Coffee Crochet

The Switcher-ooni

2007-01-16T15:52:00.000-05:00

Thanks to all you other browser-users. I had no idea. I'll definately be working on that more later. I hate the idea of leaving some of ya'll out.

However, I am not what one would call a patient kind of gal. I want a working sight now. And, I am cheap. Sure there are plenty of free websites. I know. I'm using one. It's a real pain in the ass to use, though. And I don't want to pay for a website just yet. Not until I know more of what I want and how I want to present it.

AND, I am sick of this blog. I know, that sounds horrible. But, there is a new kind of Blogger now, and I have been left behind. It's getting kind of tired looking, anyway. What with the old Christmas decorations and all. Geez. Who DOES that? Some crazy Farrah Fawcett wannabe has been hanging out in the corner, too. Creepy.

So.....I have a new blog. Yes, I do. Stop rushing to my profile looking for it. I had to create a new Blogger identity. So I could get the New and Improved Blogger, and all it's bells and whistles. And no holiday decorations.

It's also a great way to start fresh. I've been doing this here for well over a year, and I know this is a very public blog, but not to my family it isn't. And I don't want to say to them now, all of a sudden, that I have a blog. With over a year's worth of content. I have enough secrets going on in my life at the moment. I'm starting to feel like the wife in that movie True Lies. Except that I'm not gonna dance around a pole. No. I'm putting my foot down.

So, new blog. It doesn't have much yet. Just a few patterns I have transferred over. I'm still playing with the design a bit. A lot of stuff here is going to get left behind. Including all the posts. If you are ever having a dreary day, need a giggle, please feel free to dive into the archives.

I still plan on making a proper website, with the URL you already looked at (or didn't, dpeneding on your browser). But, for now, disregard that. If you already bookmarked it, you'll need to change it. If you already tattooed onto your arm, well, you're on your own. Sorry.

Remember, too, that ya'll swore not to mention any previous posts. It's like we never met. Mum's the word, right?

With all that said, my friends and fellow bloggers, from here until the end of time, please come and see me at

http://doyourworsted.blogspot.com/

Psssst...Firefox Users

2007-01-16T07:46:00.000-05:00

I added some code to that website I was tellin' ya'll about yesterday. It's supposed to help Firefox users see the background image (which is about all that's on the page right now). Do me a favor and have a quick peek, let me know. Thanks!

www.doyourworsted.com

Big Question...

2007-01-15T07:55:00.000-05:00

I have an important question for ya'll. Ok, a few of them. I want ya'll to think carefully about your answers. There may be a test later. If you are having trouble, do what I do. Ask yourself WWJMD?

What WOULD Jill Munroe do?

Yes. Yes it IS all about the Angels right now. Gotta problem with that? You just wait until I start up my own angency. Tara's Angels. Except I'll use a few strapping young men. And I won't be on a speaker phone. I'll just hang out with them. Yup. That sounds good to me.

Anyway.....

I have a website. It's nothing right now. Just a page with an image on it. No content. But, there will be. What I want to know is....if I were to move my blog there, would ya'll be OK with that? I don't think it would be right away. Just as a part of the site building process, maybe. I'm toying with the idea.

BUT......that' not the important question. If.....IF.... if I create a new blog there, and assuming some of ya'll go there to read it, and IF I were to tell my alleged husband that I have a blog, would ya'll be willing to keep thoughts about any previous blogs (such as this one) to yourselves?

Ya'll would do that for me, right?

2007-01-12T09:22:00.000-05:00

Yes, I am on dial-up. A few of ya'll mentioned that I may be seven shades of crazy for using dial-up. I just want to assure you all that I am NOT that crazy. Crazy, but not THAT crazy. I live out in the country. We have no cable, no high speed internet, no nuthin'. Not my fault. And yes, it DOES suck. I'm sure there are all kinds of fancy other ways to get internet. I've seen all you show-offs with your laptops and woreless internets. But, those things cost money, yes? I thought so. So, unless we start selling stuff like that at the dollar store, I'll be on dial-up for a while.

As to the music downloads....thanks! I am checking them all out. I like Walmart the best so far, but I have to figure out how to purchase. It won't let me enter a Canadian billing address. Which is kinda weird, since I'm pretty sure my Mastercard works just about anywhere. And Walmart is a fairly large company. They must have a FEW smart people working for them that can figure it out. Whatever. I'll eventually find something.

I'm working on my dad's website today. He's the most pain in the ass client I have evr had, and it's free. But, that's OK. He's Dad.

2007-01-11T07:40:00.000-05:00

So, Alleged Husband got himself a new MP3 player for his birthday. Which is great. For him, I mean. I listen to talk radio all day, so it would be a poor investment for me. But, he likes his music. And it has a built in stop watch and pedometer. I suppose in case he wants to time how long it takes to walk a few steps. Exciting.

The problem is, we don't know where from to get him music. Obviously from his exisiting cd's. We did that. But, the last time we downloaded music from the internet was back in 2001 and we used Napster. For all of our wedding music. Very handy. I have NO idea where people get thier tunes from anymore. It's not as if we want to steal it. We'd be happy paying a fair price per song. We just don't know where to go. And, considering we are on dial-up, it would need to be a fairly efficient kind of website.

So? Anyone? Where do ya'll snag your songs from?

2007-01-09T06:41:00.000-05:00

Today, my friends, is freedom day. Today is the day that BOTH brats are in school. FINALLY. And that means that I have my mornings back. For crazy things like coffee and computer time. I've also introduced someone new to the morning routine. His name is Prairie Bran Toast and he is made of 100% whole grains. He's a little dry.....not much of a sense of humor. But, I'm told he's good for me. I'll give him a one loaf trial and see how he does.

The weekend was spent in Ottawa and a chunk of yesterday was spent with Little Brat at the doctor's. She has something in her foot. No idea what. It looks like it may have been there for a while, but she just started complaining now. They took x-rays. She was a little disappointed that the x-ray machine didn't have a little window like mom's digital camera, so she could see her foot bones. The machine didn't see anything inside her foot, either. Nobody really said what else we should do. So, uh, ya. I guess I'll have to take her to another doctor at some point. And see if something gets done. I shouldn't even be surprised anymore when I walk out of that office feeling like I've been tricked. That it's really NOT a doctor's office, just a bunch of people faking it. "You're, us, sick, eh? Right. Ok. Well, let's.....um. Penicillin! That's it. Penicillin will help with the bleeding. Er, I mean vomiting. Right.......Next customer, please!"

I was also, GASP (hold onto something solid) crocheting more this weekend. I have been doing more on the weekends since Christmas. It's nice. I even bought yarn yesterday. Some Bernat Softee Chunky. Or what ever the hell it's called. And some cotton yarn. I'm perfecting a new pattern freebie. It should be ready in a day or two. Excited? You should be. If you are sick and tired of all the knobs in your life.

Not very enigmatic, I know. I'm only up a half a coffee so far. I'll get more clever as the day continues.

I'll be heading to work later today. Anyone need anything from the Dollar Store? Chapstick? Toy dinosaur? Banana made of glass? 'My Pet Monster' Valentine's cards? He's a monster of a friend, ya know. No? Ok, then. Next time, yes?

2007-01-08T07:00:00.000-05:00

Good morning. How ya'll doin?

Angel Hair (no, not the pasta)

2007-01-04T09:10:00.000-05:00

I spent yesterday in bed. No, not for THAT you dirty little buggers. I was dying. AGAIN. So, I stayed in bed. And watched the first season of Charlie's Angels on DVD. And, although I had watched the show when it first aired, there were a few things about it that I either didn't notice or just plain forgot.

1. The angels have SPECTACULAR hair. I want it. And it occurs to me, now, that I have been trying to have angel hair most of my life. Even when the style was big 80's bangs or the 90's Rachel and Monica styles, I always had long, flowy hair. With the intention of letting it flow free and wild, so that I may fling it over my shoulder with a flirty little wink. I am still working on the flirty wink, but DAMMIT if I don't have angel hair, or at least as close as a human being can get.

2. They always have a purse. And there is a new one for each outfit. And yet, when they travel to, let's say Mexico, to find out who caused a heroin filled plane to crash, they only bring one little tiny suitcase. And, considering that the way they solve a crime is to attend as many parties as possible, that suitcase must carry many changes of dresses AND all the different purses. I don't know about the rest of ya'll, but purses take up a LOT of the room in my closet. When the angels go sneaking around, they have a purse, too. Angels, leave the purse in the car. It's ok. You can carry your lock picking set disguised as lipstick in your pocket.

3. I see now that the overall message of the show is that girls can get whatever they want, even crimes solved, as long as they are stunningly beautiful and sleep around with everyone possible. How I didn't come out of my 1970's TV days as a complete and total future slut is a real mystery to me. In some divine intervention, I was able to keep the hair, but not the hoarishness. Yay me.

4. Charlie is just a dirty, dirty old man. With money. You know he's really uggo, right? All those girls sitting on his lap are hookers. Totally.

5. Kate Jackson bugs me. She's too....I don't know....smarmy.

All that said, I would still, of course, become an angel in a heartbeat. Sign me up. I would totally kick ass. And I have the hair for it.

2007-01-03T12:14:00.000-05:00

Well, I tried. I tried to switch to the so-called 'new' Blogger. But, it didn't let me. Whatever. I didn't want it anyway.

But, I am probably going to be playing around with a new blog design. New year, new look. So, if you see odd things pop up here and there, don't be alarmed. It's just me. I swear.

Also, I am fully aware that my Christmas decorations are still up. I know. So is my tree at home. And if I catch my husband trying to take it down, there may be a repeat of past years in which I throw myself in front of it with my arms akimbo and yell "Don't touch my pretty, pretty tree!" So, there. Leave me alone. I'll take them down eventually.

Things That Bug Me, Part 214

2007-01-02T08:01:00.000-05:00

This just wouldn't be a Tara blog if Tara didn't blog about things that bug her. Starting with people that refer to themselves in the third person. Sorry. Tara won't do that anymore. But, I will give you a few more random pet peeves in, of course, list form. Not that there is really any other way to do it, except maybe a horribly long and annoying run-on sentence. And I won't do that, because it just happens to be point number one.

~ Run on sentences really bug the crap out of me because it just goes to show that some people never bothered to learn basic punctuation in school so that makes me wonder what they were doing instead of learning where to put a period or a comma so maybe they were smoking in the bathroom or making out under the bleachers or some other stereotype commonly associated with school.

~ People who bring their little tiny dogs into public just because they are small. That's stupid. I bet my 80 pound dog is better behaved than most of them and is a lot less likely to piss on the floor. I don't care if you are keeping them in your purse. Under the same logic, we should all be able to take bottles of vodka with us to the public library or to pick up the kids at daycare or go visit Grandma at the home, as long as they are the tiny airplane sized bottles. A dog is a dog, and they carry the same germs no matter the size. And, no, it's not the same as a seeing eye dog. Those are highly trained animals that serve a purpose, and that purpose is NOT to make their owner's purse look cute. A dog is a DOG. Leave it at home. If you need something cute and small that you can dress up to bring shopping with you, get a baby.

~ Stuffing should be cooked INSIDE a turkey whenever possible. That's all I'm saying about it.

~ I hate my cat. He's an a$$hole. Big Brat, who usually takes care of him, is staying with my sister-in-law for the week. He's decided to try and trick me into feeding him earlier. Like at 3:00 AM. There are skylights above my head when I sleep and there is a window ledge on them. He jumps up there and then flies through the air to land on my stomach. He nibbles and bites any part of my body that escapes the blankets. He curls up on my head and purrs so loud my ear drums come close to popping. I hate him. HATE him. Sure, he's cute. And I'm not kicking him out of the house or anything. But, is it really fair that this little jacka$$ is going to live for up to a decade, and my poor dog only has a few years left in him? Stupid cat.

~ When people use dollar signs instead of the letter 's' to say asshole and jackass. Chicken$.

~ Chocolate advent calendars that have an extra week leading up to New Year's Eve. How lame. We all know what you are doing. It's just a ploy to sell YOUR chocolate advent calendars over the competition. It didn't work by adding every single corporate character you could think of, because everyone knew that you could get the same thing for cheaper if you settled for a plain old picture of Santa and his reindeer. So, you added more chocolate. You sneaky little buggers. Not that I don't admire the ingenuity of it. Very smart. But, as the mother that still has to deal with the daily dose of morning chocolate all the way up to New Year's, I think you suck.

~ At work the other night, one of the little hooligans I work with (I say that as a term of endearment because I love them all) said something along the lines of "Cassette tapes? What do we have those for? Do people even still use cassette tapes?" YES, you little bugger. And some of us even remember BEFORE cassette tapes, so SHUT UP. All of my childhood music, including the soundtrack from the Electric Company, Sesame Street Disco, The Mini Pops, Alvin and the Chipmunks and the Smurfs and the Magic Flute were all on record. And that doesn't even include all the books on record I had. Remember that guy's voice? "Read along with me, and when you hear the chime it's time to turn the page." I had a huge crush on him. So, NO, you young little whippersnapper, cassette tapes are NOT that old. So, shut up.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

2007-01-01T08:21:00.000-05:00

I know. I said I would be here to tell you all of my new year's resolutions before midnight. Well, I didn't. I guess I lied. Or misinformed. Whatever. Let's just mark that down as resolution number one. Ok? Does THAT make you happy? Good.

