Saturday, 30 April 2011

Shitionary Sunday - Resolved

Updated with the winner at the bottom!

I have added today's drawing at the bottom, for your guessing pleasure.  Good luck!

Welcome to Shitionary Sunday. 

Ok, so it's only Saturday.  But I have to give y'all fair warning.  You know.  So you can prepare yourselves for the fierce competition.  (?)

I shall post a new Shitionary drawing tomorrow.  I don't know what time, but I'll aim for pre- noon. 

I was trying to come up with some inspiration for a meaningful and poignant Shitionary post. 

First I thought "Royal Wedding" would be a good theme.  But then I thought that if I hear those two effing words in the same effing sentence one more time I might go even more crazy than I already am

And I already did a Beatles theme.  So that's out. 

And while anything with cats is usually an inspiring theme for me (in the form of calendars, srceen savers, figurines, sweatshirts, and YouTube playlists), if I tried to draw one, it would most likely turn out looking something like this:

And as cute as this guy is, I don't think he appropriately captures all of a cat's adorning qualities.

So.  Where does that leave us? 

1) New Shitionary post tomorrow. 
2) Before noon. 
3) With no known category. 

Oh, and 4) I think I'll hold onto your comments until a few people get a chance to guess.  I don't want to give it away too soon. (And I kinda want y'all to squirm a bit too.)  

See you tomorrow!


UPDATED:

Here is today's drawing:


UPDATED AGAIN:

You guys are awesome.  Hubby said this was too hard, but I was sure he was underestimating the creativity and intelligence of my readers!  (Or overestimating his own... not sure.)

The answer:  Neo and Trinity.  Yes, from the Matrix. 

This week's award goes to L.A.C.E., of My Glass House who was so close that it has to count.  Congrats!




In addition, I have one very worthy honourable mention:

Elle, of ThisIsMommyhood, you were really onto something with Quentin Tarantino.  Also you're so fun and supportive that I hereby mention you honourably.



Thanks for playing guys!  I heart you all. 

_

Wednesday, 27 April 2011

My happy place scared the bejezus out of me

People with Anxiety Disorders are supposed to have a safe place to revert to when a freak-out strikes.  A Happy Place.

I'm reluctant to tell you where my Happy Place is, because I don't want all kinds of weird bloggers messing around in my subconscious, snooping through my stuff and moving all the furniture.

So I can't tell you. 

But I can tell you my SECOND Happy Place.  (Yeah I have two.  So what?) 

It's in Hometown.  It's an amazing conservation-type area called Lemoine.  It has miles of natural wooded trails, and a whole range of wildlife, and waves crashing up on shore.  I love it.  I miss it all the time.  

When I was in Hometown last Friday it was the perfect day for Lemoine.  Sunny and warm(ish) and generally very pleasant.   

But who the eff would have thought that all that Spring niceness and happy wildlife would combine to entirely f-ck up my Happy Place?!

Effing snakes. 

Eleven of them. 

Dirty bastards appearing out of effing nowhere along the trails and scaring the effing bejezus out of an already fragile and volatile Anxiety Disorder patient. 

What the f-ck?

So when I saw the first little asshole (and jumped 5 feet with a shout), I went on an immediate and deliberate hunt for a snake stick. 

The purpose of which was to tap in front of me to scare the snakes away before I came across the bastards under my damn feet. 

Like me, but with more anxiety, and wearing a shirt.

The first stick was too small, so I had to bend over to tap it on the ground ahead of me.  Unnatural walking posture.   

The second stick was a trap.  Upon reaching for it, I jumped 10 feet in the effing air and screamed at the top of my lungs because a damn snake wiggled right. next. to. my. hand. 

The third stick was a bad idea.  Thorns. 

The fourth stick was too big.  If you have to heave your snake stick over your shoulder, it's not appropriate for the task at hand. 

I finally found the perfect snake stick and proceeded to tap it along the trail ahead of me the whole damn time.  True story. 

Then when Mom was too much of a baby (yeah, she's the baby) to walk through a mud patch, she suggested we cross the forest to another trail. 

