I was going to write about my theory that my left boob is a periscope for my bladder, but I'm going to have to save that for another time, since I was totally just emotionally raped over the internet. To add insult to injury, it was during a game of euchre on the yahoo games website.
I was playing my little online game while simultaneously trying to defend myself against Toby who was mauling me with his chew toy. For those of you who are familiar with the game of Euchre, my partner had called trump (clubs), but because of my canine distraction I missed an opportunity early in the hand to lead with trump. The following conversation ensued in the chat area beneath the playing area: (NOTE: My partner's name was 'goddess_yahell", and the other hellion at the table was our opponent "haveapepsionme".)
goodess_yahell: lead with trump! We could've had two points instead of one!
goodess_yahell: what the hell is wrong with you?!
me: seriously? are you being serious right now? It's just a game.
goodess_yahell: well, some people play to win.
haveapepsionme: report her! I just did.
haveapepsionme: it's in the rules that you're supposed to play your best game. She isn't.
me: uhh, it was an honest mistake.
goodess_yahell: Bullshit, You're throwing points and trying to lose the game. (NOTE: I'm a pretty competitive person, so this is sooooo not something that I would ever do.)
goodess_yahell: I just reported you.
me: are you two for real? You're insane!
haveapepsionme: I just reported her again for name calling.
goddess_yahell: me too. I'm taking a print screen.
haveapepsionme: send it to Bob at the e-mail address I'm sending you.
haveapepsionme: he's the one who handles abuse.
**During this time my partner had started throwing the game intentionally by calling suits that she had none of, so that the other team would win.
me: What happened to playing your best game? You just threw the last two hands!
goodness_yahell: leave the table. NOW. (she had the power to kick me out of the table if she really wanted to)
me: I'll be happy to after this game.
haveapepsionme: I've got her ip address! I'm going to send it in so that they won't allow her to play under any other names either.
Other guy at the table: PLAY!!
haveapepsionme: I'm not playing until she leaves the table.
me: well I'm not leaving. If you stop playing the game will time you out and it will forfeit you. Your call.
haveapepsionme: You are such a bitch!
haveapepsionme: look at her rating (NOTE: I had a higher rating than two of the four people at the table)
haveapepsionme: she's a loser!
goddess_yahell: by the time I'm done telling everyone about her, she's going to be running from the tables and will never want to play again!
By this point, my prediction came true. The "haveapepsionme" guy stopped playing long enough that the game assumed he forfeit and it called the game quits. He left the game table pretty quick, and I was soon to follow. I notice in the general game area, my former partner, goddess_yahell started posting comments about me and how abusive I am, and that the people at the table couldn't stand to play with me anymore.
My original intent for tonight's blog was actually funny (albeit true) - and there isn't anything actually funny about this, only the knowledge that there are people out there so crazy they will pair up and attack you over a game in which they don't even get to win any money. I'm pretty sure if money were involved, they'd have sent someone my way to break my thumbs...and maybe my knees.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
I'm Pretty Sure I'm Being Haunted By A Ghost Who Wants To Steal My Identity
Remember when I said that I was disappointed our house wasn't haunted because I wanted to be the fatter, less fashionable version of Jennifer Love Hewitt? I think I may have misjudged that one....
Toby was viciously barking at this one area of our ceiling all night. Upon closer inspection there was nothing on the ceiling or the wall (aside from the claw marks he just left behind. Awesome.)...so how is one not to deduce that what he was seeing was a ghost? I strongly suspect that I have a ghost attached to me - not solely haunting the house, but haunting yours truly. Let's discuss further evidentiary support for this theory, shall we?
According to newageinfo.com, the following are the top 7 signs that you have a ghost:
1. Unexplained noises. I often ask Ryan if the dog just farted because I hear these little noises that sound quite airy. If it's not non-existent farts I hear, it's running water. Many a time have I been laying in bed trying to get to sleep only to have to get up and go into the kitchen to ensure the faucet's not on. It never is. Also, on a regular basis I hear these war-cries from the basement. This one, as it turns out, is the cat downstairs talking to herself. I don't think that last one counts.