Now, lets' get on to the resolutions. Please keep your arms, legs and other various appendages and body parts inside the blog at all times. For reals. You should see the last guy that didn't. Lost an elbow. Seriously. Can you imagine life without an elbow? So, pay attention.

Resolution Number One:

No more 'lying' to my blog readers. Even if it wasn't technically a lie. I just ran out of time. Ok, no. THAT was a lie. I had a light work day yesterday. But, I started the day off 2 hours away with a hungover husband that drank too much while yapping all night with his father, and a 4 year old telling everyone she saw that "Daddy exploded red wine. EXPLODED." It was a long day. So, I opted to watch 'Superman Returns' instead of getting on the computer. I just changed my mind, that's all. It's not the same as lying. So, I'm not going to apologize anymore. In fact, I'm changing the first resolution.

NEW Resolution Number One:

Stop changing my mind.

Oh......oops. Well. we'll work on that one.

Resolution Number Two:

I need to crochet more. I barely even touched a hook since October. OCTOBER. I've been so busy. And tired. But, I started something this weekend. And it was nice. Just holding the hook and yarn again was nice. And, how can I show off what I make, if I don't make it, right?

Resolution Number Three:

Show off more. I know. I show off EVERYTHING. But, I feel I could do more. But, I will just have to accomplish more so I can show it off. Right? Speaking of which, I have something to show off now. Check this out.

My first sign design. Obviously I have wiped out any identifying features, since it's my dad's store. And I take no credit for the use of font. Seriously. I tried to get him to change it. He wanted Comic Sans MS font. He was insistent. Whatever. Look! I'm up in lights! If you count the distant street lights at the end of the parking lot. And forget that my name is not actually on it. And I DO.

Resolution Number Four:

To take over the WORLD.....MWAHAHAAHAH......

Ooops. Did I say that out loud? Ok, ignore that one.

REAL Resolution Number Four:

I think I may need just a touch more coffee. I'll let ya'll know how that works out.

Resolution Number Five:

I need to stop eating. No, not entirely. Just the pigging out part. I used to be so young and cute and skinny. I can't do much about the young part, but I can work on cute and skinny. I want to be hot again. I want customer boyfriends. You retail girls know what I mean. Those guys that think that because you are nice to them you must looooove them. So he comes in all the time and makes sure he gets to talk to you. Because you're a hot girl that is nice to him. Not that it's your JOB or anything, to be nice to EVERYONE, even the creepy old guy that changes the topic 16 times in one sentence, or the lady that thinks leopard print scrunchies are the PERFECT accessory to skin tight leggings and a long white sweatshirt with her zodiac sign in glittery kittens on the front. I want one of those poor, naive men to choose me. ME. I want to be somebody's pretend girlfriend. Is that so much to ask? So, ya. No more food.

Resolution Number Six:

I need a haircut more than once a year. I think I will work on that. It's a hard one, though. Getting my hair cut is like losing a limb. It hurts. HURTS. I see all of my pretty, pretty hair falling to the floor and I want to cry. But, I know better. I KNOW. I know that getting it cut every once in a while is GOOD for my hair. So, I will go every three months. Starting this month. That makes it...(please hold while Tara attempts mathematics in her head)...4 haircuts before next New Years. I can do that. Right? Right.

Resolution Number Seven:

To be more mysterious. My zodiac sign, Scorpio, says I am supposed to be mysterious. But, I can't help feeling that I am slightly less than mysterious. What with the blog and the loquaciousness and all the showing off. So, I will be more mysterious.

In fact, I think I will start right now by leaving this room and.......

You're wondering what I did, aren't you? I'm not telling. See. Very mysterious.

Resolution Number Eight:

To do everything in multiples of seven.....Oh. Dammit. Nevermind. I'll try that one again next year.

Ok. You're turn. Tell me your best resolution. I especially want to hear from you lurkers.

2006-12-30T08:12:00.000-05:00

I FINALLY get half a FRIGGIN' hour to post something here. And can I? NO! Blogger decides to be a BASTARD.

Yes, I get the irony of that graphic. If you can see it, obviously I CAN post. Whatever. It took a LOT of tries before I was able to post something. I now have no time left to tell ya'll my resolutions for the new year (allthough I will be back before midnight New Year's Eve to do so).

So. Ya. Have a great day. Stupid Blogger. Or, maybe it's the dial up. Whatever. They're both stupid. And my banking site, too. Ya. And my cat. My cat is stooooopid. But, that's it.

'Twas the Night Before Christmas ~ The Tara Version

2006-12-24T07:17:00.000-05:00

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through this blog

Not a creature was stirring, not even a ...frog?;

The stockings were hung by the sidebar with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The Brats were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of mom ever getting off the computer danced in their heads;

And Husband in his....er.... 'kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

When out on the World Wide Web there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the ...Um...."Windows" I flew like a flash,

Double clicked open the file and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

(That's my screensaver. Nice, eh? Very picturesque.)

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Folgers! now, Maxwell! now, Starbucks and Timmies!

On, Nescafe! on Sanka! on, Nabob and ...uh...Chock full o' Nuts!

(what? Not EVERYTHING can ryhme, ya know. Shut up and enjoy it)

To the top of the Title! to the top of the Blog!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the blog-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of YARN, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,

Down the sidebar St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of yarn he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;

(ok, Santa, this is a no smoking blog.)

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

(except all the retail havoc he creates. Thanks, Santa. I 'owe' you one)

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the sidebar he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."

Dear Santa....

2006-12-23T07:46:00.000-05:00

Dear Santa,

I know. I'm a little late this year. I KNOW. You've been at the mall. You've seen me there. You know how busy I've been. But, here's my letter. You can call off your little pointy eared goons, now.
In the spirit of Christmas, and because I can't think of anything to ask for, I'm going to ask for things for others. You know. To be nice.

For the customers at the Dollar Store:

Please Santa, could you teach them all to put their carts away? Maybe the elves could hold a seminar. It shouldn't take long. Just so they stop randomly pushing carts in various directions. They seem to think that the carts have little minds of their own and will steer themselves into the corral. But, they don't. They just don't.

Oh, and since you will have them there, could you remind them the the dollar store counters don't have conveyer belts like the fancy shcmancy grocery stores. And that their cart will NOT melt out from under their stuff if they don't pile it on the counter as fast and as high as possible. You could help them relax. RELAX. And just enjoy the dollar store experience.

For my kids:

Santa, could you please send a robot mom for my kids. I know they didn't ask for it, but I can tell they really want one. One that looks a little like me. And will clean the house and all that crap. I know they would love that. Really. I swear it.

For Horatio Caine:

Horatio needs a rich wife from Europe. Please. PLEASE. Send him away. So I can watch TV on Monday nights again. Without gagging.

For Yul, the winner of Survivor:

I know. He won a million dollars. I'm very happy for him. But maybe you could overhaul his personality a little bit. Because I swear he is the EXACT same as an ex boyfriend of mine, and that's not good for anyone. What an ass that guy was.

For the Taliban:

Santa, could you get these guys some teddy bears and cozy blankets? Maybe some nice sleepytime tea laced with chill pills. Anything to get them to BUGGER OFF already. Thanks.

For my blogger friends:

Santa. Santa, Santa, Santa. I think I asked for more time last year. Fine, you didn't get it for ME, but what about all of my loving and faithful readers out there in the blogiverse? They miss me. They cry for me. They can't keep going on like this. Why, Santa? WHY? The world is cruel enough. Give these poor, poor bloggers a break and give me just one extra hour a day to sit and blog with a cup of coffee. Is that really so much to ask?

Ok, fine, for ME:

Could you pick me up a large Timmies with 3 cream and 2 sugar? Thanks.

Your Friend,
Tara

2006-12-19T07:17:00.000-05:00

My Favorite Christmas Pirate Joke

2006-12-19T07:04:00.000-05:00

Where did the pirate buy Christmas presents for little pirate children?

Get ready for it......

Toys-ARRRRRgh-Us!

2006-12-18T06:54:00.000-05:00

Good morning everyone. I'm only here for a moment, before I return to the salt mines. Did ya'll know it's only one week until Christmas? Yup. One week. But, I'm not panicking. Nope. Not me.

Nope.

2006-12-17T09:51:00.000-05:00

What? What's this? Am I really here? It all feels like a dream.

A day off! Wow!

Yes, peeps, I am here. Just for a few minutes. I have OH so many things to do on my day off. Fun things. Like buying a new litter box for the cat. Yup. Fun.

Another co-worker of mine, the sneaky little bugger, has found this blog. Everyone say HI CHAD. Chad is a future prime minister of Canada. Be sure to vote for him later on. In about 30 years or so. If you're Canadian that is. He says that I don't sound like myself in the blog. I'm not sure what that means. Whatever.

So, that's all you get from me for now. It's still BC (before coffee). Maybe, if you wish really hard, I'll come back later and tell ya'll about the new litter box!

I'm not dead....

2006-12-11T07:22:00.000-05:00

...just really busy.

In case you are not convinced of my non-deceased-ness, in lieu of flowers, please send coffee. Lots of coffee. Enough to wake the dead. Thanks.

A Bit O' Wisdom and Other Tidbits

2006-12-07T04:59:00.000-05:00

I know. I've been busy. Ya'll knew it was coming. And the only reason I have time now is because it's 5:02 am. And I've already been up long enough for a coffee. But, I still don't have a lot of time. Kids and school and work and all that. I was tagged a while ago, but I am still working on it. It's coming. For now, I will just share with you a few things I have learned this week.

~ Nobody has a sense of humor at 4:05 am. Nobody.

~ Christmas is apparently NOT the season to be jolly. According to many of my customers.

~ My new running shows are NOT waterproof in icy puddles.

~ Big Brat joined a knitting club at school. KNITTING. And then they asked for 2 bucks. So I sent it, and asked her later what it was for. For some of the kids to get yarn and needles. YARN and NEEDLES. Why am I paying for other people's kids to get things that I have in abundance?

~ Little Brat is AMAZINGLY proficient at speaking french. It floors me. She's learned more in a few months of Jr Kindergarten than I learned in 8 years in school. And my alleged husband can ask her questions that I have NEVER heard, in all my years learning french in school, and she can answer them. Keeping in mind that nobody in our house speaks french at home. Heck, we can barely get by with english some days.

~ Broken ass bones take a long time to heal.

~ And, most importantly, and I hope ya'll use this little tip whenever you can.....when in doubt, write a limerick.

Yarn

2006-12-04T09:45:00.000-05:00

NaBloPoMo ~ THE END

2006-11-30T07:22:00.000-05:00

So. This is it. The last day of National Blog Posting Month. What did I think of it?

That depends. Have the prizes been given out yet?

No? In that case....I loved it!

For reals, though, it has been fun. It was definately a challenge getting to the computer every day to try and post something. A few days were close calls. I was a fairly regular poster before, but everyday is HARD, peeps. Also, I feel as though the quality of my posts went down a bit. That's not all nablopomo's fault. I've been very busy. What with the glitter and all. But I think I would prefer posting less often, but with a bit more substance.

And I missed the visiting. In the small amount of time I have on the computer each day, I like to spend some of it visiting blog friends. That was almost impossible this past month. I plan to make up for it some in the coming days. Or maybe after Christmas.

All in all, I liked it. It was a challenge. And I tend to not pass down a challenge. Ever. So, please, don't dare me to do anything crazy. Please.

NaBloPoMo Post 29 ~ THE Rant

2006-11-29T08:37:00.000-05:00

Hold onto your socks, folks. This rant has been building for a few weeks now. I just haven't had time to sit and express myself in blog form.

There are a lot of things on this planet that bug me. Pesky things. Annoying things. Things that only bother me a little, but could hardly warrant a full rant. What? You want examples? That could take a while. And I'm trying to make a point here. Stop interupting. Ok. OK. FINE. I'll give a few examples.

~ People who wear their pajamam bottoms as pants. Out in public. You know we can all tell, right? You are not blending in.

~ People who don't put their carts away. You know who you are.

~ Spongebob Squarepants.

~ Bad coffee.

~ Etc.

~ I hate when people use Etc.

But, none of those things are why I am here today for your ranting pleasure. No. I have a much more annoying nemisis. It's not just annoying. It's dangerous. And mean. And I would have to say downright abusive. It will probably kill us all someday. That's right. You know it. I'm talking about

I hate glitter. HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE glitter. What the hell is wrong with everyone? Why do you need your holiday items to sparkle and shine with glitter? WHY? Save it for the show girls. Your fake poinsettias and plastic ornaments are very pretty already. They DON'T NEED GLITTER.

And do you all know who has to live in constant fear of the glitter? Do you? That's right. The retail workers. The ones who are covered in it, day after day. Sneezing glitter. Getting glitter in the eye. Dying of glitter induced cancer of the lungs in about 30 years or so.

It gets in our hair, on our clothing, our skin. And it doesn't come off. Not even when we leave and go home. Even after a shower, it's still there. And then it gets transferred to our families. OH, the HUMANITY!

And do any of you care? Do you? NO. And how do I know? Because you still keep buying the glittered up crap! And you bring it to MY counter. So I can smile and inhale some more. And then you say "Isn't this pretty?" and I have to say YES, even though I am SCREAMING inside. And then.....THEN.....just to dig the knife in a little more, you then say something like "Oh, I think I see a sparkle on your face. Just under your eye. No. No. A little more to the left. Close. Nope, it's still there. Maybe if you scratch it with your nail. Nope still there. It must want to stay. Hee hee hee. Now you're all sparkly for the holidays!"

