I do not know when I am "about to rock". And, like "partying", I am not even sure I am doing it when I am doing it. If in fact I am doing it.
I think there may be alcohol involved. Sure I can drink, but not like these 72 hour weekend partier boozers. That I cannot do. I don't like other people's company that much.
Way, way down this list I wrote a thing about how you know when you are "kicking back", but even that I was totally faking because I am not 100% sure about the kicking component. Is it necessary but not sufficient? Surely it can't just be the kicking because then I'd be kicking back every time I kick the dog and that doesn't sound right. (I don't really kick my dog, but thanks for thinking I did! sheesh)
If anyone ever figures it out, lemme know would you?
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Today is our 10th anniversary!
I'd say it was a day that marks 10 soul crushing, hope and dream dashing, tediously boring anguish-filled years, but I worry that that might sound negative.
Aww, I'm a kidder.
They weren't all bad.
Most isn't all!
wink
Aww, I'm a kidder.
They weren't all bad.
Most isn't all!
wink
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
MY New Charitable Giving Policy:
I will not be giving any more money for cancer research until they find a cure.
That ought to light a fire under someone's ass.
That ought to light a fire under someone's ass.
Monday, May 08, 2006
Adam Sandler's wife had a baby...
can you imagine the number of goofy voices that child is going to be subjected to? I bet he's doing one right now.
What the Hell is David Blaine Doing?
A goddam fishbowl? I wish he had asked me because I could have told him my son has a fish in a bowl and he lost interest in it after about two days. Things in bowls are maybe better ideas on paper.
His hands are are pruny! Who here is surprised by that? How is he going tinky? I understand he is sucking Ensure out of a balloon, which is already revolting enough, but please tell me he is not peeing in his li'l bowl.
And he has that little sign board that he writes messages on and holds up. He's all "Help me; I am in great pain". Well frankly who believes these guys anyway? They lie for a living with all the "illusions" and "sleight of hand" and shit. Dude's cried wolf as it were one too many times.
Plus I read on my lamer Yahoo home page that Keith Richards had "head surgery"! About goddam time! What is head surgery though? Is it like brain surgery; did he have an aneurism or something?
His hands are are pruny! Who here is surprised by that? How is he going tinky? I understand he is sucking Ensure out of a balloon, which is already revolting enough, but please tell me he is not peeing in his li'l bowl.
And he has that little sign board that he writes messages on and holds up. He's all "Help me; I am in great pain". Well frankly who believes these guys anyway? They lie for a living with all the "illusions" and "sleight of hand" and shit. Dude's cried wolf as it were one too many times.
Plus I read on my lamer Yahoo home page that Keith Richards had "head surgery"! About goddam time! What is head surgery though? Is it like brain surgery; did he have an aneurism or something?
Friday, April 28, 2006
Hey America
For me, that 911 movie is too soon. I find myself sobbing at the commercials. And I am not even an American.
I will say this that as much as your country pisses off my country sometimes, and it does, September 11th taught me that despite all the grumbling and complaining and the pettiness, that Canadians genuinely *love* Americans. Even if you act like jerks sometimes, which you do.
We love America like we love no other country. Bad things happen to other people in other countries, too. And as awful as that is, and as much as we want to help and do help, and as sympathetic as we feel towards those citizens, it doesn't affect us as deeply as September 11th did.
Several days after September 11th, 2001 Canada had, in its capital city, Ottawa, the largest public demonstration in Canadian history. It was to show support for America. The largest public demonstration in Canadian history. We all cried, and felt shocked and horrified and tremedously saddened, but I think at the root of the feeling there was something else, and it was that we, as a country, felt protective of the United States at its most vulnerable time.
Canadians frequently grumble about America, usually about her politicians and their policies. From September 11, 2001 until about a year after no one grumbled, complained, disparaged or even rolled an eye at anything American. No one said we should do this -- it was a collective, unconscious decision made by a country that quietly said "This is the side we are on". It may have, in some way, even come as a surprise to Canadians, just how strongly we supported and loved our big, brash, bossy, beautiful neighbour to the south.