Mom:  "Let's just walk across here."
Me:  *fearful and nearly trembling* "What about *gulp* the snakes?"
Mom:  "Oh Yeah.  Well... just tap your stick across the brush."
Me:  "Noooooo way.  Your idea, your lead." *handing her the snake stick*
Mom: 


Excellent snake sticking Mom.  If any of those effers were underfoot, they were long gone before I got there.  Way to go, supporting your child - the hopeless neurotic wreck. 

_

Monday, 25 April 2011

Shitionary - UPDATED

I was telling you last week about my recent game of Pictionary, and the hilarity that of course ensued.  And then my blogger friend jacqui asked me when the next installment would occur... 

So.  Welcome to Shitionary.  Like Pictionary, but shittier.  

I've crafted another example of my brilliant artistry and posted it here for your guessing pleasure.

Enjoy!


UPDATED

Well, thanks for playing along!  Love you gals.  You are Shitionary masters.  I am highly impressed. 

SarcasmInAction, you are hilarious, but unfortunately wrong. 
Elle, you are hilarious and also CORRECT!
Jacqui, you are too slow (and bitter, apparently?)  :)

Elle, here is your award!  Congratulations! 


_

Thursday, 21 April 2011

Be a better person, damn it.

Do y'all know what tomorrow is? 

Yeah, so I think it's Jesus Day or something, but do you know what else it is?

Earth Day!  Yay for the Earth!

At first I thought this was a pretty picture, but now I think it looks radioactive. 


Now.  I want to tell you a bit about Earth Day.  I've done some research. 

Earth Day was founded by a wicked-cool US Senator named Gaylord on April 22, 1970.  It was first focused in the US, but it launched internationally in 1990, in 141 nations. 

I actually remember when the rest of the world got all up in Earth Day's bid-nas.  I remember my school teaching us to "reduce, reuse and recycle!" and to pick up our litter, and to cut it out with those pesky CFCs.

You know what else I remember?  I remember being scared shitless that the effing ozone layer was going to burn off and we were all going to spontaneously combust - or worse, very slowly and painfully MELT when the sun's raw rays hit us. 

Imagine a class of first graders out there picking up trash in their school yard, and unexpectedly melting into a hot ball of steaming flesh and MC Hammer pants. 

*shudder*

Oh yeah.  Back to my research. 

I read that Earth Day is now coordinated globally by the Earth Day Network (duh?), and is celebrated in more than 175 countries every year.

(Please bear with me, my American friends, as I am a proud Canadian - true, north, strong, and free - and while I would have liked to have done some International research, I stuck with my home and native land. )

The first Canadian Earth Day was held in 1980, and was organized by a grad student at Queen's University (my Alma Mater!). 

AND, a woman named Flora, the federal government rep for Kingston (Hometown!) officially kicked things off with a ceremonial tree planting and naked rain dance.  (Just kidding about the naked rain dance.)

Nowadays, more than 6 million Canadians join 1 billion people in over 170 countries to take part in Earth Day projects, activities, and other rabble-rousing.   

So this year, I want to actively join that group of 1 billion people.  And I want YOU, my loyal readers, to join in too.  Bringing the grand total up to about 1,000,000,030.  

SO here's what I plan to do:

First, I am going to drive 200 kilometres to Hometown with Hubby in his 13 year old pickup truck. 

BUT THEN, then, I'm going to do something green

I already clean with vinegar.  And I already take the bus to work.  And I already use reusable bags.  Yes, I'm already a goddam SAINT. 

But starting tomorrow (not tonight, 'cause I'm lazy) I'm going to use that effing compost bin more often.  Even though it's inconvenient.  And even though it's messy.  And even though it stinks worse than bum's dirty nutsack. 

Starting now tomorrow, I'm a goddam better person.  Join me, won't you?

Check this out:  A Billion Acts Of Green

* * *

PS!

My blogger friend jacqui, of ChickTuition asked me when the next game of Pictionary will be.  Excellent question!

I like this idea, so on Monday I shall post another example of my artistry (with the help of Painter), and you all will have the pleasure of guessing what I have very skillfully represented.

Good luck!

_

Tuesday, 19 April 2011

Inappropriate touching!

If you don't share my undying love of Pictionary, here is your forewarning: 

This post is about Pictionary - more importantly, this post is about how much I love Pictionary. 

We played it with a friend on Friday night.  And it was awesome.