And I need to restrain myself. From jumping over the counter and strangling you with a length of glittered ribbon.

When I rule the world, glitter will be banned. Except to be used in forms of torture and punishment.

NaBloPoMo Post 28

2006-11-28T22:05:00.000-05:00

Tonight's lack of an interesting and stimulating post is not my fault. Blogger was being a bastard all night. My Folgers and I will be back in the morning.

NaBloPoMo Post 27 ~ The Big Whine

2006-11-27T12:02:00.000-05:00

Sigh.

I had a really great rant. It's been rattling around in my head for days, just waiting for a few moments of peace and quiet when I could sit and type.

But, a new rant has come up. Well, maybe not new. I believe it's similar to the rant of every mother since the beginning of time.

I cleaned last week, on Wednesday. I still worked that night, but I spent the morning cleaning. I mean REALLY cleaning. All the nooks and crannies kind of thing. The house looked so clean and organized and pretty. It even smelled pretty.

And then I worked the rest of the week. It was somewhat maintained. At least on the surface. And mostly because I yelled at them all to keep my house clean on the way out the door each day. Saturday I worked all day, but they all went out of town for the day. How bad could they mess it? Then we ALL went out of town all day yesterday. How could ANYONE mess it?

The kitchen counter, coffee table and dining room table are covered in crap. Nobody even bothered to run the full dishwasher. I didn't even have a damn spoon to stir my damn coffee this morning!

It's not just a big cleaning job anymore. The entire house needs to be reorganized. The last time I saw this much mess in the house, we were renovating the kitchen.

I don't know what to do anymore. Do I leave it, and wallow in the mess with them? Do I yell at them all to clean it while I sit and eat Toffifee? Do I just clean it myself?

I can't clean it myself. There is a giant TV sitting in the middle of the living room floor. A circular saw in a large wooden box in the middle of the kitchen. I can't lift those.

I'm just so exhausted. Little Brat has been sick. My ass is still broken. My house is constantly torn apart, no matter what I do. I'm working lots of hours, and at this point I would much rather live at the dollar store than this pigsty.

Sigh.

Please ignore the above rant. It's whiney and pathetic. I just need more coffee. And a large, muscled, sweaty male model to help me lift things. Any volunteers?

I will return to my regularly scheduled rant as soon as possible.

NaBloPoMo Post 26

2006-11-26T23:53:00.000-05:00

Ha! 11:47............

NaBloPoMo Post 25

2006-11-25T19:24:00.000-05:00

Looooong shift today. And one of my supervisors Googled something and found this blog yesterday (see comment from last post).

So, everyone say hi to Barb!

HI BARB!

NaBloPoMo Post 24

2006-11-24T19:47:00.000-05:00

One month until Christmas eve! Yay. Everyone run to the dollar store and get your shopping done!

I didn't miss posting today, but I am a teensy bit drunk and every living thing in my family keeps barging into the room to interrupt me.

So, um, this is all ya get tonight. Ya.

NaBloPoMo Post 23

2006-11-23T07:45:00.000-05:00

I know I am a little biased. But I took quite a few art classes in my day. I know a little something about compostition and postive/negative spaces. And I don't know about the rest of ya'll, but I'm pretty sure Little Brat is an artistic GENIUS.

You agree, right?

The fact that she gave up on signing her name and just wrote "ME" is all part of the genius.

NaBloPoMo Post 22

2006-11-22T10:07:00.000-05:00

I have bought myself a new tool in the fight against dirt, dust and animal hair. A late birthday present.

I try. I really do try. But, the animal hair is what gets me in the end. It's everywhere. In large clumps and piles. No corner is safe. The carpets are the wrong color most days. I find it on my wall, even. The WALL.

But, now I have an upper hand. I'm smart. No. GENIUS. I stopped to think about why I can never catch up. It's not like they are hiding around the corner and pulling out tufts of hair as soon as I clean, are they?

Are they?

No. No. It's time. It's all about time. When there is only so much time to clean a room, we focus on the big things. The obvious things. The toys all over the floor. The dirty dishes. The school bags and army crap and flyers strewn about. That way, when time is up, and we need to go do something else, at least things are put away.

We don't vacuum first. How can we, what with all the crap strewn about. And that would involve going to the cleaning closet, and taking out the vacuum and finding an outlet to plug it in and unravel the cord and then vacuum and then re-wrap the cord and and empty out the container of dirt (outdoors, it's very messy) then put it away.

So, the next time there is time to clean, the items have been re-strewn and there is only time to pick them up.

Somebody tell me....when the hell am I supposed to find time to vacuum the whole damn house.

But NOW I have another weapon in the fight. It's the Bissell Sturdy Sweeper. A mechanical broom. You know the kind. It has a brush and some compartments for holding dirt. Just push it back and forth. No cords. No bags. No filters. Just push it back and forth.

Does it pick up everything? No. But some is better than none.

And the VERY BESTEST PART......

I woke up this morning to find Little Brat playing with my new toy....I mean tool. And she's been kicking dog and cat hair ass ever since!

Do I feel bad for the dog and cat that now have to run from the little terror with a sweeper? That depends. Do you think they feel bad for me, having to clean up their hair?

*Just a side note for any of you following the continuing saga of the ghosts in my house. You may notice the orb of light on the handle of the sweeper. Now, some of you skeptics (You know who you are, all you science types) may say it's just dust, like you did the last time. And it probably is. I'll agree with that. But, the "dust" only shows up on the camera in that specific area of that specific room of the house. And it's also only inches from where I saw a ghost. But, that's just a side note.

NaBloPoMo Post 21

2006-11-21T07:14:00.000-05:00

I got one of these for my birthday:

It TOtallY rocks. It's like having your very own cleaning lady living in your shower. An ugly one that doesn't hit on your husband.

I do have a cautionary note, however. One that is not listed on the package or in the directions. Perhaps they should add it. Ok, listen up:

No matter how curious you are, no matter HOW MUCH you want to see it working, don't, DO NOT, slide the shower door open just a teensy weensy bit and peek in to watch it work.

It WILL spray you right in the eye.

Twice.

NaBloPoMo Post 20

2006-11-20T09:13:00.000-05:00

So. Here's today. There is absolutely nothing interesting about today. Nope. Nothing.

Dum de dum.

So, uh. I think I will spend today doing, um, fun things for myself. Like drinking coffee and blog hopping. But, not because of any special reason. It's not any kind of a special day, or anything. It's not like some big fantastic event happens on November 20th.

All right, so it's KIND of a special day. Afterall, it was this day in 2003 and that Michael Jackson was arrested by police on charges of child molestation (cough, cough, guilty, cough, cough). It's also the wedding anniversary of Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip. Neat, eh? Speaking of anniversaries...it's also a big one for the Mexican Revolution. Wow, and I just had nachos the other night! What a coincidence!

What's that? You say it's someones birthday today? Hmmm. Well, I know it's Dick Smothers birthday. Remember the Smothers Brothers? I love them. Yo-yo man. HA. And Bo Derek should be getting a birthday cake today, too. Good for her.

And, uh, ya. That's about it. Nothing else special about today. Oh! WAIT!!!!!

It's my sisters' birthday today! HAPPY BIRTHDAY SISTER2 AND SISTER3!!!!

NaBloPoMo Post 19 ~ Warning: This post contains a recipe

2006-11-19T08:54:00.000-05:00

Last night was my "birthday" dinner. Terriyaki chicken nachos. That I had to rush home and make myself. But, they are very easy to make. Here is my very super simple if-Tara-can-do-it-anyone-can recipe:

You need:
1 lb of bonless skinless chicken breast
Tostitos, Restaurant style nacho chips
Cheddar cheese shredded
a tomato diced
a red onion finely diced
VH Terriyaki sauce
sour cream and/or salsa (I only use the sour cream, personally)

Ok......so, chop the chicken up into little itty bitty cubes. I usually half freeze the chicken first, so it's easier to cut. Then, cook 'em up in a frying pan with a splotch of cooking oil (about med high heat). Just when you don't see the pink anymore, put about a 1/4 to a 1/2 cup of the terriayki sauce into the pan. Depends on how teri you like your yaki. Keep cooking until most of the sauce has been carmelized to the chicken.

On a baking sheet covered in tin foil, place a handfull or two of chips. Then some tomatos, onions and cheese. A few more chips. Then more stuff. Then dump the rest of the bag on there. Sprinkle the cooked chicken on top. Finish with whatever garnishes you have left, ending in cheese. LOTS of cheese.

Bake at 350 until cheese is melted, then broil until it starts bubbling. Watch closely because the nachos can burn.

Ta da. That's it. Go eat them now. They are sooooooooooooooooooo good. But, don't be like me and eat too many. Oh, ok. Go ahead. Eat too many.

NaBloPoMo Post 18

2006-11-18T09:24:00.000-05:00

So, Monday I am turning 31. Yup. My birthday. I'm letting ya'll know now, so you still have the weekend to go and buy me something good. But, don't get anything for my sisters. Just me.

Here's a somewhat dark and fuzzy photo of a past birthday.

I think it was right before our friends arrived. I'm pretty sure the Cabbage Patch Kids were not the only guests that year, allthough they did go EVERYWHERE with us. All six of them. Let's see, if that was the birthday after the Cabbage craze, which was in '83 I think, then that would mean it was '84 in the photo, making me 9 years old. I mean 'us'. Whatever.

What you want to note, however, are the photos within the photo. Top left hand corner. See them?

Yes, those ARE off the shoulder pink Thriller shirts we are wearing. But, of course, of the shoulder was too slutty for my mom, so we had to wear white blouses underneath. You can't see it in that picture, but we are also each wearing one silver glove. For reals. We really are. What? MJ was pretty big back then, ya know. Shut up.

NaBloPoMo Post 17

2006-11-17T12:10:00.000-05:00

I just spent the morning discussing childbirth with a good friend of mine. She is preggo with her third, and possibly her fourth. The doctor thinks she has a rather large uterus and wants her to get an ultrasound to see if it is twins.

Poor girl.

At some point, the conversation came around to the old men-will-never-ever-understand-what-childbirth-feels-like-and-don't-get-to-comment-on-it-unless-they-are-being-extra-sympathetic line of thought. And that brought us around to the logical discussion that says the-only-thing-men-can-compare-the-pain-of-childbirth-to-is-a-good-kick-in-the-you-knows-and-even-that-only-lasts-a-few-minutes.

Somehow, though, we started wondering (in that riled up way that only riled up women talking to each can do) if a good kick in the you knows is REALLY all that painful. I mean, I know how the men react when it happens. They cry and turn white and curl up on the ground and maybe even throw up. And none of that is good. Which is why the you knows have been used as a weapon since the beginning of time. They are a wonderful last resort for anyone losing a fight.

BUT, I have a theory. What if, based on centuries of men reacting to a good kick in the you knows, men have now been conditioned to react that way even if it didn't hurt? There MUST be a guy or two out there with you knows made of steel that only feel a mild discomfort when kicked. But, if they DON'T fall to the ground and hyperventillate, do other men then judge them and think "he must have pretty small you knows for that not to hurt?"

Because women don't do that with childbirth. If it hurts, it HURTS. And we will tell everyone who will listen that it hurt. But if it DIDN'T hurt all that much, we will brag about that, too. And nobody is judging us on how much our uterus hurt during labor.

So, maybe, just maybe, when you kick a man in the you knows, he is really just reacting the way he has been conditioned to react in order to maintain his aura of man-li-ness, and it really didn't cause that much pain at all. So maybe they should just suck it up and quit whining. Either that or try pushing a couple of babies out.

But that's just a theory. I'm not planning on testing it, or anything.

NaBloPoMo Post 16

2006-11-16T07:45:00.000-05:00

I got called into work last night. Again. I am starting to think this is just an evil plot to make me miss all of my favorite shows. Thank Folgers LOST wasn't on.

Unfortunately, MEDIUM was. I saw the first half of the two hour special. I was really only killing time before CSI:NY was on. And BOY did that kill my time. And maybe a few brain cells with it.

I liked MEDIUM when it first aired. I liked the concept, anyway. I have issues with how bratty and snotty her kids are (which they never get in trouble for) and how she treats her husband. Maybe they should have an episode where they go see Dr. Phil. Whatever. Those are the least of my issues with that show.

Ok, here's my problem. It's about a psychic. Right? I mean, she's supposed to know what's going on, right? And the district attorney. He hired her because she's a pyschic, right? So, he believes her, doesn't he? So, why is it that everytime she has a dream and discovers something, nobody believes her?

Why, when somebody is about to be killed and she dreams about it, does she cry and make that awful teeth-baring face and whine that she doesn't know anything. What? You just had a dream showing you who, where and with what.

And why, when she calls up the DA or the cop and says she knows that so-and-so got murdered on the dirt road behind the drive-in, or whatever, do they then say "How do you know?" WHAT? Have they not been paying attention?????

The first season was for working out all the doubts and other issues. Just accept it, people. Or at least ACT like you do. You know. ACTING. I believe that is supposed to be a part of your job description. I'm not quite ready to host a meeting of the I Hate Allison Dubois Club....but it's not that far off.

By the way....did you know Allison Dubois is the name of a real-life psychic? The character is supposed to be based on her. Do you think she knew that Patricia Arquette would butcher her character? You know, what with being a pyschic and all.

I hope LOST is back on next week. Or I have to work again.