2. Objects moving of their own accord. Overall I have what can best be described as a shitty memory. Ryan can attest to the fact that on many occasions I have completely forgotten about entire conversations we've supposedly had, and yet if he were to ask me where something is in the house, my pictographic memory (the only kind of memory I have left) kicks in and I can tell him down to the smallest detail where the item is located. "What's that dear? You're looking for that random spice we use once a year? That would be in the upper cupboard to the left of the range, second shelf, in the blue basket, behind the paprika, wedged in amongst the Club House seasoning packets - 3rd one in from the left between the greek dressing mix and the shepherd's pie mix that we'll never eat because mixing potatoes, corn and beef is just wrong."
However, there have been many a time where something important goes missing. Important things are typically kept in one of three areas in my house. A prime example is my birth certificate. I have checked all the "important" areas time and again, and even resorted to the "meh, we should probably keep this, but I'm not overly concerned about it" spots - all to no avail. This baffles me. The ghost theory though would explain a lot. I suspect the ghost doesn't realize it's a ghost and is pretty pissed that she can't find any of her own ID, so she's trying to steal mine. That thieving bitch.
3. Smell unusual or unexplained fragrances. Going back to the fart conversation from point one - more often than asking about farts because of my ability to hear, I'm asking on a daily basis if someone in the area has farted because of my sense of smell (and no, it's not because of my ability to fart, smartass). Also, I think my coworkers can attest to the fact that I'm constantly smelling things that no one else can smell. Today alone I caught a strong whiff of burnt toast (no, it was not pre-seizure), followed a couple hours later by the smell of honey-glazed ham. Last month I was convinced our office smelled of rotting. Rotting what? I couldn't say, but I believe I once compared it to the scent of something decaying in the walls.
4. Do animals behave strangely in a certain area of your home? See video above. In fact, he continues to bark, growl and scale the walls in that same area.
5. Cold Pockets. When I'm at home I'm often quite cold despite the kick-ass insulation and the 74 degree Fahrenheit (23 degree Celsius) temperature. I think the ghost gets bored of me though because when she follows me to work I'm at a comfortable temperature for most of the day. I think she visits my coworkers because they're often freezing in the office even though they're only 10 feet away from me.
6. Feeling like you're not alone, when you are alone. I often have this sensation - this feeling of being watched. At first I believed this feeling to be caused by nosy, perverted neighbours looking in our windows to check out the goods - but once again, the ghost theory seems to make so much more sense!
7. Light in areas unoccupied by living beings. Observe.
I think I've proved my point.
At this point in the program ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to point out that in my last entry I indicated that the following posts were going to be successive parts of the "Satirical Self-Analysis" in which I point out some of my character flaws and put a spin on them so I don't seemcertifiable special quite so defective. Some of you may consider a post in which I argue that I'm being haunted by a ghost with the travel bug a post highlighting a character defect, but for those of you that don't, please find comfort in the fact that this entry proves I can't keep a promise (otherwise I would've would've written something self-criticizing), and thus, I can't be trusted. That, my friends, is a character defect.
(Yes, I am aware that the described character defect I provided as an example contradicts the character defect argument. I'm just that deep. Also? I feel as though "I'm Just That Deep" would be an intriguing title for an adult-movie. I'm just saying...)
Toby was viciously barking at this one area of our ceiling all night. Upon closer inspection there was nothing on the ceiling or the wall (aside from the claw marks he just left behind. Awesome.)...so how is one not to deduce that what he was seeing was a ghost? I strongly suspect that I have a ghost attached to me - not solely haunting the house, but haunting yours truly. Let's discuss further evidentiary support for this theory, shall we?
According to newageinfo.com, the following are the top 7 signs that you have a ghost:
1. Unexplained noises. I often ask Ryan if the dog just farted because I hear these little noises that sound quite airy. If it's not non-existent farts I hear, it's running water. Many a time have I been laying in bed trying to get to sleep only to have to get up and go into the kitchen to ensure the faucet's not on. It never is. Also, on a regular basis I hear these war-cries from the basement. This one, as it turns out, is the cat downstairs talking to herself. I don't think that last one counts.