I think my favourite thing about it is how you always end up guessing things like:

Turtle with whiskers!
Also known as a walrus, which miraculously turned into "blubber". 

Pacman!
I don't even remember what this was supposed to be - but it wasn't pacman

Inappropriate touching!


That's right!  Well it was "touch", but close enough.   
(I had to blur out part of the picture, though.)
  
And I especially love the challenge of Pictionary.  I always prefer to pick the more difficult option to draw, just to see if I can nail it.  I'm good at it.  And unlike Hubby, I rarely end up throwing the marker across the room. 

Running!  Dashes!   A road! 

This is Hubby's representation of "two words". 
Pretty smart, in retrospect.  But at the time, it was useless. 

Also, I very rarely just stare at the board thinking about what to draw, while the timer click-click-clicks away.  I always try to draw at least something.  Even if I end up pathetically and repetitively tapping the picture with the marker and circling it over and over again.

Woman!  Lady!  Girl!  Man!  Bride!  Groom!  COUPLE!  Wedding!  Married?  WEDDING! Marriage?  Walking down the aisle!  Wife!?  HUSBAND!!
    


Yes!  Husband!  Finally.



Accolades and praise to he or she who can identify this last one...


_

Monday, 18 April 2011

Flexible, resourceful, adaptable? Hardly.

Watch out!  Versatility is spreading across the interwebs!  Duck! 

No, wait.  Don't duck.  That's unnecessary. 

Instead, maybe you should cheer and begin a rockus round of applause. 


My blogger friend Angela (@BeggingTheAnswer) has nominated me for The Versatile Blogger Award.  Yaaaay! 



Thanks Angela!  For sharing this honour, and for being the clever and charming blogger that you are.  

Now.  I've heard that with great success comes the great responsibility of nominating others.  But I couldn't narrow it down.  (Typical skirter of responsibility.) 

So instead, I encourage you to click each Bloggy Bloggy on the right side of my page.  Each of those bloggers are infinitely more worthy of awards than I am.  Consider yourselves official nominees! 

Here are some of my fav posts.   

Begging The Answer
Why Use The Coat Closet When You Have A Perfectly Good Banister Available?

Musings of a Sarcastic Mind
Who Doesn't *Love* a Math Lesson from a Toothless Man at a Gas Pump?   

Fetch My Flying Monkeys
Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Seriously?? Reeeally? Seriously?
F-cked Up Letters: Walmart Edition

I also apparently have the responsibility of sharing some things that you may not already know about me. 

Here goes.  I'll try to make them "versatile."

1) I'm a pretend gardener.  Every Spring I make the yard look pretty and spend too much money on plants and dirt and mulch, and then eventually revert to ignoring it all for the rest of the Summer.  See?  Pretend. 

2) When I was a senior kindergartner I stole a handful of lego pieces from the classroom.  Yep.  Then I felt so guilty that I snuck them back into the classroom the next day and almost got caught putting them back into the toy bin. 

3) There are several movies that I can watch over and over again without ever getting sick of them.  City of Angels.  Dirty Dancing.  The Notebook.  Just to name a few.  And that's just the non-Christmas ones. (Home Alone.  Christmas Vacation.  Elf.)

4) I don't know how to play chess.  I understand the concept, but nobody has ever offered to teach me.  Not even Hubby.  Especially not Hubby - he knows the lesson would end up with me jamming a pawn in his ear.

5) I shave the hair off my bananas.  Seriously.  When I eat a banana, I peel it, and then use the back of the knife to shave the fuzzy layer off.  Then I slice it into pieces and eat it with a fork.  Sometimes with a side of peanut butter.


You're not judging me, are you?

_

Thursday, 14 April 2011

Have you heard? I'm AWESOME.

I have a history of exhibiting particularly awesome tendencies. 

Like when I fried a layer of dust and cat hair into my pork chop.  Or when I impaled my ribs on my vacuum - that wasn't even in use at the time.  Or, when I sat uncomfortably for two days, only later realizing that I'd been wearing my new underwear backwards

There are several examples.  You can read about them here.  (You know, should you want to feel much better about yourself.)

In short, I'm an effing GENIUS. 

And I proved it again today. 