That movie is kind of bringing it all back.
I will say this that as much as your country pisses off my country sometimes, and it does, September 11th taught me that despite all the grumbling and complaining and the pettiness, that Canadians genuinely *love* Americans. Even if you act like jerks sometimes, which you do.
We love America like we love no other country. Bad things happen to other people in other countries, too. And as awful as that is, and as much as we want to help and do help, and as sympathetic as we feel towards those citizens, it doesn't affect us as deeply as September 11th did.
Several days after September 11th, 2001 Canada had, in its capital city, Ottawa, the largest public demonstration in Canadian history. It was to show support for America. The largest public demonstration in Canadian history. We all cried, and felt shocked and horrified and tremedously saddened, but I think at the root of the feeling there was something else, and it was that we, as a country, felt protective of the United States at its most vulnerable time.
Canadians frequently grumble about America, usually about her politicians and their policies. From September 11, 2001 until about a year after no one grumbled, complained, disparaged or even rolled an eye at anything American. No one said we should do this -- it was a collective, unconscious decision made by a country that quietly said "This is the side we are on". It may have, in some way, even come as a surprise to Canadians, just how strongly we supported and loved our big, brash, bossy, beautiful neighbour to the south.
That movie is kind of bringing it all back.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Poor Stephen Harper
I just felt really bad for him, you know, at that summit with Mr. Hip Vincente Fox and Mr. Cool George W. And there he was, the nerdy cousin, with the inappropriate cargo vest.
The film footage is sad, too, because you can see he is right in W's face the whole time. He TOTALLY wants to be best friends with him, but George is all, I am sorry brother, but I already have a best friend and his name is Tony Blair.
Great! Like how in the hell is Stephen Harper, cammo vest wearer from Canada ever going to hope to compete with Tony G-dam Blair, with the cool English accent. Are you trying to tell me that W. is not a Bond fan?! Because I won't believe it if you are. And Vincente and George are talking about quesadillas and salsa and Stephen Harper tries to chime in with something about how strong Canadian beer is, but no one really cares because they are tired of Canadians playing the "strong beer" card.
So then, to shup Stephen up, Vincente (and let's face it, he's kinda rubbing it in, with his closeness to George) says something about clubbing a baby seal over the head and all of a sudden it gets real quiet.
But still, I just feel bad for him though because his suitcase was probably filled with bottles of maple syrup and hockey trading cards and maybe a Hudson's Bay blanket and most people just aren't that impressed with that stuff. (They would rather have liquor and cigarettes from the duty free, I say that, if you're a traveller, just so you know.) Especially the leader of the free world. Like he's seen a lot of this stuff already. Maple syrup is no big whoop to him at all.
Stephen will keep on trying though. Count on that.
The film footage is sad, too, because you can see he is right in W's face the whole time. He TOTALLY wants to be best friends with him, but George is all, I am sorry brother, but I already have a best friend and his name is Tony Blair.
Great! Like how in the hell is Stephen Harper, cammo vest wearer from Canada ever going to hope to compete with Tony G-dam Blair, with the cool English accent. Are you trying to tell me that W. is not a Bond fan?! Because I won't believe it if you are. And Vincente and George are talking about quesadillas and salsa and Stephen Harper tries to chime in with something about how strong Canadian beer is, but no one really cares because they are tired of Canadians playing the "strong beer" card.
So then, to shup Stephen up, Vincente (and let's face it, he's kinda rubbing it in, with his closeness to George) says something about clubbing a baby seal over the head and all of a sudden it gets real quiet.
But still, I just feel bad for him though because his suitcase was probably filled with bottles of maple syrup and hockey trading cards and maybe a Hudson's Bay blanket and most people just aren't that impressed with that stuff. (They would rather have liquor and cigarettes from the duty free, I say that, if you're a traveller, just so you know.) Especially the leader of the free world. Like he's seen a lot of this stuff already. Maple syrup is no big whoop to him at all.