2. Objects moving of their own accord. Overall I have what can best be described as a shitty memory. Ryan can attest to the fact that on many occasions I have completely forgotten about entire conversations we've supposedly had, and yet if he were to ask me where something is in the house, my pictographic memory (the only kind of memory I have left) kicks in and I can tell him down to the smallest detail where the item is located. "What's that dear? You're looking for that random spice we use once a year? That would be in the upper cupboard to the left of the range, second shelf, in the blue basket, behind the paprika, wedged in amongst the Club House seasoning packets - 3rd one in from the left between the greek dressing mix and the shepherd's pie mix that we'll never eat because mixing potatoes, corn and beef is just wrong."
However, there have been many a time where something important goes missing. Important things are typically kept in one of three areas in my house. A prime example is my birth certificate. I have checked all the "important" areas time and again, and even resorted to the "meh, we should probably keep this, but I'm not overly concerned about it" spots - all to no avail. This baffles me. The ghost theory though would explain a lot. I suspect the ghost doesn't realize it's a ghost and is pretty pissed that she can't find any of her own ID, so she's trying to steal mine. That thieving bitch.
3. Smell unusual or unexplained fragrances. Going back to the fart conversation from point one - more often than asking about farts because of my ability to hear, I'm asking on a daily basis if someone in the area has farted because of my sense of smell (and no, it's not because of my ability to fart, smartass). Also, I think my coworkers can attest to the fact that I'm constantly smelling things that no one else can smell. Today alone I caught a strong whiff of burnt toast (no, it was not pre-seizure), followed a couple hours later by the smell of honey-glazed ham. Last month I was convinced our office smelled of rotting. Rotting what? I couldn't say, but I believe I once compared it to the scent of something decaying in the walls.
4. Do animals behave strangely in a certain area of your home? See video above. In fact, he continues to bark, growl and scale the walls in that same area.
5. Cold Pockets. When I'm at home I'm often quite cold despite the kick-ass insulation and the 74 degree Fahrenheit (23 degree Celsius) temperature. I think the ghost gets bored of me though because when she follows me to work I'm at a comfortable temperature for most of the day. I think she visits my coworkers because they're often freezing in the office even though they're only 10 feet away from me.
6. Feeling like you're not alone, when you are alone. I often have this sensation - this feeling of being watched. At first I believed this feeling to be caused by nosy, perverted neighbours looking in our windows to check out the goods - but once again, the ghost theory seems to make so much more sense!
7. Light in areas unoccupied by living beings. Observe.
 |
| Oh, that would be the ghost that's trying to steal my identity. |
At this point in the program ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to point out that in my last entry I indicated that the following posts were going to be successive parts of the "Satirical Self-Analysis" in which I point out some of my character flaws and put a spin on them so I don't seem
(Yes, I am aware that the described character defect I provided as an example contradicts the character defect argument. I'm just that deep. Also? I feel as though "I'm Just That Deep" would be an intriguing title for an adult-movie. I'm just saying...)
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Satirical Self-Analysis - Part I
I've been somewhat missing in action the past month or so due to an extended bout of self-reflection (and thus self-pitying, self-loathing, etc etc), prompted by external events beyond my control. My way of coping with this? Sending it out to the blogosphere with a bit of a satirical twist to try and lighten my solemn mood. What better (and more morbid) way to kick off the new year could there be?
Before I get into all that though, I feel the need to provide my insight on the concept of the new years resolution. (hey, it's my blog - if you didn't want to read about my insights to this and that, you wouldn't be here, right?)
In my previous blog I wrote to this effect back in 2006, but in re-reading the material I think I summed it up pretty nicely for myself, so I'm just going to re-post my 2006 thoughts here for your enlightenment.
Essentially what I want to say is that new years eve? Is bullshit. I'm not saying this from a bitter standpoint...I'm too young to be tainted by news years eves past where I would stand alone at the stroke of midnight while couples around me started making out as if under some twisted, soft-core-porn-ish spell. So why is new years eve bullshit?