I drove to work this morning.  I usually take the bus (although not lately, given the whole can't-get-out-of-bed thing), but today I took the car and parked in a lot across from my building.  I found a cozy little spot for my Civic and pulled in. 

I always have a shit-ton of stuff to carry in.  Like most women, I think.  Purse, high heels, scarf, yoga mat, dry cleaning, briefcase, cell phone, food, gifts, book, wig, spare pantyhose, child(ren), etc.  Ok, so I never carry children, and a rarely carry wigs, but I figure most women do. 

So I reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed all my shit. 

You know this process.  Struggling to layer everything onto each of your arms, wrists and individual fingers, while grasping your keys, shaking your hair out of your face, and pushing your sunglasses up with the back of your hand.  

Then shoving the car door open with your foot, while hoisting your junk over the gearshift, and between the steering wheel and your own twisted body. 

Then slithering out of the car, trying desperately not to swing the door too far, which would inevitably result in your car's silver paint ending up scuffed on the side panel of the vehicle next to you.  Which would result in you having to move your car (so as to avoid suspicion) and, of course, in having to start the whole damn process over again. 

So that was me.  Piling myself out of my car.  I pushed the door closed with my ass and then swung around in the direction of the office. 

And then it happened. 

I was STUNNED.  Boxed in the right ear, skull rattled and temple bruised. 

What happened, you may be wondering?

Well, I MAY have inadvertently walked with full force into the giant side-mirror of the effing fifty-ton monster pickup truck parked next to me. 

And when I whipped around to see what effing happened, and saw that damn mirror staring me in the face (right at eye level and bigger than my head), I may have boxed the self-righteous bastard right back. 

My ear is sore. 

And I hurt my finger. 

_

Wednesday, 13 April 2011

Never let your sperm out of your sight

I heard an effed-up story today.   

I heard that some guy - a fertility doctor here in my safe, rational, and normal Canadian city - was unexpectedly revealed as the father of several children. 

I say unexpectedly, because this doctor apparently took it upon himself to impregnate his clients with his own sperm instead of the sperm of men he was supposed to be breeding. 

Yeah. 

My friends and I were trying to figure out how this happened. 

First of all, wouldn't that be kind of tricky?  I mean, all those little bottles of sperm must be monitored, right?  There isn't just some big bingo spinner full of sperm cups.  "Ok, close your eyes, reach in, and pick one!" 

Or maybe one of those evening lottery ball machines.  

I'm Yolaaaan-da Vaaay-ga!
The first ball up... is John.
The next, is Bill.
And the last... is Alberto!
Thank you and goodnight!


I'd like to think not. 

And second of all, how do you think he came to the decision to commit this travesty?  Was it just an experiment?  Do you think he thought he'd give it a go and see if it worked, just for fun? 

And then, when it proved successful, and nobody seemed the wiser, so he thought he'd just keep trying until... until... well, I don't know what.  Until he got bored?

I doubt it.  I think he had to be more calculating about the whole thing.  You know, like a diabolical plan to take over the world or something.  One Canadian baby at a time

That sounds like the tag line from a CBC mini series. 

I don't even know how they caught him.  They must have found his giant wall tally.  

215 done.  3,555,223,556 left to go. 

Or maybe some babies just popped out with random red curly hair and freckles or something.  There were probably several fathers out there wondering who their wives slept with.

"Honey?  Why do you think little Johnny looks so much like a cartoon character?"

Friggin creepy. 



Ok, just so you know, it seems that barely one word of this post is true, as far as I can tell.  It appears to be a combination of fact and urban myth.  I don't care though.  I'm all about spreading rumours.  And I think writing a psychologically thrilling TV mini series is my purpose on this Earth. 

_

Monday, 11 April 2011

I effing hate AC/DC

You have never heard thunder like we heard last night. 

Unless you live near here.  Then maybe you have. 

You'd think the Zombie Apocalypse was upon us.  Because only something like the Zombie Apocalypse could bring rolling, booming, crashing... um, thunderous thunder like that.

It started around 2am. 

Mother Nature:  FLASH!  GRUMBLE... RUMBLE... CRASH!

And then continued striking on semi-regular intervals every hour until about 6am. 