Stephen will keep on trying though. Count on that.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
I am even awkward on the internet
Doesn't it seem like everyone on the internet knows each other?
Case in point:
You read someone's Blog post, and the comments always seem so familiar. Despite the seeming familiarity and out of a desperate need to "fit in", I chime in with my "witty" comment and then hit post and read it and surrounded by everyone else's funny and appropriate comments, mine, which seemed really funny at the time I wrote it in the typepad box, now seems not very funny and weirdly inappropriate. And I imagine the other commenters who really are all friends are reading it thinking "who is this suburby chick and why does she leave such weird comments?"
Plus what is it with being taken off someone's blogroll!
That has happened to me a lot. And I will tell you this -- it feeds right into my Imposter Syndrome problem. RIGHT INTO IT.
I have been taken off more Blogrolls than I have been put on.
Thanks a lot, Al Gore. Thank you very much.
Case in point:
You read someone's Blog post, and the comments always seem so familiar. Despite the seeming familiarity and out of a desperate need to "fit in", I chime in with my "witty" comment and then hit post and read it and surrounded by everyone else's funny and appropriate comments, mine, which seemed really funny at the time I wrote it in the typepad box, now seems not very funny and weirdly inappropriate. And I imagine the other commenters who really are all friends are reading it thinking "who is this suburby chick and why does she leave such weird comments?"
Plus what is it with being taken off someone's blogroll!
That has happened to me a lot. And I will tell you this -- it feeds right into my Imposter Syndrome problem. RIGHT INTO IT.
I have been taken off more Blogrolls than I have been put on.
Thanks a lot, Al Gore. Thank you very much.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Last Book Club was Chez Moi (that means 'at my house'. Well, why didn't you just say 'at my house' then?)
Please allow me to set the scene.
Me, your heroine, on death's doorstep as a result of what the doctor called a "fairly nasty looking sore throat". FAIRLY nasty. The prescription I had for an antibiotic did not stop me from fulfilling my obligations as Book Club hostess. Nor did it stop me from loading my fat ass into my small SUV (4 cylinder--not a gas pig!) to drive to M&M to buy food for the Book Club ingrates.
I will start by telling you that the book we reviewed was "A Million Little Pieces" by Mr. Street Cred according to his Mom, James Frey. The dude is almost as Street as Carson Daly.
I will tell you what I told the book club ladies. I liked the book a lot for the first 3/4 of it. Then I started to notice the phoniness and the uni-dimensionality of the supporting cast. And I admitted it took me until I was three-quarters of the way through to notice this!
I said I'd have the same problems with the characters if the book were sold as a novel.
The ladies all disagreed with me...they all loved it and argued that they didn't expect any actual truth from a memoir. What they expected was "his truth as he remembered it" "His version of the events". Just FYI, in my memoir I am going to remember I was Mrs. Johnny Depp and I created Linux.
What about truth on a book tour, where he's talking about all these things happening to him as having actually happened in interviews? Where journalists ask him what was it like to be in jail, etc. And he said stuff like "Oh man, jail is hard!" (Like he'd know!)
Their answer? Silence. Then 10 minutes later they start talking about how they haven't seen me be so bitchy before. Apparently holding a different point of view and expressing said p.o.v. and thinking that the truth matters makes one bitchy.
(Didn't anyone else have those great arguments in university that would go on and on over bottles of wine and people would be disagreeing like crazy and even yelling, but it was okay to have a different point of view, it was even kinda good to...anyone remember that?)
and then...
one bad, bad woman who I really don't know well, but that didn't seem to stop her from scarfing down my hot hors d'oeuvres said, smugly...
"Well, I'd like to know what you thought of the book BEFORE you heard that Oprah didn't like it".
And then, in my mind, I quit the book club. But not before I grabbed those goddam cream cheese and sundried tomato puffs out of her fat little hand. (also in my mind).