1. The pressure everyone is put under to have something extraordinary planned for their evening. I'm not against going out and having fun with friends or strangers anytime, but it seems like on new years eve everyone must become socialites for the evening until soon after the ball drops and everyone turns back into their tired selves. Bars that never have a cover charge are suddenly forcing you to pay $20 in advance to guarantee yourself a spot under their roof for the night, the malls are crazed with young women trying to find a whorish outfit that will help them find their prince charming to slobber all over at midnight and the liquor stores are packed with people stocking up on drinks guaranteed to make them do something completely embarrassing to ring in the new year. Remember when you were a little kid and the great thing about new years was the fact that it was the one night out of the year that you were guaranteed the right to stay up until midnight...an hour only heard of, but never seen? Of course you would either pass out by 10 or be so hopped up on sugar that you would be a perfect reminder to your young teenage babysitter why abstinence is the best policy.
2. Those who fool themselves into making a new years resolution with the belief that they will actually keep it. Why they think that by changing the number from 2010 to 2011 they will stop eating that entire pizza, start a strict exercise regimen, or curb their pack-a-day habit I'll never know. I'm convinced that the whole "resolutions" business was created by corporate America (much like Valentine's Day) as a way to turn a profit. Sales of diet pills, diet books, exercise equipment and videos, the nicorette patch, the nicorette gum etc soar for the first few weeks and as people start falling off (or getting back on) the wagon, they crash hard and that's when sales of cigarettes, Ben & Jerry's and just about any fast food option begin their incline. It's not until about April that things even out and life is as it once was. Really though, I'm quite convinced that you're destined to fail if you resolve to start your diet, or quit your smoking or whatever else it is that you want to start or stop doing come January 1st of any year. Chances are, whatever behaviour you've been engaging in (or neglecting as the case may be) is not new and you've known for quite sometime that you need to change your ways. If this is the case (which it most likely is), if you were really set on making the change you would've done it a lot sooner and not waited until the start of a new calendar year. After all, January first is truly no different than any other day of the year.
As it pertains to the self-analysis portion of today's e-mail, we'll start off light and gradually build over the Satirical Self-Analysis Series - Parts 2 through whatever number I finish off with. As with any other time I've delved into the practice of reflecting on myself, my behaviours, etc etc I start off by looking at the superficial things. This often means I go into a cleaning or organization frenzy because it offers a welcome mental and physical distraction before I reach the darker depths of my psyche. This time, it started at work. The following e-mail to three lovely friends at work should explain quite nicely what I'm trying (and so easily failing) to convey here:
Following this e-mail there was a little back and forth which led to two of the ladies confessing their some of their "sins" - which in turn only highlighted more of mine. One of the three proved herself to be a little OCD and thus lacking such faults, and was therefore promptly chastised by yours truly for her domestic purity. Ultimately, the ladies pulled through. At 2pm on the dot, the ladies showed up to my department complete with face masks to protect them from the smell and the potential for toxic fumes which may or may not emanate from the food containers upon opening. Together, in solidarity, we marched to the nearest bathroom for the "Ceremonial Dump" (as we so lovingly called it), generating a little caution for the people in the board room who watched us walk by as if we were handling anthrax.
Post-dumping, the three ladies promptly removed themselves from the vicinity (I considered this to be self-preservation on their part), while I stayed behind to wash the containers and try and rid them of their putrid smells. When I got back to my desk, I was informed by a coworker that someone had posted a sign on the bathroom door that read "Loony did it" (referring to the lingering odour that plagued the bathroom for hours after). I frantically started explaining to people that the vile bathroom scent was generated by my problems with lunch disposal, and not a different kind of dumping.
To commemorate the event as well as the holidays, I wrote a song about the dumping, which should be sung to the tune of the "12 Days of Christmas".
NOTE: The day after the dumping, I did sing this to the ladies during morning break and presented them with gifts of thanks. I'm not an ingrate.
*Ah-hem*...
Before I get into all that though, I feel the need to provide my insight on the concept of the new years resolution. (hey, it's my blog - if you didn't want to read about my insights to this and that, you wouldn't be here, right?)
In my previous blog I wrote to this effect back in 2006, but in re-reading the material I think I summed it up pretty nicely for myself, so I'm just going to re-post my 2006 thoughts here for your enlightenment.
Essentially what I want to say is that new years eve? Is bullshit. I'm not saying this from a bitter standpoint...I'm too young to be tainted by news years eves past where I would stand alone at the stroke of midnight while couples around me started making out as if under some twisted, soft-core-porn-ish spell. So why is new years eve bullshit?