NaBloPoMo Post 15

2006-11-15T11:32:00.000-05:00

I came home from work yesterday to find that my alleged husband went ahead and painted the living room for me. The color is 'bavarian cream'. Awwww. Ain't that sweet? It's actually even more 'awww', because he HATES painting. Loathes it. Would rather poke out his own eyes than paint. See? Awwwwwwwww.

He said it was because he had a my-wife-is-so-busy-what-with-the-kids-and-work-and-cleaning-and-laundry-and-all-and-I-really-should-help-out-with-the-painting-because-it's-such-a-big-job-and-then-I-will-be-the-bestest-alleged-husband-ever moment. I think that there may have been a little bit of If-I-don't-do-this-she's-NEVER-gonna-get-around-to-it thrown in there, but whatever. It's one less room I have to paint.

He was also worried that I would be upset because I hadn't budgeted for redecorating this month and he went ahead and started it anyway. Thinking I would be mad. And doing it anyway. Hmmmm.

Still. One less room to paint. I'm really OK with it. Except that he left the second coat for me to do.

I'll try to come back later and do some blog hopping, now that it is slightly easier to sit in a chair.

NaBloPoMo Post 14

2006-11-14T07:09:00.000-05:00

Good morning! This message comes to ya'll from my office chair. Yup. I'm sitting in it. With a couch throw rolled up to resemble a large doughnut. It's not working terribly well. Will I get back OUT of this chair?

I really don't know.

My weekend was nice. For once. I worked on Saturday, but then we had the Dollar Store Christmas party. Which, quite frankly, I found sadly lacking in cheap Christmas decorations. I mean, really. It's not like they didn't know where to get some. But, it wasn't all that bad. I don't think.

Then again, I haven't had a date with my alleged husband since that wedding last summer in which I almost killed myself trying to dance like Shakira.

So, I suppose in relative terms, watching 20 or so of my coworkers get drunk and dance the Macarena (which we sell a how-to video for at the store......for a dollar) WOULD be fun. For me. The loser that never goes out.

The rest of you would run away screaming, I am sure.

I DID win a prize, but that's a given. I ALWAYS win a prize at these things. ALWAYS. It's an odd gift I have. This time I even knew which prize it would be. I saw it on the prize table, speaking to me. All wrapped up. And round. Alleged husband thought it was a wheel a cheese. I thought it would be cute little Christmas dessert plates. Guess who was right?

I sure wish I could use this power on lottery tickets.

Then, I had a day off. No...wait. I had TWO days off. In a ROW. Crazy, yes? But, that's all over today. I must work. The Christmas season has officially begun. I must immerse myself in hundreds and hundreds of little plastic gold bells, garlands of ugly tinsel, gift bags, holiday socks and those stupid IDIOTIC CARDS THAT ARE SUPPOSED TO SING WHEN YOU OPEN THEM BUT ONLY COST A DOLLAR SO YOU KNOW THEY WILL KEEP SINGING EVEN WHEN THEY ARE CLOSED AND SITTING ON THE SHELF SO ALL WE HEAR IS THAT STUPID TINNY-SOUNDING JINGLE BELLS JINGLE BELLS JINGLE ALL THE WAY ALL DAMN DAY LONG AND WE CAN'T FIGURE OUT WHICH DAMN CARD IS SIGNING!

Good times, good times.

I am now attempting to publish this and get out of my office chair. If the post ends at this paragraph, you will know I have managed to rise up out of my chair, in spite of my broken ass, and then you may applaud for me. If I keep typing, you will know I have failed miserably.

NaBloPoMo Post 13 ~ Broken Ass Update

2006-11-13T07:02:00.000-05:00

I can now get out of the car without gasping in pain. And that is about the only improvement. I cannot get out of my office chair at all. Which is why I am standing above my keyboard typing this. It sucks.

So, please enjoy yesterday's photo. It was posted late, so some of you may not have had time to fully appreciate the humor of it. I took that photo in Niagara Falls a few years ago. I just got it developed this week. It's amazing what can get done when you can't sit down.

My ass and I will attempt a longer post tomorrow.

NaBloPoMo Post 12

2006-11-12T22:17:00.000-05:00

NaBloPoMo Post 11~ LEST WE FORGET

2006-11-11T08:46:00.000-05:00

Today is Remembrance Day here in Canada. (hence the poppy tattoo, in case anyone has yet to put those two events together) I am spending my morning in quite reflection, remembering all of the soldiers we have lost in the past decades, years and months. I will be reflecting from a table at Tim Horton's, drinking buckets of coffee.

Alleged hubby will be at a military parade, and I need to be at work at noon. And, what with all the parades being at 11:11 am, he can't possibly drive me to work afterwards. The logistics just don't work. So, I will be dropped at the Timmie's next to the mall a few hours before my shift. Poor, poor me.

Allthough, my poor broken ass IS having some reservations about the bench seats there.

And then tonight, TONIGHT, is the Dollar Store Christmas party! Whoooooo!

I'll tel ya'll about it tomorrow.

NaBloPoMo Post 10 ~ TATTOO DAY!

2006-11-10T10:30:00.000-05:00

YAY! Today is the day I get all tattooed up like a drunken sailer! Yay!

I will add more to this post later about my tattoo experience. I'm mostly concerned right now about sitting still long enough. You know, what with the broken ass, and all. Wish me luck!

AFTER TATTOO:

Ha! I'm tattooed! Like a trashy bar mom! Right on! WHOOOO!

It looks great. But, it's not done. It seems my skin does not like to hold the ink all that well. My tattooer is very good and has a worldwide reputation, but even he was having some issues with the way my skin was reacting. Thank Folgers it wasn't a more complicated tattoo. Or a bigger one. Because it also seems that I am a 'bleeder'. Like a stuck pig. So, I will have to go and get touch-ups done in a month or so.

It TOTALLY didn't hurt, either. Aren't tattoos supposed to hurt? Even a bit? Because mine didn't. Not even a teensy, tiny bit. My alleged husband says I shouldn't say that, because he says that for most people it DOES hurt, and I shouldn't go around 'bragging.' WhatEVER. He's just saying that because it hurts when HE gets one. Ha.

So, here's the initial photo. It's a bad picture. Taken over the shoulder in some bad lighting (it's on my left shoulder, just on the outside of my bra strap) And the bandage is still on, so it looks fuzzy. I'll try to get some better shots of it tomorrow.

So. That's it. I guess I'm a whole other person now. A trashy one. And I LOVE it!

NaBloPoMo Post 9 ~ Life Lessons

2006-11-09T08:30:00.000-05:00

*Note: Photobucket is having issues. I really do have photos. I swear. If you can see them, great. If not, come back later.

Everything I ever need to know about life, I can find in my childhood vacation photos. For example:

When your problems get too big to go around.....

Make a big hole and go THROUGH them.

~~~

Choose your friends wisely.

Sometimes they bite.

~~~

Even though Grandma says she loves all of you the same....

there's really only so much Grandma to go around.

NaBloPoMo Post 8

2006-11-08T22:06:00.000-05:00

Whew! Almost didn't make the post today! But I have excuses. Great excuses. Which I will now recite in point form. Really. I'm reciting this all out loud as I type. Seriously.

Ok. no. I'm not. I'm just joshing ya. On to the points...

~ Work. Lots and lots of things that cost only a dollar that need to be placed on shelves and hooks. LOTS of things. Tremendous amounts of things. This would be a lot easier if people shopped a bit faster, too. More shelf space. So.....go to your local dollar store. And think of poor little me when you buy something. Thanks.

~Sister2 is applying for a game show. I'm not gonna say what, because I don't want to jinx her. But she called me the other night and said something like, "I need someone that can, ya know, with the, ya know, words. Words. I need.....ya know...words. In a, ya know, application form. Words."
Apparently she needs someone that can actually use words to form a sentence. So, I suppose that's me. But she'd better buy me something awesome with what she wins.

~ I broke my ass. Well, ok. It's more bruised than broken. But it HURTS. Like a broken ass. I have a few other various bruises, too. But mostly the ass hurts. It's OK when I stand or walk, but sitting pretty much sucks.

~ My kids are trying to kill me. They strategically placed items on the stairs so that I would slip and fall and break my ass. I know they planned it. I just know it. So now I am wary. Very, very wary.

~ The broken ass pain triggered a migraine. Blasted. Curses. And other random and various cartoon sounding swears. I hate the migraines. It's gone now. For now.

~ I neglected to remove one of the pickles from my McDonald's cheeseburger. And I HATE the pickles. So I had to take a moment to gag and wipe my tongue with a napkin.

And that brings us to NOW. So, ya see. I did manage a post today. Whew.

NaBloPoMo Post 7

2006-11-07T07:09:00.000-05:00

Not that I expect this to be my OFFICIAL post for November 7th....but I just got an extra pile of hours at work for the next few days, so....just in case, here'a A post.

NaBloPoMo Post 6 ~ The Swarming Effect

2006-11-06T07:45:00.000-05:00

I know I bitch and moan about my sisters. And not without reason, let me tell ya. They've been a pain in my ass since the moment I was conceived. Literally. I had the basement apartment of the womb. But, there was one benefit to having been born with a couple of built-in henchmen.

The swarming effect.

Observe the photo above, with the three of us swarming poor Tigger, while those other girls desperately try to get our spots. Suckers. There's no way in.

This was not an uncommon occurrence in our childhood. While we often fought with each other like soccer hooligans, we also stuck to each other like glue when trouble was afoot, or if there was a goal in mind.

Like when we wanted a dog. We had the same speech every kid gets. "It's a lot of work. He would need to be walked. And fed. And who's going to do all that? You guys? No, It will be me, Mom, that has to do it. You are NOT responsible enough. What do you know about dogs, anyway?" So we spent 3 days at the library, studying every book we could find about dogs and dog care. We worked so hard, they broke down and got us a dog, Goldie.

We spent the next 12 years fighting over him.

Also...we have yet, to this day almost 31 years later, ratted each other out over anything. In fact, if one of us were about to get in trouble for something, and there was no way to lie her way out of it, the other 2 would jump in and admit to it. So, with three of us admitting something that only one of us could have done, my poor mother would throw up her arms and walk away muttering something about adoption agencies.

Another time when Sister2 and Sister3 were fighting...again...and Sister3's anger was somehow transferred to me, and I locked myself in my room so she couldn't hurt me ( I was the wussy of the trio), and she went outside with my shoe and threw it at my window and broke it, (Don't be alarmed. This was normal in my house when parents were not around.) without even discussing it beforehand, all three of us told our dad that kids were throwing snowballs at our windows.

He spent YEARS cursing those damn kids. Ha.

In kindergarten, when we were about half the size of a normal kindergarten kid, and likely to be eaten for by bullies for lunch, we ganged up. If we were picked on, we swarmed. I would kick, Sister2 would punch, and Sister3 would bite. MAN could she bite. Soon, NOBODY picked on the triplets.

If we had been smarter back then, we probably could have made some protection money from the other kids. Ah. Good times. Good times.

So, yes, I bitch and moan. And I won't stop. But I know I have a posse out there, for when I need one. A plane ride away. After they find babysitters and someone to cover them at work.

NaBloPoMo Post 5

2006-11-05T18:45:00.000-05:00

Didn't think I was gonna post today, did ya? Almost didn't make it. I've been working most of the day. And would ya'll believe, I have ANOTHER cold??? Wet money, I tell ya. Wet money.

Anyway, just a quick photo tonight. A rare one of just ME when I was about 4 or 5. No sisters. It didn't happen often. And I am pretty damn cute when not outshined by those two leeches. So here ya'll are. Bask in my adorable-ness.

NaBloPoMo Post 4 ~ Don't Hassle the Hoff

2006-11-04T07:01:00.000-05:00

There has been a STUNNING turn of events in the matter of my family photos. I have discovered an amazing fact that I don't think any of us were aware of.

The same year that we went to Disneyland, we also, of course, hit Universal Studios. I love it there. Except the Jaws, bit. That scared the poop out of me. And when I took Big Brat there a billion years later, it scared the poop out of her, too.

What WAS fun was all the little displays that people could pose in front of for photos. Like me and my sisters with KITT, the car from Knight Rider.

I'm obviously a little pooped out, and mysisters appear to be annoyed by that.

And a bit later,we were in a jail and bending the bars to escape...... Boy are WE strong, eh?

But WAIT!

Who is that IN the jail with us???? The right hand side?

That's not David Hasselhoff, in all of his 80's hair glory, is it????

This just may alter the course of my life. I have to call my sisters.

NaBloPoMo Post 3 ~ Inspirational Message?

2006-11-03T10:16:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure what bug flew up our butts, but MAN do we ever look pissed. That's me on the left. It seems that, at that point, I was still taller than Sister3. I don't recall that. I thought that I was always the shortest. Ironic, since I am also the oldest. And, while that cheers up my day somewhat, I also need to remember that I am the shortest now. And that with the ever advancing years, I will probably continue to get shorter.

I think I will use this opportunity to tell ya'll why I am OK with being short. It's a very moving and inspirational story, so you may want to grab a hanky now. I'll wait......

So, it all started in Kindergarten. Our backyard gate was right by the crosswalk that we used to walk to school. And there was always a crossing guard there. The guards were always fellow students from our school.

And I worshipped them. I wanted to BE a crossing guard.

But, the rule was that a student needed to be in at least grade 5 to be a guard. So I waited. All through kindergarten, grade 1, 2, 3.....well, you get the point. I showed a tremendous amount of patience for a kid that age. Or a grown-up, for that matter.