Me, your heroine, on death's doorstep as a result of what the doctor called a "fairly nasty looking sore throat". FAIRLY nasty. The prescription I had for an antibiotic did not stop me from fulfilling my obligations as Book Club hostess. Nor did it stop me from loading my fat ass into my small SUV (4 cylinder--not a gas pig!) to drive to M&M to buy food for the Book Club ingrates.
I will start by telling you that the book we reviewed was "A Million Little Pieces" by Mr. Street Cred according to his Mom, James Frey. The dude is almost as Street as Carson Daly.
I will tell you what I told the book club ladies. I liked the book a lot for the first 3/4 of it. Then I started to notice the phoniness and the uni-dimensionality of the supporting cast. And I admitted it took me until I was three-quarters of the way through to notice this!
I said I'd have the same problems with the characters if the book were sold as a novel.
The ladies all disagreed with me...they all loved it and argued that they didn't expect any actual truth from a memoir. What they expected was "his truth as he remembered it" "His version of the events". Just FYI, in my memoir I am going to remember I was Mrs. Johnny Depp and I created Linux.
What about truth on a book tour, where he's talking about all these things happening to him as having actually happened in interviews? Where journalists ask him what was it like to be in jail, etc. And he said stuff like "Oh man, jail is hard!" (Like he'd know!)
Their answer? Silence. Then 10 minutes later they start talking about how they haven't seen me be so bitchy before. Apparently holding a different point of view and expressing said p.o.v. and thinking that the truth matters makes one bitchy.
(Didn't anyone else have those great arguments in university that would go on and on over bottles of wine and people would be disagreeing like crazy and even yelling, but it was okay to have a different point of view, it was even kinda good to...anyone remember that?)
and then...
one bad, bad woman who I really don't know well, but that didn't seem to stop her from scarfing down my hot hors d'oeuvres said, smugly...
"Well, I'd like to know what you thought of the book BEFORE you heard that Oprah didn't like it".
And then, in my mind, I quit the book club. But not before I grabbed those goddam cream cheese and sundried tomato puffs out of her fat little hand. (also in my mind).
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Agree with me, or the baby seal gets it!
As a Canadian you really have to keep your eye on me. I could start clubbing baby seals at any time.
I hate the seal hunt, but did you see Larry King last night? I didn't. The whole topic upsets me so much. But I did flip past a couple of times, forgetting it was on, and at one point I flipped past just as Larry was asking "Why do they have to club them?"
Fucked if I know!
Besides the absolute unmitigated fucking HORROR of the whole thing, it really makes Canadians look like sickos. It's like we are the crazy serial killer neighbour who always attended the summer block party and seemed so nice with his kids and his homemade donuts, then it turns out he's been doing horrible things in his basement for years and you didn't know about it until he was 5/O'd on t.v.
By goddam Paul McCartney of all people! Who, some people tell me was in a band before Wings.
I hate the seal hunt, but did you see Larry King last night? I didn't. The whole topic upsets me so much. But I did flip past a couple of times, forgetting it was on, and at one point I flipped past just as Larry was asking "Why do they have to club them?"
Fucked if I know!
Besides the absolute unmitigated fucking HORROR of the whole thing, it really makes Canadians look like sickos. It's like we are the crazy serial killer neighbour who always attended the summer block party and seemed so nice with his kids and his homemade donuts, then it turns out he's been doing horrible things in his basement for years and you didn't know about it until he was 5/O'd on t.v.
By goddam Paul McCartney of all people! Who, some people tell me was in a band before Wings.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
My Yahoo Home Page
First question you may be asking yourself is what kind of loser has Yahoo for her home page. I do! How do you do. I am not saying it's perfect though. Take today's:
Item 1:
There's a picture of a dog with his beagle ears kind trick photography'd up, so he looks a bit like the Flying Nun. That's good.
Item 2:
A Clickable link to something about killer abs. When will this expression go away?
Item 3:
De rigeur pic of baby in sunglasses. COME ON!
Item 4:
A bunch of links to fantasy babeball and fantasy football. Look, I have enough problems with the real sports, I don't need the fantasy version along for the ride.