The perfect time for Mother Earth to be as loud as all-get-out

NOT.

Don't underestimate me, either.  I'm not exaggerating.  These were the brightest, scariest blasts of lightening known to humanity, followed by thunder that sent people across three provinces (and probably a few states) quivering under the covers and wishing they had one of those plastic mattress liners.  

I guess I would have been more scared had I not been so effing pissed off.  F-ck.  What a disruption.  A person can't sleep through that.  I don't care how many beers you drank to wash down your sleeping pills. 

And you especially can't sleep through it when it causes your neighbour's house alarm to screech like an effing tornado/Apocalypse siren after every effing earth-shattering lightening flash and thunder crack.  

Mother Nature:  FLASH!  GRUMBLE... RUMBLE... CRASH! 
Neighbour's House:  BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!

And you really can't sleep when your fat (but normally very brave) cat Patches sits out in the hallway on the stairs crying as if some crazy person/zombie is slowly eating her brain. 

Mother Nature:  FLASH!  GRUMBLE... RUMBLE... CRASH! 
Neighbour's House:  BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP! 
Patches: Meeeeoooooww...  Meeeeoooowwwwwwww...

And then, to make matters worse, you hold Patches under the covers in an attempt to assure her that, you know, death is not necessarily imminent, but then she's even more scared because she doesn't really know any better, and because this clearly isn't in her "safe spot" on the stairs, and because you are apparently the last person to be trusted, so she basically claws (or in this case, paws) your face off in the process of frantically escaping your heartfelt love-grip.

Mother Nature:  FLASH!  GRUMBLE... RUMBLE... CRASH! 
Neighbour's House:  BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!
Patches:  
Meeeeoooooww...
Patches again:  Rrrrriiiiaaaaahhhhoooww...

Don't worry.  I'd still prefer a warm rain (however terrifying) over an effing blizzard any day. 

And I love my cat. 

And I'm especially glad I don't have a real baby for which I am required to hold under the covers as a form of protection (and sensory deprivation) from the Zombie Apocalypse taking place outside. 

Patches, forgive me for this somewhat unflattering photo.  No judgement. 
_

Thursday, 7 April 2011

Laugh it up, Johnny

If you know me at all, you know I love web videos.  A web video is quite often the highlight of my day.   

Also, if you've been following lately, or if you know me in real life, you know that I've been having a hard time.  Depression and anxiety and all that jazz.  (I'm coping, and I'm getting help, but some days are really hard.  I know I can beat it.  I believe that.  But it is exhausting.)

Anyway, I have always loved a good laugh - from a Hubby, or from a blog, or from a really stupid web video.  And, in the best scenario, laughing at a really stupid web video with Hubby that I found on a blog. 

And these days, I rely on a good laugh even more than usual.  A good web video has tremendous potential, if you'll let it do you some good. 

So I thought I'd share some, because sometimes I'm not the only one who could use a giggle. 

Here are a few of my favs...


Honey Badger Doesn't Give a Shit 

If you haven't seen this yet, shame on you.  Catch up. 




Don't Mess With Pandas

This is one of those videos that gets funnier as you watch it.  Trust me. 




Why I Love Cats

Apparently I'm a fan of animals with human voices.   And not a fan of printers. 




Babies are fun

This is the King of laughing babies.  I think he's a smoker. 




Babies are also hilarious

This is the drunkest baby I've ever seen. 




Nighttime.  Daytime.  Nighttime.  Daytime.  

Love this.  There is a whole series, but the first clip here is my fav.  




This is just a small selection to help distract you for a few minutes.  If you're looking for longer-term distraction, check out my entire list of favs here.


_

Monday, 4 April 2011

Like Kevin Bacon. But worse.

One of my most/least favourite things about Hometown has always been that everyone knows everyone. 

Not necessarily in a weird incestuous sense (because it's not that small), but more in the charming/annoying I-know-where-you-live sense.  

You see, in Hometown, there a maximum of two degrees of separation between everyone.  Like Kevin Bacon.  But worse. 



For example, at our wedding, it turned out that a friend of my family had been battling a long-term feud with a friend of Hubby's family.  Neither side knew to expect the enemy at our humble ceremony, and they seemed to flee in opposite directions upon laying eyes on each other.  