1. The pressure everyone is put under to have something extraordinary planned for their evening. I'm not against going out and having fun with friends or strangers anytime, but it seems like on new years eve everyone must become socialites for the evening until soon after the ball drops and everyone turns back into their tired selves. Bars that never have a cover charge are suddenly forcing you to pay $20 in advance to guarantee yourself a spot under their roof for the night, the malls are crazed with young women trying to find a whorish outfit that will help them find their prince charming to slobber all over at midnight and the liquor stores are packed with people stocking up on drinks guaranteed to make them do something completely embarrassing to ring in the new year. Remember when you were a little kid and the great thing about new years was the fact that it was the one night out of the year that you were guaranteed the right to stay up until midnight...an hour only heard of, but never seen? Of course you would either pass out by 10 or be so hopped up on sugar that you would be a perfect reminder to your young teenage babysitter why abstinence is the best policy.
2. Those who fool themselves into making a new years resolution with the belief that they will actually keep it. Why they think that by changing the number from 2010 to 2011 they will stop eating that entire pizza, start a strict exercise regimen, or curb their pack-a-day habit I'll never know. I'm convinced that the whole "resolutions" business was created by corporate America (much like Valentine's Day) as a way to turn a profit. Sales of diet pills, diet books, exercise equipment and videos, the nicorette patch, the nicorette gum etc soar for the first few weeks and as people start falling off (or getting back on) the wagon, they crash hard and that's when sales of cigarettes, Ben & Jerry's and just about any fast food option begin their incline. It's not until about April that things even out and life is as it once was. Really though, I'm quite convinced that you're destined to fail if you resolve to start your diet, or quit your smoking or whatever else it is that you want to start or stop doing come January 1st of any year. Chances are, whatever behaviour you've been engaging in (or neglecting as the case may be) is not new and you've known for quite sometime that you need to change your ways. If this is the case (which it most likely is), if you were really set on making the change you would've done it a lot sooner and not waited until the start of a new calendar year. After all, January first is truly no different than any other day of the year.
As it pertains to the self-analysis portion of today's e-mail, we'll start off light and gradually build over the Satirical Self-Analysis Series - Parts 2 through whatever number I finish off with. As with any other time I've delved into the practice of reflecting on myself, my behaviours, etc etc I start off by looking at the superficial things. This often means I go into a cleaning or organization frenzy because it offers a welcome mental and physical distraction before I reach the darker depths of my psyche. This time, it started at work. The following e-mail to three lovely friends at work should explain quite nicely what I'm trying (and so easily failing) to convey here:
I find myself in a tough situation this morning. Over the last few months in an effort to make more positive choices for myself, I made a significant effort to bring my lunch, and to make my own tea instead of stopping by Timmies. The problem is that while I may be disciplined enough to bring these things to work, I'm not always disciplined enough to eat/drink what I bring, and will often choose to opt out for something else (especially if they're serving fish and chips in the caf). It starts getting messy when I try convincing myself "hmm, I'll just eat that tomorrow"....then tomorrow turns into a few days, and then a few days turns into a week, and so on and so on. Many good pieces of tupperware and travel mugs have been sacrificed in this ongoing problem of mine, and yet the problem continues. It's a bit of an addiction.
I spent yesterday cleaning my desk and re-organizing my filing, but I can not bring myself to look after a few food-related discretions that haunt my work space. This is where you come in. I need your help in ridding the office of the ghosts of abandoned-foods past. I propose we have a sort of ceremonial service in the ladies bathroom of simultaneous dumping and flushing of the foods and substances that were once liquids.
I'd love to be able to just do this on my own, but I know that's not the reality of the situation. I need help. Your help. Before you respond by telling me to just dump my crap on my own and the sicker it makes me feel the less likely I'll be to do it again, I assure you, you're wrong. Ryan has attempted this tough-love approach with me many a times, and this e-mail should be solid evidence that it doesn't work.
I have made small progress in changing my ways - but it will take time. I've completed the first step - admitting I have a problem. Steps 2 and 3 are kind of a moot point for me, and I take inventory of my faults all the time, so step 4 is done on a regular basis (oh, and look at that - number 10 is the same idea! Multi-tasker extraordinaire!). I'd say this e-mail covers me for step 5, and I think we can totally count a bathroom ceremony as step 6 - even though you guys aren't god, but again, referring back to my comments about 2 and 3, that's quite alright with me - you fine ladies will do.
