKeeper'. It's actually a clever, albeit weird solution to a real issue that parents have when they are out running errands with their rugrats and run into the dreaded problem of having to use the facilities; how is one supposed to hang on to the child while they hold their pants ( or, err... 'other' belongings)? ANSWER : You just throw this bad boy ( not the kid) over the door and sling your child inside! There Junior hangs in wait as he watches the most mortifying scene of mum or dad relieving their innards in plain view. And if it stinks, he's got nowhere to run, perfect. I think I will use it as a method of discipline for my kid, even when he's 13 yrs old.

But not only is it a sick tool for minding your child while you are busy doing your 'business' but it's a PRACTICAL sick tool! Why not get your kid to hold your purse and coat while he/she watches you hover and squat? Kid kicking you in the head? No problem, give the baby a roll of toilet paper to occupy themselves. Just throw your coat over the kid's head to blind them like they do with animals who scare easily. Beautiful.

Just be warned Mum and Dad, this invention will haunt Junior for the rest of his days. He will think of you the day the class bully hangs him up by his underwear on the hooks in the locker-room and hate you for the pansy he has become. You'll get yours someday! And 'Shame' will be your middle name.

Jimmy Wants Donkeys

Yep, Jimmy wants Donkeys. Jimmy wants donkeys at his wedding. Jimmy's fiancee is actually considering having donkeys at her wedding. Apparently donkeys cost big $$$, so won't you support Jimmy in his quest for some ass?

www.jimmysdonkeyfund.com

'Cause hey, who doesn't like the idea of donkeys wearing sombreros and carrying saddlebags full of cervezas at a wedding reception? Who needs waitstaff when you can have Noble Steeds? Mariachi band? Save your money! Rent donkeys instead!