Then the big day came. I was in grade 5. The announcements that morning said that if any grade fives wanted to be crossing guards, to meet in a certain classroom at lunchtime. I was so excited. All of my dreams and ambitions were finally within reach.

As I walked through the doorway of that classroom at lunchtime, the teacher in charge of the guards took one look at me and said, "You can't be a crossing guard. You're TOO SHORT."

I was crushed. CRUSHED.

But I'll tell ya'll something. I have never, EVER, been too short for anything else I've wanted since then. I won't allow it. It's not a disease, and it's not crippling. It's just a feature. I'm short, not incapable. And that's why man invented step stools. And also why I (allegedly) married a tall man. (Well, he has other features, too.) (Allegedly.)

Besides....I'm cute as a button.

So, there ya go. Very inspiring, yes? Feel free to use it as a bedtime story for your kids if they are stumpy like me. I mean, er, undertall.

NaBloPoMo Post 2

2006-11-02T16:00:00.000-05:00

Well....since Lorraine decided to rub in the fact that she cannot participate in NaBloPoMo due to an upcoming visit to Disneyworld, I'm SURE not knowing that Disneyland is my favoritest place on the whole entire planet....no, the UNIVERSE, and that I have a poster of Walt on my office wall.....well, I have decided to show a wonderful and nostalgic photo of me (and my sisters, the hangers-on) in Disneyland.

I think it was 1982 or 1983. Somewhere around there. The 80's were really all a blur of hot pink clothes, jelly bracelets and bad moustaches.

I'm the one in the middle with the Mickey Mouse ears. NOT the Minnie ears. Did I ever tell ya'll how my dad wanted a boy? But got three girls all in one shot instead? And that my mom then had her tubes tied? So I grew up learning how to change the oil on vintage Corvettes and wearing Mickey Mouse hats while my sisters could flit off and be girls? No. Oh. Well, it happened. No bitterness, though.

I WAS the only one of us three that was allowed to drive the '61 'Vette later on. Because I had worked on it with him. Ha ha. Suckers. Hope your Pink hats were enough to console you.

NaBloPoMo Post 1

2006-11-01T20:57:00.000-05:00

I am FAR too tired to post Halloween pics of my own kids right now. That would involve going to the other room to get the camera, find the damn cord, plug it in and do computer mumbo jumbo to it. Too much effort. They were cute though. I'll post them soon.

I am going attempt that NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month) thing, though. Ya know. A post everday for the month of November. Attempt. I'm pretty busy peeps. Not a lot of time for typing and wittiness. But, plenty of old photos of myself growing up already on my computer. So, for the next month, I will, at least, post a wonderful and nostalgic photo of me. And probably my sisters, since I could never seem to shake them for long.

Starting with:

That's Halloween sometime in the early 80's. 1982, I think. Whatever. I'm the cheerleader. Awwwww. Sister3 is a bride. Sister2 is apparently a punk....or a hooker. Not sure which. Ahh. Good times. Good times.

(Yes, I know the letters are backwards. My dad put the slide in the scanner backwards. Yell at him.)

New Rules For Halloween

2006-10-30T07:00:00.000-05:00

I believe I have about 30 seconds of 'normal' before life gets hectic. Again.

I have no visitors. My alleged husband is at work. Big Brat is going to school. I don't work until 5:00pm. I have almost a whole day to do some normal things. Like laundry. And cleaning. And returning empty beer bottles. And carving a pumpkin, maybe.

Because starting tomorrow, it all gets crazy again. Halloween. I love it. But can they not make a rule somewhere that moms don't need to work on Halloween? So they can do CRAZY things like make dinner, take their jackets off, sit down. And a rule that the MOMS get to take the kids out Trick or Treating, and not the dads. A hot coffee or tea will be provided for each mom. And, if she worked all day, a large, muscled, half naked guy will pull her from house to house in a chariot. The dads need to stay home and hand out candy. With no beer or TV. And, if a dad is not available, an alternate treat distributor can be rented. And, if you cannot afford an alternate treat distributor, one will be provided for you.

And while we are at it, let's give every kid their own makeup artist. And costume designer with their own sewing machine. Because those Walmart costumes are looking crappier every year. What's next? Twenty bucks for a big paper bag with holes in it and a black magic marker?

And let's give the little darlings a list of how much discussion there can be about their costume. A time limit. Let's say, 1 minute a day. And not to start before October 1st. And not to continue past October 31st at midnight. Because I can have NO MORE conversations about what color of scarf and how much jewelry a gypsy should wear. How would I know? Do I look like a gypsy? I've been threatening to sell her to gypsies for twelve years, and NOW she takes an interest. I also have no more conversation left for how much pirate stuff is too much pirate stuff. For instance, would a hook, a parrot, an eyepatch, a sword, a hat, AND a bandana with crazy beaded braids and a painted on beard be a little bit TOO piratey? I don't know. Do I look like a pirate?

What happened to those great costumes that look like snowsuits and just zip on? I loved those. Little Brat was happy with that last year. She was a flying unicorn. Sure, there were 40 other flying unicorns trick or treating in the same area, but she didn't care. Then Kindergarten happened. And her new friends. I shudder to think how much time they spend at school talking about how to drive their mothers insane with complicated costumes.

And, for those who have mothers that wait until TODAY to find a costume for them....they should just automatically get extra candy. And I know I will see those mothers today, at work. At the dollar store. Where the Christmas stuff has been out for weeks. And anything remotely orange and black in color has been relegated to the "Let's just sell this crap and get it out the door" section of the store. No, we have no colored hair spray. No, no vampire teeth. No, no witch hats, colored wigs, pumpkin carving sets, halloween socks, giant paper skeletons, fake spider webs, fake blood, fake swords, etc, etc. No. We are out. We were out last week. Or the week before. It's the day before Halloween, bad moms. You are too late. You are going to send your kids to school tomorrow wearing their dad's garage overalls and calling themselves a 'mechanic'. And all the other kids will KNOW what that means. That they have a mom that couldn't be bothered. And now it's too late. Go to Walmart and buy a large paper bag and black magic marker. And hope your children are emotionally stable enough to not smother you in your sleep.

Ok. Who's with me? New rules for Halloween. One of us will have to get elected to something. The higher the office the better. Are any of your running for President or Prime Minister, by any chance? Or at least dressing like one for Halloween? No? Well, until we can make these changes, everybody just hang on. We'll get through it.

Then we just have to worry about Christmas.

2006-10-27T08:15:00.000-04:00

Blech.
That's kinda like I still feel. It's been a rough week. So far.

The visit with my mom was fun. We shopped, I worked, she took care of my kids and did the cooking. My Uncle came for a visit. He played my alleged husband's army games on my computer while my mom played word games on her own laptop. All very exciting.

I like when my mom cooks for me, but I have some issues with it. Some of ya'll may know I have a phobia about of food poisoning. And I am aware that it is an irrational fear. I think I handle it pretty well. I can function as a normal adult human being. Mostly. Fine, so I overcook all of my meat. And I use a thermometer on EVERYTHING I cook. And I will NEVER send my kids to school with a lunch that includes anything with chicken or mayo in it.

Basically, take all of your normal precautions and double them. I have issues.

My mom, on the other hand, is the opposite of a person with food poisoning issues. And this shows on many occasions in a short visit.

It starts with her dishes. They often have bits of food left on them. 'Often' is maybe too mild a word. Always. It's more like ALWAYS. I tend to rush in and wash the dishes when she isn't looking, just so I know they are clean. Especially since I have seen the cloth that she uses to wash the dishes with. Ick. She thinks I am very industrious, always washing my dishes so quickly. She knows about my food issues, but has yet to figure out that that extends to old flakey food stuck to my plate.

Then, there is the frozen food debate. When I go shopping, I plan my day specifically around making sure that the VERY LAST things I buy are my frozen items. I then rush straight home and put it all in the freezer. Because frozen keeps it safe. Safer. Whatever.

So, one day, my mom decides to make us all dinner. She stops at M&M Meat Shop to get perogies, cabbage rolls, and some chicken. All of it frozen. We still had shopping to do. It was ok, she assured me, we would be quick. Until we stopped to visit a friend of hers. Then we had to go meet her for coffee. And sit. And drink coffee. And sit. All the while, I can hear the frozen goods in the back of the looooser cruise, calling to me. 'Tara....we're meeeelllllting.'

When my mom finally figured out why I kept stealing glances at the van, then my watch, she brushed it off and said 'Oh. Your issues. Don't worry. I checked. You can keep frozen food out of the freezer and as long as it doesn't reach room temperature, it's OK.'

What?! Which PART? Because I bet the outside of those things are room temp by now!!!

So, we finally get home, and I rush it all into the freezer. But then, about 2 hours before dinner, my mom starts her prep work. So she takes the perogies out of the freezer. Why? I don't know. They can cook from frozen. But she decides to thaw them. Does she get a bowl or plate or even a cutting board? No. She cuts open the bag and dumps the whole whack of them straight onto my countertop. The countertop wiped by her, with the same cloth she used to wash dishes.

Can I help it if I think she might be screwing with me at this point?!?! Would a mom do that????

I was good, though. I ate all of it, and didn't imagine stomach pains later. I didn't dive across the table and slap a perogie right out of the mouth of one of my kids, just to save them from the horror of it all. I didn't accidentally pour lighter fluid all over dinner and then set it on fire, just to make sure all the germs were cooked off. But I wanted to.

It was the last thing that got me, though. The thing I WON'T eat, no matter how much I love my mom. It was the peameal bacon (aka Canadian Bacon for you Yanks).

We had four chunks of it safely in the freezer. Everyone decided to use it the next morning for eggs benedict. Yummy. I make a MEAN eggs benedict. So, I took all the bacon out of the freezer and put it in the fridge to partially thaw. Like I was SUPPOSED to do. But then the drinking started. Wine. Vodka. Whatever. I didn't have any. I worked the next morning. But nobody else was really up for eggs benedict the next day. Or any other solid form of food.

I decided to leave the bacon thawing in the fridge. We could have it later, maybe for dinner. Then I went to work. When I came home, my mom told me that they ate one chunk, but she put the other 3 chunks back in the freezer.

What????????? WHAT???? Isn't that, like, rule number ONE???? Never, ever, NEVER, refreeze meat that has already been frozen and then thawed. NEVER. So, it's just sitting there. In my freezer. Waiting for my alleged husband, who does NOT have the same phobia as me, to ask me why we don't have it for dinner. And when I tell him why, he'll roll his eyes at me and say, 'Oh right, your issues.'

So, ya. I have ISSUES. And I'm OK with my issues. Because they almost never interfere in my life. Except when my mom visits. Then I have to take those issues and hold them wayyyyy deep inside. And hope I don't die of food poisoning.

I'm so glad my mom doesn't read this. But just in case.....LOVE YA MOM!!!

2006-10-25T11:28:00.000-04:00

I know. I'm not here much. And yes, my mom is gone. But, I'm not absent from blogging for anything glamorous like whirlwind vacations or job promotions or running away to join the circus. Finally.
No. I'm just sick. Again. I think it's another cold, but so far it's mostly a fever and sore throat. I had to cancel my dentist appointment for this morning. That would have SUCKED.
As it is, I have done nothing for the past 24 hours but lay around in bed and whine and moan and nap and watch the entire first season of Rosanne of DVD. Little Brat's meals have consisted of easy-to-cook things like Kraft cheese slices, pickles and Lucky Charms straight from the box.
But, I have to work tonight. So I am attempting my first coffee of the day. It kinda sucks, but I think the fever is messing with my tastebuds.
I really do have more interesting things to talk about, but I am barely conscious at the moment. We'll try again tomorrow.

2006-10-23T07:07:00.000-04:00

Still here.....just visiting with my mommy. I'll have some neat-o yarn and crochet treasures o show ya'll soon.

2006-10-19T07:12:00.000-04:00

I just made a cup of coffee, drank some, and it tasted sour. So, I poured it down the sink, poured a bit of milk in a glass, made Big Brat taste it to see if it had gone bad.....and she said it didn't. So I made a second cup of coffee, with the same milk.....and it's fine.

What the hell????

Today is just NOT the day to screw with me, people. My house is one vacuumed hallway away from being clean, I have to leave for work in the next hour, and my mom and her friend will get here sometime while I am at work. Hopefully the dog is OK with that. But he loves Granny. And they'd better not snoop.

My alleged husband and I had a disagreement last night. And yes, it was a disagreement. If this was something we actually fought about, we wouldn't still be married.

It was about pumpkins. Small pumpkins, to be exact. Little Brat's kindergarten teacher sends home these calendars with notes about what they should bring to class. Fine. I'm fine with that. For little things. Like dress in blue this day. Or bring a stuffed toy that day.

For today, she wants them each to bring a small pumpkin. And the word SMALL is where the problem comes in. Try, TRY, to find a small pumpkin in this town. At least one small enough for Little Brat to carry without getting a little toddler hernia. I went to 4 different grocery stores and Walmart in the last few days.

No small pumpkins.

Darling alleged husband, at about 7 PM last night, wanted me to keep searching. To drive further and keep looking, no matter how long it took. When I had a house to clean. And dinner to eat (I was delayed for various reasons from eating my own dinner). And an alleged husband that needed to occupy the passenger seat in the loser cruiser while I drove him hither and yon for his work. Hither and yon, peeps.

My take is that the teacher can take her small pumpkin idea and shove it up her....um....some witty and inoffensive item that relates to kindergarten teachers. Preferably orange in color.