Following this e-mail there was a little back and forth which led to two of the ladies confessing their some of their "sins" - which in turn only highlighted more of mine. One of the three proved herself to be a little OCD and thus lacking such faults, and was therefore promptly chastised by yours truly for her domestic purity. Ultimately, the ladies pulled through. At 2pm on the dot, the ladies showed up to my department complete with face masks to protect them from the smell and the potential for toxic fumes which may or may not emanate from the food containers upon opening. Together, in solidarity, we marched to the nearest bathroom for the "Ceremonial Dump" (as we so lovingly called it), generating a little caution for the people in the board room who watched us walk by as if we were handling anthrax.
Post-dumping, the three ladies promptly removed themselves from the vicinity (I considered this to be self-preservation on their part), while I stayed behind to wash the containers and try and rid them of their putrid smells. When I got back to my desk, I was informed by a coworker that someone had posted a sign on the bathroom door that read "Loony did it" (referring to the lingering odour that plagued the bathroom for hours after). I frantically started explaining to people that the vile bathroom scent was generated by my problems with lunch disposal, and not a different kind of dumping.
To commemorate the event as well as the holidays, I wrote a song about the dumping, which should be sung to the tune of the "12 Days of Christmas".
NOTE: The day after the dumping, I did sing this to the ladies during morning break and presented them with gifts of thanks. I'm not an ingrate.
*Ah-hem*...
On the first purge of Christmas, Loony gave to me
A starbucks mug of coffee!
On the second purge of Christmas, Loony gave to me,
A container that held cheese,
and a Starbucks mug of coffee!
and a Starbucks mug of coffee!
On the third purge of Christmas, Loony gave to me,
Tupperware for meat,
A container that held cheese,
and a Starbucks mug of coffee!
On the Fourth purge of Christmas, Loony gave to me,
A bowl that once held soup,
Tupperware for meat,
A container that held cheese,
And a Starbucks mug of coffee!
On the Fifth purge of Christmas, Loony gave to me,
Twooo Month Old Broccoliiiiii!
A bowl that once held soup,
Tupperware for meat,
A Container that held cheese,
And a Starbucks mug of coffee!
On the Sixth purge of Christmas, Loony gave to me,
Moldy peppermint tea,
Twooo Month Old Broccoliiiii!
A bowl that once held soup,
Tupperware for meat,
A container that held cheese,
And a Starbucks mug of coffee!
On the Seventh purge of Christmas, Loony gave to me,
Stir-fry that went furry,
Moldy Peppermint Tea,
Twooo Month Old Broccoliiii!
A bowl that once held soup,
Tupperware for meat,
A container that held cheese,
And a Starbucks mug of coffee!
On the Eighth purge of Christmas, Loony gave to me,
4 week old jelly,
Stir-fry that went furry,
Moldy peppermint tea,
Twooo Month Old Broccoliiii!
A bowl that once held soup,
Tupperware for meat,
A container that held cheese,
And a Starbucks mug of coffee!
On the Ninth purge of Christmas, Loony gave to me,
Three month old orange,
Four week old jelly,
Stir-fry that went furry,
Moldy peppermint tea,
Twooo Month Old Broccoliiii!
A bowl that once held soup,
Tupperware for meat,
A container that held cheese,
And a Starbucks mug of coffee!
On the Tenth purge of Christmas, Loony gave to me,
Ten week old green tea,
Three month old orange,
Four week old jelly,
Stir-fry that went furry,
Moldy peppermint tea,
Twooo month old Broccoliiii!
A bowl that once held soup,
Tupperware for meat,
A container that held cheese,
And a Starbucks mug of coffee!
On the Eleventh purge of Christmas, Loony gave to me,
Liquid watermelon,
Ten week old green tea,
Three month old orange,
Four week old jelly,
Stir-fry that went furry,
Moldy peppermint tea,
Twooo month old broccoliii!!
A bowl that once held soup,
Tupperware for meat,
A container that held cheese,
And a Starbucks mug of coffee!