Item 4:
HotJobs, which can very easily be misread if you take my meaning and I think you do.
Item 5;
Yahoo Health -- with the obligatory picture of a smiling woman eating fresh fruit. Now that's healthy!
Item 6:
Oscars predictions. Are you fucking kidding me? I don't even know who's nominated.
Item 7;
News item about Madonna getting a hernia at the Grammys. For some reason that made me think of Martha Raye, denture wearer.
Item 8:
Buzz Log: What the world is searching for. Kay, why do you need to know what other people are looking up on Yahoo. Seriously, what's it to you? Kids today!
Item 9:
Something about that dude who played the Hulk getting another job. High five Bru!
Item 1:
There's a picture of a dog with his beagle ears kind trick photography'd up, so he looks a bit like the Flying Nun. That's good.
Item 2:
A Clickable link to something about killer abs. When will this expression go away?
Item 3:
De rigeur pic of baby in sunglasses. COME ON!
Item 4:
A bunch of links to fantasy babeball and fantasy football. Look, I have enough problems with the real sports, I don't need the fantasy version along for the ride.
Item 4:
HotJobs, which can very easily be misread if you take my meaning and I think you do.
Item 5;
Yahoo Health -- with the obligatory picture of a smiling woman eating fresh fruit. Now that's healthy!
Item 6:
Oscars predictions. Are you fucking kidding me? I don't even know who's nominated.
Item 7;
News item about Madonna getting a hernia at the Grammys. For some reason that made me think of Martha Raye, denture wearer.
Item 8:
Buzz Log: What the world is searching for. Kay, why do you need to know what other people are looking up on Yahoo. Seriously, what's it to you? Kids today!
Item 9:
Something about that dude who played the Hulk getting another job. High five Bru!
Friday, January 13, 2006
James Frey
If I were a pee-my-pants/roll around in my own vomit barfing up chunks of my own stomach/street fighter like James Frey is, I'd get a cooler shirt to wear on Larry King. Plus don't know if I'd bring my mom along. Kinda cuts into the street cred.
"Yu-huh I am a bad ass...just ask my mom!"
"Yu-huh I am a bad ass...just ask my mom!"
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Oh negativity
I have a fairly rare blood type -- O negative. We are the universal donors--we can give blood to anyone. But, we can only take our own. (Unlike the other rare blood type, AB, who can't give to anyone else but their own selfish, selfish kind, but who can take anyone's blood I might add, and I am sure do, at every opportunity. The takers!)
When I used to watch ER, I would always feel a small surge of pride knowing when in an emergency situation and one of the doctors called for a unit of O neg, that I, if I lived in Chicago, and had donated blood recently, and the patient had lived, and it wasn't a tv show, that I might have been responsible in some small way (who am I kidding, some small way! -- the total way, the whole, entire way) had been responsible for saving that fictional character's life! That's big people--really, really big. Let's face it, I'm a hero.
When you are a O neg blood donor (hero), you get a phone call the second your body is again available to donate blood. The SECOND. You're a big shot of the blood donating world; you're like a celebrity (not really, but you really should be). Some years ago I stopped donating blood for a while. Then I thought, man, I need to get back to saving the world. So I called up the Canadian Blood Donation service and let them know I was available again.
"O negative!?" the woman on the phone exclaimed, clearly delighted.
"Yes" I replied, trying to sound humble, but frankly who are we kidding.
We made some chit chat and then she asked me her usual screening questions like have I ever had malaria, (No!) Am I HIV Positive (no!) Have I ever had syphyllis (no!) Have I spend three months or more in England during the 80s....
uhhhhh
why yes, as a matter of fact I did spend exactly three months in England during the 80s.
Uncomfortable silence. The sound of dashed hopes and shattering dreams.
"well, in that case" she said "we cannot take your blood."
Mad cow disease.