So, no pumpkin. And darling alleged husband can find the NEXT fun item for her to bring. Watch. It'll be something like a beer bottle cap. Ya. That'd be hard to find, eh?

2006-10-18T20:40:00.000-04:00

Today sucked. When's tomorrow getting here?

It's All About MEMEMEMEMEMEME

2006-10-18T08:32:00.001-04:00

Yes, I should be cleaning and sanitizing my house in anticipation of my mom's visit. Not that it's a HORRIBLE mess (or I suppose that depends on your definition of horrible). It's just that if anything is left unfinished, she wants to do it FOR me while she is here. And, while that would have been a dream come true when I was teenager, I don't want her cleaning out my fridge NOW.

Much.

Anyway. So I got tagged. By Lorraine (Blogger won't let me post the link, so look up Stuff, Junk and Whatnot on Google). Who's name I really like, but I am biased, since that's Little Brat's middle name. Which is my mother in laws name. Which REALLY ticked off my mom since nobody named a baby after HER. I guess she should should have cleaned out my fridge more when I was younger.

I haven't had my coffee yet. It's taking too long to brew. My thoughts are a little disorganized. So sue me.

Anyway, I was tagged. To do a MEME. I think I may have done this one before. Way, WAY, at the beginning of my blogging days. But things may have changed. So I'm doing it again. While my coffee brews. And my house doesn't get cleaner. So, ya......here goes.

Four jobs I've had:

Paper Delivery girl
Mylar Balloon blower upper and stick on a sticker-er
Soup Maker
Engraver

(I've had like about 35 different jobs or so at last count, so those are just the four I thought of first)

Four movies I can watch over and over:
Dazed and Confused
Peter Pan (Disney animated)
Any of the Back to the Futures (I have the box set)
The Pirate Movie (I know nobody has heard of it but me, but I love it. Look it up on Google)

Four places I have lived:
Edmonton, Alberta
Winnipeg, Manitoba
North Bay, Ontario
Borden, Ontario

Four television shows I love to watch:
ER
LOST
All the CSIs (yes, you too Horatio)
Heroes

Four places I have been on vacation:
Disneyland
Maine
Boston
Grand Canyon

Four of my favorite dishes:
Fettucini alfredo with roasted red peppers and terriyaki chicken on top
Donair Pizza
Terriyaki chicken nachos with LOTS of sour cream
Denny's Sausage Scrambler

Four websites I visit daily:

A few message boards for army wives. I'd post the link, but ya know, they're my real life peeps and ya'll are my blog peeps. Sorry. It's not you. It's them. Really.

CFRA ~ My radio station. I get my morning news there.

My bank sites. Again, sorry. Ya ain't privileged enough to see THOSE.

Google ~ I'm a search-a-holic. I search for EVERYTHING that pops into my little head. And that's a lot. I think Google owes me a little of their wealth.

Four places I'd rather be right now:
Tim Hortons
Boston
Somewhere in Europe that has sheep and a lot of rain and warm sweaters, like Ireland or Scotland.
The land of houses that can't get dirty.

Four bloggers I am tagging:
Anyone with the letter Y in their name.
Anyone with brown eyes.
Anyone with a dog.
Anyone that wants to.

IHHCC ~ The Abridged Meeting

2006-10-17T07:32:00.000-04:00

I'm typing as fast I can. I woke up 15 minutes late. Which gives me 15 minutes less to get Little Brat ready for kindergarten and 15 minutes less to yell at Big Brat to hurry up. And if that's late, then I have 15 minutes less to shower and smell pretty before work. And, folks, my hair NEEDS that extra 15 minutes. And that gives me 15 minutes less to drink coffee and ramble on this here blog. So, sorry about the following typos. No time for spell check.

I will leave my fellow I Hate Horatio Caine Club members with a few points from last night's episode of CSI:Miami that you may want to discuss.

~ The standing of H in front of the big stained glass window, like he is some avenging angel, out to punish all of the obviously evil and corrupt judges of Miami.

~ The way that ALL of the crimes tied together......again. How do they keep doing that? In MIAMI? It's a big city, isn't it?

~ How NOBODY even once wore a bio suit, even though they mentioned them and the words biohazard, bloater, and 'popping the body'.

~H's ability to save anyone, ANYONE, from trouble. Just what has he done to earn so many favors? Hmmmm?

I would have stayed up last night to start the meeting, but I had to run errands for my alleged husband, who, due to reasons undiscussible, cannot FETCH his own damn things (annoying, but necessary, and I suppose I won't bitch about it since he's all about saving the world and all). At 9 pm. When Heroes was on. And I NEED to watch Heroes. So I had to watch it at 10 pm. Which pushed H back to 11 pm. And I was too tired to type last night.

All right. Your turns. Discuss. And stay out of my liquor cabinet.

2006-10-16T17:04:00.000-04:00

Walmart won. This is approximately what it sounded like.

Mom, can I push the cart?
No.
Can I sit in the cart?
No.
Ok. Mommy, can I go to the toys section?
No.
I'll be good.
No.
Is that stuff for making stairs smell nice?
What?
That stuff.
What stuff?
The powder stuff.
The carpet fresh?
Ya.
No, it's for all carpets, not just stair carpets.
Oh. Can we get some?
Yes.
Yay. Does that smell like lavendar?
No.
Oh. Does THAT smell like lavendar?
Yes.
Can I smell?
No.
Can I take the lid off and smell it?
No.
Can we get some little plates that look like animals?
No.
How about spoons?
No.
Is that a blanket?
Does it look like a blanket?
Yes.
Then it's a blanket.
Can I have a Strawberry Shortcake pillow?
No.
How about Spongebob?
No.
Will you make me a pillow with yarn?
No....maybe.
Can I have some yarn?
What for?
To play with the cat.
No.
Can I look in the toy section?
No.
Can YOU look in the toy section?
No.
Are we getting cookies?
No.
Lucky Charms?
No.
Chips?
NO.
Can I get some scissors?
NO!
Are we paying now?
Yes.
Can I have that flashlight?
No.
Can I push the button?
No.
What about THAT button?
NOOOOO.
Mommy, can I have some Smarties?
Have I said yes to ANYTHING yet?
Yes.
What?
The stair freshener.
Oh. No Smarties.
Can I have....
HEY!
Ya?
No to the next 10 things, ok.
Ok. ...If I ask for 10 more things, then can I have some gum?
NO.
Can I drive?
Yes.
Really?!
No.

I should have stayed home and cleaned.

2006-10-16T08:43:00.000-04:00

Should I clean the house....or go to Walmart?

Beacuse if I don't clean the house now, it won't get done. And my mom is coming to visit on Thursday. So it should really be clean and smelling pretty. And my uncle from Montreal is coming, too.

But, Walmart has stuff. Lots of stuff. Some stuff I might like. Like yarn stuff and linen stuff and fun new cleaning product stuff.

I'll decided after my coffee.

The Honeywagon Adventure

2006-10-13T09:40:00.000-04:00

Ya'll know what a honeywagon is, right? The poop pumper? And other various disgusting names that all mean a tanker truck that empties septic tanks for a fee. Right.

Keep in mind, folks, that I am a city gal. Always was. Always had a sewer pipe attached to my toilets. Until this house. In which the toilets are attached to my backyard. And a large underground tank that collects all the various waste.

Aren't ya glad you stopped to read HERE today?

So, my adventure started a few weeks ago when I called to book a day to have my poop pumped. The nice lady on the phone said "How's Friday the 13th? Is that day OK for you?" Really? Friday the 13th? Friday the 13th? That's the day you want to come and stick a large hose in a big hole in my backyard, where my kids play, and pump 3 years worth of human waste? Really? (Red flags popping up everywhere, sirens, flashing lights, ABORT ABORT). Sure, that day sounds fine.

She then proceeded to tell me where to dig to find the cover. What??? Dig? ME? Don't THEY do that? What the hell????

A few days ago, I started digging. I used the markers, in the form of white bricks, that were left by the previous owner of the house to mark where to dig. I have come to the conclusion that the previous owner is an asshole. Because the lid wasn't there. But I now had THIS hole.

And this little plastic toy sheep. Not exactly burried treasure, but it's better than a punch in the face.

So, I called the nice poop lady back and had her tell me where she thought I should dig. She asked me where the poop pipe comes out ofthe house. Um....from the basement. She said I should see it where it comes out of the house. What? It's underground. I'm supposed to see that? With my x-ray eyes? No, I can't see it. So, I have to measure fom the spider infested wall of my basement, to the spider encrusted poop pipe. Then add a few feet for the GIANT stone foundation. Then go outside and find the right spot. She said it would be no more than 5 feet from the house and no more than a foot down. Easy as pie, right?

I start digging. And hit something. I think 'yay, I found it!' but, I am wrong. I have found a brick. What kind of a moron burries a brick? So, I get Little Brat's little plastic garden shovel and dig around the brick until I can get it out. And continue to dig. And hit another damn brick. And another and another.

Let's forget the fact that I can barely dig through grass, let alone hundred year old bricks. Who the HELL burries a PILE of bricks????? What kind of sick, twisted person does that? Was it done in anticpation of a weak little housewife, a century in the future, trying in vain to dig through them? Because that's sick.

And I was obviously in the wrong spot. Knowing that the marked spot was wrong, and the measured spot was wrong, and it was dark and raining and I was covered in mud....well, I panicked. I called in a backup husband. He was actually a loaner from a friend. She brought him right over to me. So we could drink coffee in the nice warm house while the loaner husband dug up half my backyard looking for the damn spetic tank lid. Loaner heroes are good, too.

And so then I had THIS hole.

So, the lid was found. Harvey the poop pumper came this morning. Nice guy. Kinda big, but I think that's probably a little like a safety line in his line of work. Ya know. In case he falls. He won't fall in. He was interested in talking about crochet patterns, too. While he was pushing the poop around with big poop pushing poles.

You didn't HAVE to keep reading, you know. Don't blame me if you're grossed out.

The smell, people. The smell was insane. And Harvey MUST be a little insane for smelling that all day.
And as Harvey drove the honeywagon away, on this glorious Friday the 13th, all I could think was "Nice man. Bad job. I sure hope that cap at the back of the truck is on tight."

And if THAT little adventure didn't go horribly wrong today, maybe it won't be so unlucky afterall.

Survivor and CSI

2006-10-12T22:20:00.000-04:00

Ok, I feel I have watched enough of this season of Survivor to comment a bit. But just a bit. Because I'm honestly not following as close as I usually do. I did like the immunity challenge tonight. That was great. A thrilling watch. I'm also going on record as saying my fav to win is Flica.

And that's all I have to say about that.

But, what about tonight's CSI??? What did they do to my Greg???? How DARE they? My poor, poor baby. Man. And what was with the chemistry with Sara while poor greg was lying and bleeding internally to death? Huh? Did she forget about her fling with Grisolm, or is Greg just the younger man?

And Kevin Federline as a guest star? Kevin Federline? What? Ok, I can see if the guy wants to audition and get a bit part like anyone else, but what the hell is with the 'guest star' credit? What the hell has he done to earn that, besides knock up Brittany Spears.

And that's all I gotta say about that.

2006-10-12T07:16:00.000-04:00

Hey. What's up?

I'm on my way to work. So, uh.....talk amongst yourselves for now.

IHHCC

2006-10-10T20:39:00.000-04:00

Ok, settle down people. Take your seats. You there, put down that pizza. The meeting is starting now.

So...this week's meeting of the I Hate Horatio Caine Club has now come to order. Kawano , you were the last to join, so I hope you brought the beer. And if any of the new members did NOT throw random objects at your TV screen during last night's episode of CSI:Miami, please slink out the back door now. Thanks.

Ok. New club business. There is a new blog sidebar button available. Pick one up on your way out. Careful of the pin on the back, it's a little tricky. And may contain lead. Sorry 'bout that.

Let's now discuss why we hate Horatio Caine this week. Super Horatio's part in last night's episode was mercifully scarce, but he still managed to tick me off. How? By using another character's name FAR too many times to make a point. For example, if 'H' were speaking to me, he may say something like:

"Tara. Here's what we are going to do, Tara. Tara, I want you to cut me to shreds on your blog. Tara, can you do that, Tara? Tara, I need you to do that for me. Tara. Don't worry, Tara, nobody will ever, Tara, hurt you again, Tara. Tara. Here's my card, Tara. Tara, you call me, Tara, whenever, you, Tara, need me. Tara."

Erg.

Now. I KNOW that this week's meeting started a little late. I'm sorry. I can only blame Horatio Caine for making my day really busy and frustrating. I am also blaming him for:

~ waking up with a migraine
~ my clothes not getting dry in the dryer
~ the big scary spider behind my cash at work trying to eat me alive when I had a lineup of customers.
~ the mean lady at Walmart that acted all snippy, as if it was MY fault she is 95 and working at Walmart (we know who to blame)
~ bad drivers
~ bad kids
~ bad milk in my fridge
~ bad milk in ANYONE'S fridge
~ cold weather
~ North Korea

Please submit your list of things you blame Horatio Caine for when you grab your sidebar button.

Next week, we will be reviewing ways in which Horatio Caine could perish. Oh. OH, the ways he could perish.

Thanks for coming, and take your empty beer bottles to the kitchen on your way out.

Button ------->

(Just take one, leave enough for next week's new members, you greedy, greedy pig. Are you the one that ate all the cheesies, too?)

She Dressed Herself Today

2006-10-09T16:33:00.000-04:00

So young, and yet already so filled with irony.