On the TWELFTH purge of Christmas, Loony gave to me,
Chunkified hot chocolate,
Liquid watermelon,
Ten week old green tea,
Three month old orange,
Four week old jelly,
Stir-fry that went furry,
Moldy peppermint tea,
Twoooo month old broccoliii!!
A bowl that once held soup,
Tupperware for meat,
A container that held cheese,
And a Starbucks mug of coffee!
Friday, December 31, 2010
A Love Story Between Animal and Machine
In the late June 2008, my darling husband and I decided we wanted to spend our anniversary amongst the animals. For most couples, this would involve renting a cottage for a romantic weekend out in a secluded area. For us, it meant a trip to African Lion Safari (ALS) in an 18 year old car without air conditioning. ALS is one of those zoos that you get to drive your car through, should you choose to do so. Since my car was painfully old I wasn't concerned about driving it through the zoo, despite the tales of caution from people who had their cars ripped apart by monkeys and baboons. We discovered that the monkeys and baboons were not the animals to be feared since they seemed to enjoy being perched on a higher vehicle - and fortunately for us we were surrounded by vans.
I knew we wouldn't get off scott-free after driving through a 'safari' of "wild" animals, which included lions, tigers, rhino's, giraffe's and some horny zebras. We did our best to avoid an unintentional invitation to the wild creatures - we didn't keep any food in the car, and kept the windows rolled up even though it was a sweltering 32 degrees celsius (90 degrees ferenheit) not including humidity.
It was around the time that the swamp-ass really started to kick in that it happened. It was like a scene out of some awkward comedy that abuses the laugh-track. Imagine our car as some beautiful woman at a bar...
It all started with:
A Look From Across The Room...(note: all quotations should be read with Barry White's voice in mind)
The Approach...
Making Contact...
After some time spent laying the groundwork,
Getting Physical....
Then finally,
The Morning After...
He never got the phone call. That not-so-little fucker scratched the shit out of the hood of my car with his prickly body just writhing all over it like a pig in its own shit. Not to mention the fact that he kept throwing his gloriously long eye-lashes in my face. Jerk. It was a sweet love story for the car and the ostrich - but like all good things, it came to an end - much like 2010. Here's hoping if you haven't yet found your ostrich, you will in the new year - if your ostrich is a prick, may the new year give you the strength drop him like a bad habit (you know who you are...). Happy New Year everyone!!
xoxo
Loony
I knew we wouldn't get off scott-free after driving through a 'safari' of "wild" animals, which included lions, tigers, rhino's, giraffe's and some horny zebras. We did our best to avoid an unintentional invitation to the wild creatures - we didn't keep any food in the car, and kept the windows rolled up even though it was a sweltering 32 degrees celsius (90 degrees ferenheit) not including humidity.
It was around the time that the swamp-ass really started to kick in that it happened. It was like a scene out of some awkward comedy that abuses the laugh-track. Imagine our car as some beautiful woman at a bar...
It all started with:
A Look From Across The Room...(note: all quotations should be read with Barry White's voice in mind)
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| "You're funny - I like that in a woman. You must be a Cancer..." Wait a minute - who is that dashing creature ahead of me? |
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| Just remember man, be cool - be confident. You can get this one. |
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| "Well hello there..." |
Getting Physical....
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| "Oh yeah baby - Daddy knows what you like." |
The Morning After...
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| "Oh baby - that was so good. I think I love you. What's that? You've got an early meeting tomorrow? Oh. Uh, that's cool baby...that's cool. Call me sometime." |
xoxo
Loony
Monday, December 13, 2010
My Toby, My Hero
Last week he was saving us from the zombies. This week he's saving us from the evil Christmas decorations.
My hero.
NOTE: The window treatment is skewed because the cat previously tried getting in on the action. Also? This is Toby after about 10-15 minutes of barking. When he first noticed the deco's his hackles went up and I'm sure everyone in a two block radius heard his vicious bark. Stay tuned for Christmas 2011 when we introduce the animals to a real life fake Christmas tree!
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Preparing for the Zombie Apocalypse
A few consecutive nights of poor sleep prompted the following e-mail exchange between myself and Jenny Lawson - The Bloggess. I felt it important to share so you too can prepare appropriately.
Hi Jenny!