"No" I protested "I was a starving student in the 80s -- I barely had any money to eat any meat of any kind while I was there, let alone beef"
"Oh that doesn't matter" she said, her tone turning cold. Beef products are in everything from cookies to french fries" which I recalled was pretty much my entire diet during my stay in London.
"well, okay" I said "but frankly I am now a little concerned about my own health."
"Oh" she said "don't worry--it's very unlikely that you have acquired the human variant of mad cow disease".
That's good to know. But you still won't take my blood.
"No fucking way!" she said. (minus the swearing). "We can't take the chance."
When I used to watch ER, I would always feel a small surge of pride knowing when in an emergency situation and one of the doctors called for a unit of O neg, that I, if I lived in Chicago, and had donated blood recently, and the patient had lived, and it wasn't a tv show, that I might have been responsible in some small way (who am I kidding, some small way! -- the total way, the whole, entire way) had been responsible for saving that fictional character's life! That's big people--really, really big. Let's face it, I'm a hero.
When you are a O neg blood donor (hero), you get a phone call the second your body is again available to donate blood. The SECOND. You're a big shot of the blood donating world; you're like a celebrity (not really, but you really should be). Some years ago I stopped donating blood for a while. Then I thought, man, I need to get back to saving the world. So I called up the Canadian Blood Donation service and let them know I was available again.
"O negative!?" the woman on the phone exclaimed, clearly delighted.
"Yes" I replied, trying to sound humble, but frankly who are we kidding.
We made some chit chat and then she asked me her usual screening questions like have I ever had malaria, (No!) Am I HIV Positive (no!) Have I ever had syphyllis (no!) Have I spend three months or more in England during the 80s....
uhhhhh
why yes, as a matter of fact I did spend exactly three months in England during the 80s.
Uncomfortable silence. The sound of dashed hopes and shattering dreams.
"well, in that case" she said "we cannot take your blood."
Mad cow disease.
"No" I protested "I was a starving student in the 80s -- I barely had any money to eat any meat of any kind while I was there, let alone beef"
"Oh that doesn't matter" she said, her tone turning cold. Beef products are in everything from cookies to french fries" which I recalled was pretty much my entire diet during my stay in London.
"well, okay" I said "but frankly I am now a little concerned about my own health."
"Oh" she said "don't worry--it's very unlikely that you have acquired the human variant of mad cow disease".
That's good to know. But you still won't take my blood.
"No fucking way!" she said. (minus the swearing). "We can't take the chance."
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Book Club Update
Well Sir, here's how it went...
We reviewed The Life of Pi, a book I was absolutely enchanted by. Here were some of the comments from other club members, which ties in nicely to my "Why do I join book clubs!?" theme.
Of course I gave my opinion and then nodded politely while everyone else gave their totally wrong opinions on the book. But here's what I was thinking...
1. "I hated it -- it was too pretentious. I felt like the author had saved up every clever and deep thought he ever had and them dumped them all into this book."
Suburby says: (please read that like "Survey says...", from the Family Feud! Thank you!) WRONG!
2. "I am not religious at all, so I could not see anything at all religious about this book"
My verdict: WRONG AGAIN!
3. "I prefer to read "lighter" books."
Inside my head: Quelle surprise!
There was then some general discussion about how badly zoos suck and bad 80s fashions. Oh, and curling. All of which was riveting.
If anyone has read The Life of Pi, please weigh in with your thoughts on the book.
We reviewed The Life of Pi, a book I was absolutely enchanted by. Here were some of the comments from other club members, which ties in nicely to my "Why do I join book clubs!?" theme.
Of course I gave my opinion and then nodded politely while everyone else gave their totally wrong opinions on the book. But here's what I was thinking...
1. "I hated it -- it was too pretentious. I felt like the author had saved up every clever and deep thought he ever had and them dumped them all into this book."
Suburby says: (please read that like "Survey says...", from the Family Feud! Thank you!) WRONG!
2. "I am not religious at all, so I could not see anything at all religious about this book"
My verdict: WRONG AGAIN!
3. "I prefer to read "lighter" books."
Inside my head: Quelle surprise!