2006-10-08T09:39:00.000-04:00

So, some of ya'll know how I don't tell my family about this blog. Especially my husband. But, not to talk badly about him. Ya'll know that. Just so that it's more like a private diary. That 2 or 3 hundred people read. But, basically, it's because I want to write without worrying if what I am saying is being misconstrued by someone I know in real life.

Now, I knew it was bound to happen eventually, that SOMEBODY would finally do a simple Google search and find me here. And someone did. My sister-in-law, Steph. She almost blew my cover, but I pulled her aside and explained to her why she shouldn't mention this other, yet brilliant, side of me when in the company of other family members, especially her brother.

So, everyone give a great big blog wave to Steph.

HI STEPH!!!

De-Lurking Red Friday

2006-10-06T07:15:00.000-04:00

The Tim Horton's breakfast sandwich on a biscuit was good. Surprisingly good, considering the service at all of the Timmie's around here makes me want to pull my hair out, throw the loose change from the send-a-kid-to-camp-even-though-I-ALWAYS-wanted-to-go-to-camp-so-why-isn't-there-a-grown-up-Tim-Hortons-camp-where-we-can-sit-around-all-day-and-drink-coffee-and-play-on-the-computer charity box at the cashier, then hop over the counter and start showing those stupid twits how to make a GOSH DARN chicken salad sandwich and bagel without taking a full twenty minutes.

But I digress.

Did ya'll notice anything different? Like the red? That's because it's Red Friday, to support the troops. So wear red. Do it.

And did ya'll notice the lack of Friend of a Friend Friday? Actually, no, don't answer that. If you say 'Yes, I DID notice. Huh, how 'bout that,' then I may feel so guilty that I can't sleep for weeks, and you wouldn't want that. But, if you said 'Why, you know, I never even noticed that,' then I will realize (finally) that all of this babbling and rambling is read by many, but loved by only a few stalkers (love you, stalkers!).

And, since I m SOOOO busy with my high stress dollar store job (seriously, people, it's ALL a dollar. Stop asking me the price), I have decided to switch things up a bit. My favorite ever Friend of a Friend Friday was when all of my lurkers were asked to say Hi. And they DID. By the BOATLOAD. It was great!

So, let's do that this Friday. Lurkers, silent stalkers, bad typers, whatever. If I haven't heard from you before, say hi! I LOVE finding new blogs. Especially ones that have owners smart enough to visit little old me.

All you old-bees can say Hi, too. There's enough love in me to go around. And if you don't want to see me, and are a little scared at the 'enough love to go around' comment, then go see my new tenant, instead (thumbnail on the sidebar).

Pictures!

2006-10-05T08:32:00.000-04:00

I don't have time to entertain ya'll today. I have a JOB, ya know. And, unlike some of you, my job does not involve a computer with internet access. Although we do sell blank cds for a dollar. And mousepads. For a dollar. But that's it. And I have things to do BEFORE work, people. I have to make myself pretty so I can get out of the house before Little Brat's school calls me to pick her up for having a little cough. Big deal. She probably got it from those kids anyway. So they're immune, right? No guilt here. So, I need to flee. To Tim Horton's. To try the new sausage and egg breakfast sandwich on a biscuit. I know, that doesn't sound all that exciting to my American readers, but there is something you may not know. Canada doesn't do biscuits. Really. No biscuits at KFC. No biscuits at McDonalds. No biscuits anywhere. Except maybe Denny's. And a box of Bisquick if you want to make them yourself. Canada doesn't do sausage gravy, either, but that's a whole other issue.

So, since I am FAR too busy to be entertaining, I will throw some photos at you. Duck.

This is how pretty my house is in the fall. Although, it would be prettier if it wasn't raining. And my chimney wasn't in need of repair. Whatever.

And this is my proof that I HAVE been crocheting. See? Right there. Proof. You'll find out what it is soon. Hopefully.

And here is One-Eyed Bob. I don't think he's actually one-eyed. But he likes it when we call him that.

And here is proof that One-Eyed Bob is a HUGE HAIRY BEAST. See. It's not just paranoia. See. It's also proof that I do actually have a husband. Or somebody's husband, anyway.

The NEW I Hate Horatio Caine Club

2006-10-02T23:10:00.000-04:00

That's it. That's IT. I've had enough. I'm at my limit. I cannot, CANNOT, let this continue anymore.

NO MORE, I SAY!!!

Horatio Caine MUST be stopped. I am hereby bringing to order the very first meeting of the I Hate Horatio Caine Club. So far I am the only member, but I imagine a few of you may join in. If so, here are some ground rules. These rules are designed to keep out anyone who secretly admires Horatio Caine and must therefore be ridiculed by the rest of the club.

1. NEVER wear your sunglasses indoors. It was not cool when Corey Hart did it, and it's just plain creepy when Horatio Caine does it.

2. NEVER call somebody, or have anyone call you, by the first initial of their name. For instance, never call me 'T'. Ever. I mean it. I'll do the same for you.

3. ALWAYS look at a person when you are talking to them. Yes. I mean the WHOLE entire sentence. Don't look out into the horizon over the ocean/at the big white mansion in the background/into the depths of the shimmering Miami pool water with flowing scraps of white fabric blowing in the breeze behind it and then turn to the person you are talking to at the very last word of the sentence, glaring at them through your creepy sunglasses. It's stupid. Real stupid.

4. NEVER EVER EVER crouch down to a small kid and say something creepy like "I'll always be here if you need me," in a deep and gravelly whisper, then handing them a card with your name on it, knowing that handing the kid said card means he/she will soon be placed in imminent danger.

5. If you are a kid, NEVER EVER EVER accept a card from Horatio Caine. Seriously. Never. Imminent danger.

6. Do NOT act like you, and you alone, can control all of the criminals in Miami. All of the mob, the ganstas, the rappers, the rich kids killing their girlfriends, etc, etc, etc. You are NOT a God. And I am pretty sure there is more than one police station in Miami.

7. DO NOT gather all of your co-workers together at the end of a long day and have them meet you on the beach with nothing but big black Hummers for a backdrop. And, while you are not there, DO NOT then line said co-workers up and walk down the beach with the sunset behind you, trying desperately to look like a) superheroes in expensive business suits that are far too fashionable for any cop to wear, b) a wannabe boy band, but without any boys (ya, you heard me, oh yes I did say it), or c) the only thing that stands between the law-abiding citizens of the planet, and total destruction at the hands of gussied up drug dealers with nice cars and hot porn star girlfriends.

8. Do NOT have some stupid clever line for each and every tragedy that befalls someone. Seriously. Show some sensitivity.

9. DO NOT date and/or marry your employee's sister who is dying of cancer but looks like she just walked off the fashion runway. And if you do, don't be surprised when she finds some way to get herself killed shortly afterwards. Because, really, who wouldn't?

10. And most importantly, whatever happens in the I Hate Horatio Caine Club STAYS in the I Hate Horatio Caine Club.

So, what do ya'll say? Any new members? Initiations start next week, during CSI:Miami. You have to throw random objects at the TV whenever Horatio Caine is talking. And don't wimp out and throw things like marshmallows or bread crumbs or anything.

Whoever is the last to join brings the beer the next week. Deal?

Meeting adjourned.

Ramblings

2006-10-02T07:09:00.000-04:00

My thoughts are rather jumbled at the moment. Due to my cold. Or the cold medication. Or both. Whatever. Let's do this post in point form, shall we?

~ I HAVE been crocheting. There is even a pattern forthcoming. But, I need to find the charger for the camera batteries. I think it's hiding. Either that, or my office is just a big mess and I can barely find my own self in here, but I'm pretty sure it's just hiding. That little rascal.

~ I got my advance payment for my previously alluded to publication that's coming out in March. Yay. Now I can afford to have my septic tank drained. Woohoo! Fun times. Fun times, indeed.

~You know what I really hate? When I get a cup of coffee and there is lipstick on my coffee cup.

~You know what's worse? When the cup came out of my own cupboard.

~My dad is getting out of the tanning salon business. Didn't I tell ya'll he owned a tanning salon? Huh, well, he does. At least for a few weeks. He used to own an oil change shop. Sold that, too. Now, he wants to buy a kayak and canoe store. Not that I don't think that would be cool. And I would be in charge of the website, which would rock. But the guy is almost 60 . He flew helicopters for 25 years. He's worked harder since he retired. Dude. Take a break, already.

~I think I need gel insoles for my new shoes.

~Dollarama is still fun. But I am working a TON more than originally planned. That's not bad, just a bit of a shock. I was only supposed to get a few hours a week, to work around my alleged husband's and non-alleged kids' schedules. Unfortunately for my boss (but not for me), he has to keep firing people. They're dropping like flies! And everytime someone gets canned, I get extra shifts added to my schedule. And my alleged husband and kids can work around ME once in a while. Ha.

~A friend of mine had a great idea. She thinks we should start an agency for part time husbands for military wives. You know, somebody to hang out at your house and open jars and kill spiders and reach for things up high and ask where things are that are right in front of their face, for heaven sakes.....Etc. No, not the OTHER husband stuff. Perverts. Just the basic husband things that you may be without for a few months at time. The only problem is......finding the part time husbands. Because they would have to be better looking than our own real husbands. And if your man is army already, that's pretty hard to beat. And they would need a uniform, too, because if he's been gone a while, you'll miss the uniform. And good looking guys in uniforms don't come cheap, my friends. Unless.......what if I offered beer? I wonder.....

~ My house and yard look GORGEOUS right now. All the vines on my house have changed to fall colors. If I can ever find that damn battery charger, I'll show ya'll. But trust me, it's very pretty.

~I really can't think of anything else right now. I took some daytime cold stuff, but I think it may be having an opposite effect. Or reacting badly to the pot o'coffee. I am getting a little befuddled. I think I may go back to bed. Four year olds can take care of themselves without incident, right?

2006-10-01T16:32:00.000-04:00

Fear not, dear friends and fellow bloggers. I have not abandoned you. I am simply DYING of a bad cold. EVERYTHING hurts. I am placing the blame on either Little Brat's forays into kindergarten, or the aforementioned WET money. Either way, I'm now DYING.

I am attempting to crochet through the pain.

A Cashier's Plea

2006-09-28T16:52:00.000-04:00

Now that I have re-joined the ranks of cashiers, I would like to make a heartfelt request on behalf of ALL cashiers everywhere:

PLEASE don't give us wet money anymore. Please. That's so gross. And no, we don't want to know why it's wet. We probably won't believe you, anyway. Just stop it. Ew. Ick.

Oh, and put your damn carts and baskets away, too. Thanks.

2006-09-28T07:35:00.000-04:00

Remember THIS picture of my daughter and nephew?

Now look at THIS one.

What's with these two? What the hell are they planning? Is this a very transparent evil plot on the part of Little Brat and my nephew is onto her????

The TARA ALERT System

2006-09-27T08:27:00.000-04:00

Since I am no longer allowed to divulge certain aspects of my life with my alleged husband, but feel that I am not truly blogging unless ya'll know exactly how stressed out I am....I have come up with a system.

I love systems.

There will be a little spot on my sidebar that tells you just which Tara Alert level we are sitting at.

Green is good. Green means that the kids are being good, I've had a few cups of coffee, work is going great, and hubby is possibly, but not necessarily, available.

Blue is OK. Same as green, but maybe the phone bill came in. Or too many telamarketers are calling.

Yellow is...iffy. Maybe something is up.....maybe not. I'm probably a little on edge.

Orange is stressed out. Yelling at the kids and telemarketers, throwing my yarn around, stomping through the house and threatening to run away and join the circus.

Red is bad. I'd tell you what red means, but then I'd have to kill you. No, really. I'm serious.

Everyone got it? Printed this out and taped it to your computer? Good.

2006-09-27T07:12:00.000-04:00

Today is dentist day. I hate dentists. Not the pain part. I can handle that. I've had kids. It's just them. They're jerks. Always lecturing me about my teeth. I have bad teeth. I know. I get it. I'm 30. Talk to me like I am 30, please. And yes, I AM missing a ton of teeth. Talk to the jerky dentist I had when I was a kid. (And that doesn't mean big hillbilly gaps, just that I have less teeth in my mouth than a normal adult. No gaps.)And yes, I KNOW that fillings are not supposed to fall out when I floss. Talk to the idiot dentist I had five years ago.

Whatever. I hate them. This one seems nice so far, but I don't trust him. Sorry dentists, but you didn't really expect everyone to like you, did you?

I seem to be ranting a lot lately, don't I? Hmmm. I'm sure I'll be in a much better mood later. After the dentist. Ya.

Wallet Sized Hell

2006-09-26T07:33:00.000-04:00

What evil, torturous person thought up the idea of 'picture day' at school? It's not even relevant anymore! We all have a camera now! And photoshop, in case we suck at photography! And we don't need to pay eleventy hundred dollars for a package that includes mostly miniature wallet size pictures that nobody wants but accepts anyway to be nice, and one HUGE picture that nobody in creation has a frame large enough for. We have COMPUTERS now. And printers. And WALMART. Just charge me 10 bucks for one picture and I will handle the sizing and copying. Do you think these photographers (and every single one of them is some middle aged guy that either hates kids or thinks kids love him when they really think he's a dolt) have ever had to get a 4 year old ready for picture day? Does he care? Does he care that Granny will yell at me if I don't get the school pictures done? Does he care that there have been no less than a billion divorces in my family and my alleged husband's family, and that we will be needing at least a billion five by seven photos so as not to make anyone think that someone else is liked more? No. NO! So he can take his eleven by thirteen and all his gajillion wallet size photos and stuff them up his creepy, middle aged ...um.....NOSE!