This morning I inadvertently did a "zombie" walk* as I approached my 9 month old German Shepherd puppy (who's a GIANT, I might add). Needless to say, it royally freaked him out and his response sparked a discussion between my husband and I about the best way to prepare him for the impending Zombie Apocalypse. I know you no longer have the "Ask The Bloggess" site, but I knew we needed to consult an expert and so I'm in desperate need of your advice. Do we train him to decapitate zombie's by biting their heads off, or will this put him at risk of becoming a zombie dog? Should we teach him to run away? Are there other things we could be teaching him to ensure the survival of the family when the zombies inevitably come to try and eat our brains?
*NOTE: I am not a zombie. The zombie walk in question was merely a result of my sleep deprivation and a sore arch in my left foot.
Jenny's response:
option.
You see why we needed to consult her. Needless to say, the Shepherd Samurai Training had to start immediately if we were to be adequately prepared for the Zombie Apocalypse...
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| Toby losing his Samurai virginity - wielding the sword with pride and enthusiasm. I'm pretty sure the sword also gives him the power to shoot lasers from his eyes. Our chances of survival are looking good, indeed. |
But after some time spent practicing his new Samurai skills...
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| The Samurai life appears to be emotionally and physically draining. My confidence in our survival is lacking a little now. |
Also? The cat is none too impressed with the new plan. Trying to include her in the training was unsuccessful and a little dangerous. Lesson learned.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
I'm Pretty Sure My Mouth Is Filled With Little Calcium-Packed SuperHeroes
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| SUPERTOOTH - no plaque buildup too big to handle! |
It wasn't until just last week that I went back to the dentists office. Now, after 10 years since my last visit, I lost track of my original dentist and had to start from scratch with a new guy - so I borrowed Ryan's. I was a little nervous. I'm not a flosser (despite a cautionary tale from my father-in-law last Christmas), and if I fall asleep on the couch, I'm not inclined to brush my teeth before going and crawling into bed for the night. Since the last time in the chair, my soda and junk-food consumption has increased - all things which don't bode well for my cavity-free reputation. When I get to the dentist's office, I'm asked to fill out a medical history document, which included questions such as:
Have you ever been told not to take drugs? "As a child I was often warned by parents and teachers "don't do drugs!". I'm pretty sure they were high at the time, and just didn't want to have to share... (This is what happens when you don't specify medical or recreational drugs)"
and,
Does the dentist make you nervous? "
Dr. Dentist failed test #1- upon reviewing my medical history I didn't hear a chuckle, nor did I get any kind of sarcastic remark about my antics, therefore no appreciation for my kind of humour. Part of me felt a little bad about it since this guy was almost painfully nice. He continuously apologized to me if he had to take a moment to make a note about his 'findings' (NOTE: I'm pretty sure these notes included something like "New patient would be better advised seeking mental health care as opposed to oral health care", and "Do not stick fingers past the tooth line - she looks like a biter."), he also apologized when cleaning my teeth for merely doing his job. See? Painfully nice.
Dr. Dentist then failed test #2 when he complimented me on my flossing habits - to which I informed him that I don't have any such thing (after which he apologized...). Okay, so this wasn't actually a fail - you can't fail someone for giving you a compliment on your lazy oral hygiene...that's just bad manners.
So I get in the chair and he starts taking a look around at all my teeth, making nice little comments here and there about what great shape they were in. At this point I'm kind of loving this guy because I was a little worried that after 10 years of plaque buildup, I was going to be in trouble. I envisioned my teeth were looking something like this:
After about 30 minutes of pick-axing my teeth with his little tooth-hammer, he pulled out the fluoride and the little tooth-sander. This was the part I remembered liking about the dentists' as a kid - getting to choose my fluoride flavour! Dr. Dentist failed test #3 when he used some generic fluoride without consulting me. It was not pleasant. About 15 seconds in I was so eager to spit this stuff out that I took the reigns on the little spit-sucker they use and started vacuuming my mouth until I was allowed to go spit. But when all was said and done, I left with a mouth that looked like this:
I walked away maintaining my cavity-free status. My plaque free superteeth were rejuvenated and ready to start another battle. Maybe I'll let this one last a little less than 10 years though....
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