There was then some general discussion about how badly zoos suck and bad 80s fashions. Oh, and curling. All of which was riveting.
If anyone has read The Life of Pi, please weigh in with your thoughts on the book.
Monday, November 07, 2005
I am so cranky today, look...
Who else is sick of the goddammed internet? I am so tired of reading crap like this " "Martha Stewart, ex-con and domestic diva..."
Is there a more hackneyed expression nowadays than "domestic diva"? Does every journalist have to write in that wretched combo style of half cutsey/half sarcastic? And why do things have to be done to death, and then pursued into the depths of hell?
Who else is sick of hearing celebrities complain about "the paparazzi"? After three years of Cameron Diaz bitching about it I am now rooting for them.
Regis Philbin: You can't sing.
Jamie Oliver: Dude, your tongue is swollen or something. What the fuck is going on with that?
Bill O'Reilly: It freaks me out to think that sometime post Sept 11th I found myself really liking you. You and Rummy. That tells me something about the frame of mind of the people who think you make sense.
Too...
cranky...
to...
continue
Is there a more hackneyed expression nowadays than "domestic diva"? Does every journalist have to write in that wretched combo style of half cutsey/half sarcastic? And why do things have to be done to death, and then pursued into the depths of hell?
Who else is sick of hearing celebrities complain about "the paparazzi"? After three years of Cameron Diaz bitching about it I am now rooting for them.
Regis Philbin: You can't sing.
Jamie Oliver: Dude, your tongue is swollen or something. What the fuck is going on with that?
Bill O'Reilly: It freaks me out to think that sometime post Sept 11th I found myself really liking you. You and Rummy. That tells me something about the frame of mind of the people who think you make sense.
Too...
cranky...
to...
continue
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Bad Idea Redux
I have joined yet another book club. I belonged to one a while ago and quit, for some very good reason that I forgot and now suddenly someone asks me to join one and I am all "Oh book club! Great idea! Yes! I am in!" like a dork.
The book choices are lame (like Danielle Steele novel-lame) unless they are my books which I know are not lame because I have already read them. So the only non-lame books in the club are books I have read. Now I will have to force myself to read these ridiculous waste of time books so I can have something to say about the attractive female executive who fights the glass ceiling by sleeping with her boss.
SHATNER VOICE: Why-do-I-do-this-to-myself? Is there no way I can blame my husband for this? No way at all?
The book choices are lame (like Danielle Steele novel-lame) unless they are my books which I know are not lame because I have already read them. So the only non-lame books in the club are books I have read. Now I will have to force myself to read these ridiculous waste of time books so I can have something to say about the attractive female executive who fights the glass ceiling by sleeping with her boss.
SHATNER VOICE: Why-do-I-do-this-to-myself? Is there no way I can blame my husband for this? No way at all?
Mayonnaise
What is up with the people who don't like mayonnaise? (As I type this I know some of you American readers are pronouncing it man-aise, which is to my Canadian ear terribly exotic sounding. In Canada, we pronounce it mayonnaise, and now you probably just did it again...anyway...).
Why is it that people who do not like mayonnaise dislike it so intensely? Their dislike is so intense it seems to be expressed in degrees of revulsion. They are all "UUUGGGGGGHHHHHHHH Mayonnaise!!". While you sit there with your tuna salad sandwich suddenly feeling like you're eating the contents of a military hazing bucket. It's eggs and oil, peeps. Egg yolks and oil. I think there's a psychological component at play in the mayo hating and I will leave it at that.
Personally, I do not like the taste of cilantro; I find it tastes a lot like soap, which if any food should rate on a revulsion scale it is something that tastes like something that is, well, inedible. But au contraire, cilanto dislikers just say "I don't like cilantro." We don't make Mr. Fresh Salsa consumer feel like he is drinking someone else's vomit by indulging in it.