To make matters worse, Hubby and I had seated them all at. the. same. table.  Yeah.  Luckily it worked out, thanks to my mother who quickly repositioned chairs and tables. 

So, when Hubby and I were in Hometown on Friday for Mom's retirement party, you'd think we wouldn't be surprised when the party host ended up being the wife of pa-in-law's friend. 

Or when a girl from Mom's office recognized Hubby from the Havelock Country Jamboree that took place four years ago. 

Or, when... ok - try to follow along...  

...when, ma-in-la's former colleague (who was also my former colleague from a different job) is one of my mom's current colleagues.  And that this same tri-colleague is also marrying the brother of Hubby's former coworkerAnd that this former coworker of Hubby's was at one point living in his girlfriend's parents' house, two doors down from ma and pa-in law

Wait.  It gets better.

Before the retirement party, I emailed the invitation to a guy mom worked with 20 years ago.  Now, this guy from 20 years ago is also the father of my friend from high school.  (And imagine our surprise a few years ago when Hubby's best Hometown client turned out to be the ex-wife of the guy from 20 years ago - and, of course, my friend's mother.) 

Wait for it. 

I'm about to tie it all together. 

So remember the tri-colleague who is marrying Hubby's former coworker's brother?  Well, this former coworker (who lived two doors down from ma and pa-in-law in his girlfriend's parents' house) also went to our high school.  And, get this, he was really good friends with the daughter of the guy from 20 years ago

AND, the girlfriend that Hubby's former coworker was living with has a brother who was actually good friends with Hubby's own little brother. 

AND, finally, (stay with me) Hubby's former coworker's girlfriend's brother once worked with Hubby - at the house of Hubby's best Hometown client (the ex-wife of the guy from 20 years ago). 


And THAT, my friends, is how you play One Degree of Hometown.  


BooYAH.  

Sunday, 3 April 2011

Thanks Mom, for all the cannons

I surprised my mother yesterday by showing up at her retirement party in Hometown.


Surprise!
 In recognition of her awesomeness, I decided to say a few words.  But rather than talking about how great she is (because everyone is already aware of that), I instead reflected on my own experiences throughout my mom's career. 

Ya know, given that the world does, in fact, revolve around me

My early years with a single working mother were really fun.  Mom worked at the ultimate local historic attraction.  An old Fort hovering over the city, protecting us from all those "invasive Yankees".  (Don't blame me - I didn't build it.)

It was so cool hanging out at the Fort when I was a kid.  I got to play in Mom's office - complete with limestone walls and cannon-hole window (minus the cannon).  I got to wear the double-XL "event staff" t-shirts at concerts.  And I got to buy rock candy at the parade square, and then eat it sitting perched atop the Fort wall. 

I even remember sitting near the drawbridge watching the Punch and Judy puppet show all by myself.  Not another kid in sight.  It was like I was the Fort Princess, with my own personal Fort Jesters. 

It was such an influential time, that when it came to planning my wedding photo shots, I insisted on taking one with a cannon. 

You don't have to say it.  We know what this looks like.  Don't be disgusting. 

After working at the Fort Mom had other jobs too.  What I remember best was being shuffled around the meet everyone.  And as we passed from one office to another she'd say "Hey, this is my kid", and her smile was contagious

And then, for a short time, we worked in the same building.  We got to drive in together, go home together, and eat lunch on her front porch together (delaying our return and eating popsicles - banana and chocolate, so we could trade halves). 

Once I even gave her a taste of her own damn medicine.  I channeled my inner-Ashton, and punked her ass.  It was her birthday.  So we filled a dozen garbage bags with balloons, tip-toed around the outside walls of her cubical, and proceeded to dump them over the side.  First one, then a few more, then a waterfall of balloons piling up around her feet.  

All I've ever heard from Mom about her job was how much she loved it.  Not every day.  But she she appreciated and admired her colleagues and really took pride in her work. 

And now, now that she's leaving this working life (wow, I'm bitter) I don't know what to think.  I don't know what to make of her without this. 

But I'm sure she'll find new and exciting things to be proud of and engaged in.  (I just hope she doesn't start thinking that her four stupid dogs need yet another K9 friend.) 

Congratulations Mom.  Love you. 


_