Why is it that people who do not like mayonnaise dislike it so intensely? Their dislike is so intense it seems to be expressed in degrees of revulsion. They are all "UUUGGGGGGHHHHHHHH Mayonnaise!!". While you sit there with your tuna salad sandwich suddenly feeling like you're eating the contents of a military hazing bucket. It's eggs and oil, peeps. Egg yolks and oil. I think there's a psychological component at play in the mayo hating and I will leave it at that.
Personally, I do not like the taste of cilantro; I find it tastes a lot like soap, which if any food should rate on a revulsion scale it is something that tastes like something that is, well, inedible. But au contraire, cilanto dislikers just say "I don't like cilantro." We don't make Mr. Fresh Salsa consumer feel like he is drinking someone else's vomit by indulging in it.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
The Horror, The Horror (and I do not mean the existential horror of man's existance
I am going state right up front that I am not crazy about using other people's bathrooms and even less crazy about people using mine. Someone pops into the bathroom and if I am not hearing the sounds of handwashing within about 30 seconds, I start to get nervous.
So, last week a visitor to my bathroom actually clogged it up, Al Bundy-style. And if that's not horrifying enough for someone like me, actually waited until the water tank had refilled itself and then, when the water level was at its absolute maximum height, flushed again (!) so that water et al began pouring out onto my bathroom floor, down the heating duct and out into the carpet in the hall. The old ball 'n' chain actually had to get out the carpet cleaner to suck the water out of the heating duct. Incidentally, I have a new name for the carpet cleaner now and that's the "no fucking way will I ever use that machine again" machine.
You haven't really lived until you spend your afternoon, running out of "rag" towels and having to revert to using your actual family bath towels (gah!) to clean up someone's overflow. As these situations tend to go, this one just kept getting better with caulking around the floor moulding disintegrating, linoleum bubbling up and water (ahem) stains being left on the ceiling in the garage. Witnessing this damage the person (who, by the way is notoriously cheap) then says, "Oh well, that's what insurance is for!"
I tell this story and my father-in-law tells me that he saw a news report that said the toilet bowl is far cleaner than the kitchen sink. Dudes, I do not know what you are putting in your kitchen sinks, but I can maybe make a few suggestions about what not to put in there, if you need some.
Moral of the story: Please don't ever use my bathroom.
So, last week a visitor to my bathroom actually clogged it up, Al Bundy-style. And if that's not horrifying enough for someone like me, actually waited until the water tank had refilled itself and then, when the water level was at its absolute maximum height, flushed again (!) so that water et al began pouring out onto my bathroom floor, down the heating duct and out into the carpet in the hall. The old ball 'n' chain actually had to get out the carpet cleaner to suck the water out of the heating duct. Incidentally, I have a new name for the carpet cleaner now and that's the "no fucking way will I ever use that machine again" machine.
You haven't really lived until you spend your afternoon, running out of "rag" towels and having to revert to using your actual family bath towels (gah!) to clean up someone's overflow. As these situations tend to go, this one just kept getting better with caulking around the floor moulding disintegrating, linoleum bubbling up and water (ahem) stains being left on the ceiling in the garage. Witnessing this damage the person (who, by the way is notoriously cheap) then says, "Oh well, that's what insurance is for!"
I tell this story and my father-in-law tells me that he saw a news report that said the toilet bowl is far cleaner than the kitchen sink. Dudes, I do not know what you are putting in your kitchen sinks, but I can maybe make a few suggestions about what not to put in there, if you need some.
Moral of the story: Please don't ever use my bathroom.
wtf?
In reading these comments it is so encouraging to me to see that I am finally recognized for my contribution to the fields debt consolidation, portable air conditioning and perhaps most significantly, my huge contribution to the field of driveway alarm systems.
I cannot tell you how tirelessly I have worked to bring you, Dear Reader, the most up-to-the-minute information in these important fields. Finally someone, (Bless you chimes&alarms) has taken the time to recognize it.
I cannot tell you how tirelessly I have worked to bring you, Dear Reader, the most up-to-the-minute information in these important fields. Finally someone, (Bless you chimes&alarms) has taken the time to recognize it.
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