So...uh...ya. Today is picture day. Fun.

Stinky Spaghetti

2006-09-25T17:23:00.000-04:00

I don't know what happened. I know the ingredients were all OK. Nothing went bad in the fridge. And I really am a good cook. But for some reason, my spaghetti and meat sauce tonight smells like dirty feet. Dirty, sweaty, stinky feet.

I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna eat it.....but, should I feed it to the kids????

What the hell. They won't know the difference. Right? Am I right?

The Week!

2006-09-24T08:03:00.000-04:00

Wow. WOW. What a week.

Wednesday was the Dropkick Murphey's concert. And it was fun. I mean it. I had FUN at a punk concert. I was totally the only one there wearing plaid pants (what the hell????) and I was by FAR the oldest female. But we were right up front. I mean RIGHT up front. The crowd surfers were tossed right over my head. And at the end, during the last song when they invite girls from the audience to go up and dance, I did. Yup. Me. Tara the mom. Tara the crocheter. Tara the Dollarama employee. Up on stage, dancing at a punk concert. And by dancing, I mean running into somebody else. Did you ever see that episode of Quincy where he speaks out against the evils of slam dancing and the hate that is inspired by the punk music? Ya. It was just like that.

Cool, eh?

AND...remember on the show Friends when they had 'lists'. You know. A list of names of famous people that you can cheat on your signifigant other other with and it would be OK. I have pretty short list. But after the concert, I added one more. The lead singer from the band, Al Barr. Yummy. YUUUUMMMMMY. I've never noticed before, because I only saw him on album covers and from far, far away at the Boston concert. But up close to the stage ..... YUUUUMMMMY. It's like he was singing to me. Sigh. Ya. He's totally on my list.

Thursday I worked all day, at the Dollarama, getting more praise heaped upon me for my superier dollar store skills. It's a little like a Harvard grad going to high school and looking like a genius, but whatever. It's fun.

Friday was the Support the Troops Red Rally on Parliament Hill in Ottawa. WOW. It was amazing. It was inspiring. I wasn't expecting the Prime Minister to show up and speak, but he did. And I LOVED it.

I have a little confession. I have a little crush on our Prime Minister. I know, he's not exactly a hottie. It's a power thing. Whatever. I'd totally be a PM groupie. So, ya'll can imagine how I reacted when he surprised us all and walked out on stage. Some people scream over Justin Timberlakes of the world... politicians are my rock stars.

I believe I yelled ' I love you Stevie' at one point.

So, I have seen, in person and relatively up close, two different men from my list this week. If I can manage to see Colin Ferril in person sometime before midnight tonight, this may be my best week ever!

This is the Title to This Post

2006-09-20T07:10:00.000-04:00

I'm far too tired this morning to be my witty, charming self. But I'll try. For all of you.

We had company last night in the form of my sister in law and her friend from England, and they stayed until fairly late. They've been tromping through Southern Ontario and a few northern states for food that is apparently hard to get in England. Like Fruit Loops. What a shame. And elk burgers. Of course, I don't know that I would consider elk meat to be a staple of anyone else I know in North America, but my sissy in law is a little different.

Before they came over (fairly late, because sissy in law has also NEVER been on time for ANYTHING since I've known her), I asked my alleged husband if he could please, please PLEASE PLEEEEEAAAASE talk in a British accent the whole time. Just to prove his love for me. I don't know why, but he said no. I know, KNOW, that if he ran into a pirate, he would talk pirate with them. I guess he doesn't love me as much as I thought.

In retaliation, I asked him if we ever have a baby boy (ya, no more kids, thank you very much), if we can name him Ryan. After reminding me that I don't want more kids, he asked me why. I told him that if you change around the letters in Ryan, you can spell yarn.

I may have to pay for that later.

The dinner was surprisingly good. Surprising because my alleged husband made it. He was always a good cook, for years. And he loved it. Hell, it was why I married him. I figured I would have at least a PART of that chore done for me. Sometimes. But no. Since we've moved away from Alberta, he's cooked about 3 times. And it's things like fried eggs and canned corned beef hash. What a guy.

But, he had no choice last night since I had to work. At the Dollarama. I gotta tell ya'll....I am ROCKING the Dollarama. My boss was telling me last night how GREAT I am and how when the new manager comes in the next week, he's planning on telling her to accommodate me however she needs to because I am somebody she definitely wants on her staff. Tee hee. Aw shucks. To be fair, it's not exactly a rocket science kind of job. It's probably the easiest job I've ever had. And I used to tie mylar balloons onto plastic sticks for a job. You know, those balloons above the Walmart checkout counters, with all the cartoon characters. Seriously. That's a real job. How do you think all those balloons get onto the sticks? People tie them. I got five cents a balloon.

But I like Dollarama more. It's very friendly, too. I hate jobs that don't let me talk. I'm not just loquacious on the internet, folks, I talk this much in real life, too.

So, I stayed up too late. And now I need to suck back some coffee and start my day. We have the Dropkick Murphey's concert tonight in Ottawa. Yay. I know, I'm not very 'punk'. But my alleged husband loves this band, and it's a fun date. And THIS time I am dressing a little bit 'punk' (plaid pants, whoooEEE), so I don't stick out like a sore thumb. Not like the time I went to a punk concert dressed like a schoolteacher from Little House on the Prairie. All the people with the piercings and the mohawks and all that looked at me like I was a freak.

Go visit my new tenant.

The Invisible Post

2006-09-19T07:12:00.000-04:00

Ok, first read THIS article.

read it? Fine...skimmed it? You get the gist of it, anyway, right? It's a scientific article about how scientists have figured out, theoretically, how to create invisibility.

INVISIBILITY, PEEPS! How cool is THAT?! Sure, it's not a done deal yet, but it's a lot closer than the dreams and whims of super hero comic book writers. It's like the Jetson's are finally, finally fulfilling their prophecies.

Wow. WOW. I could totally get on board with a super power like invisibility. Can you imagine? The kids would leave me alone. My alleged husband would leave me alone. The PETS would leave me alone. I could try on bathing suits in the store, and even leave the dressing room to go to where the mirror is... across the other side of the store, surely done on purpose so all of the skinny little bikini seller store clerks can laugh and snicker and take photos of your fat with their little cell phone cameras and show them to all their friends. Not that that has happened to me. But can you imagine not having to worry about it?

Of course, there are other super powers that would be great, too. I would love to fly. I know. I hate flying, yes, yes, very ironic. But I think I would be OK if I was in charge. And there were no screaming babies or snotty flight attendants on my back. And I probably wouldn't loose my own luggage. Unless I dropped it. And that would really be more the problem of the person below me, wouldn't it?

And super strength would be awesome, too. Then my sisters can FINALLY stop picking on me. It's been 30 years since the womb, girls. I won the race, I was born first. Get over it. And watch out for my new super upper cut. HA.

Stretchability sounds nice, but mostly just for us short folks, I suppose. Sigh. No more ladders and stools. Of course, then I can't ask the cute grocery clerk guy to reach that can up on the top shelf. Scratch stretchability.

I think, if I could pick just one super power, I want the webs. You know, the Spiderman webs. That shoot out of his wrist. For various reasons. Subduing four year olds, gathering laundry, towing the loser cruiser to the repair shop, etc.

But mostly, I want the wrist webs for something else.

I want wrist webs for the spiders. To GET the spiders. I want to see a spider, and instead of saying eek or some other terror cliche, I want to point my wrist at him and GET EM'! HA! Get them with their own weapon! HA HA HA HA HA. Little buggers. How do ya like THAT?

Maybe if I write to the scientists, they can work on that next?

Gummy Rant

2006-09-18T07:04:00.000-04:00

So, last week, I sent some of those gummy fruit snacks to school with Little Brat. She also had an apple, some whole wheat bread, some cheese, a juice box and some sliced ham. Healthy, right?

Ya. I thought so. But apparently not. The fruit snacks were sent home. And LB was told that 'junk food' was not allowed.

What??? What the hell? I didn't send her with a s'more dipped in sugar rolled in icing. This is a FRUIT snack. Made with real fruit juice. Low in fat.

Ya, I could switch it out for cucumber slices or something else she won't eat. Because she didn't eat her apple. So wouldn't it have made sense to just let her eat the fruit snack gummies? The ones made with FRUIT. And I know what she will and won't eat. And I would rather she actually eat something. I don't care if t here is a bit of sugar. There's like, what, 5 to a package?

And who the hell are these teachers, treating me like a bad mother because I dared to send 'junk food' to school with my daughter? Since when do THEY get to choose her lunch? Do they want to PAY for her lunch, too? How 'bout they come to my house and make it for her in the morning, too.

I've abided by all of their no peanut rules. Even though I'm waiting for the day that the peanut police tell us we can't even have them in our own homes. But I saw no gummy rules. Nope. Not one sign or poster or notice sent home.

Junk food. A chili dog is junk food. A Big Mac. Chocolate bars. Packages of sugar. Not GUMMY FRUIT SNACKS.

And even if they are....she's MY KID. You're in charge of her little brat brain. I get to decide what she eats. ME. MY KID.

End Rant. For now.

I Hate My Car

2006-09-16T09:25:00.000-04:00

Warning: The following post may not be suitable for all makes and models of cars. Scenes may include graphic descriptions of violence against cars. Not all car part descriptions will be accurate or even sane. Younger cars may get scared. Reader discretion is advised.

I HATE my car. I hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it. Hate. It.

Fine. So it's not a car car. It's a minivan. But I still hate it. Why? Why do I loathe the Looser Cruiser?

Because he's broken. A lot. A LOT. All the time. Back brakes, front brakes, rear passanger side bearing thingy, sway bar bushing crappy things (3 times), front wheels enourmously out of balance while driving through the backwoods of nowhere, engine light coming on for no reason, rust spots on the hood, computer messing up and unlocking the doors and unlatching the back hatch door over and over over and over and over, while we are driving, and so on. It really does go on. I just can't remember everything. Except for YESTERDAY. When the TRANSMISSION was leaking. And there goes more money to fix THAT.

And, I hate him because he is only 4 years old. FOUR YEARS. We bought it brand spankin new, right off the lot. Fine, so he's been from Ontario to Alberta and back a few times. And all over Ontario at least a few times a year. And at least one 2 hour trip at least once a week. And to Boston, and Maine. Whatever. He's still only 4 years old!

And, I hate him because I love him. I love this van. The way it looks. The way it drives (when it's fixed), the space inside. Even the radio is great. I love him. And I hate him.

HATE. I can't take this anymore. As soon as I start to make even a TEENSY amount of money, he sucks it up. And I want him gone. GONE. Because if I have to sit and watch him get fixed and fiddled with while all of my money goes away one more time...I'll...I'll....KILL him.

You heard me. KILL. I'll take the first wrench I can find and I'll start pulling whatever I can out of the engine. Then I will take all of the knobs off the dasboard and JUMP on them. Ya. Then I'll get me a crowbar...NO, an AXE...and smash in all the windows. YA! Then I'll key the whole paint job. Take THAT butane blue paint! Ha ha! Ohhh. Then the seats. I'll use my biggest butcher knife. Yaaaa. And the carpets, too. I'll light THOSE on fire. HA HA HA HA.....

...oh. Sorry. I was just daydreaming there for a second. Because for reals, I hate my car. But I'm stuck with him. Because he is SUPPOSED to be our second car, come next year when he is all paid off.

Then I'm gonna get me a Corvette. Ya. A blue one. But not that stupid butane blue, an electric blue. A Stingray. Maybe a '63 or a '65. Ya. That's the ticket. A booster seat will fit in that, right? Sure it will. And my alleged husband can take to the LOOOOOOSER cruiser to his alleged work with him.

HA.

EDIT*** For Jana and anyone else that was wondering...it's a Dodge Caravan. 2002.

Survivor: Cook Islands

2006-09-15T10:26:00.000-04:00

I know ya'll want me to list who my favs are, and pick apart the players I hate. Don't worry. I will. You KNOW I will. But it's too soon. I still have to form some opinions about the newest castaways.

But until then, I do have one thing to say about Survivor: Cook Islands....

What? WHAT?! Are they serious? Race wars? RACE wars?????

Don't get me wrong. I think it's funny. Hilarious, actually. And I'll be watching obsessively. But RACE WARS?

What other show on the entire television planet, besides maybe OZ, could get away with race wars? Is Jeff Probst some sort of a wizard? How can he host a reality TV show in which comments like "That shelter is so Ghetto," and " Here's to the Whities," are uttered and not have scandal dripping off of him? Ooozing.

I think Jeff may be my new hero.

Speaking of Jeff, do you ever wonder how he prepares for the show? You know, like memorizing everyone's name and all that? Do you think he sits around his living room in boxer shorts and sports socks, eating cheesecake and drinking beer while going over photos? Or maybe he has a coach that drills him and beats him if he gets a name wrong. And maybe that job of Jeff-beater is open? Or maybe he's not actually human, and all of the info is just programmed into his head like a big walking MP3 player. Maybe.

Stay tuned, dear friends. I will definitely be picking apart this show. And if it doesn't turn into an all out war requiring UN troops, I will be seriously disappointed.

Purple Turkeys Howl at the Moon

2006-09-14T21:00:00.000-04:00

Ya. That title. It's a code. You know. A secret code.

What's that? What does the code mean? Gosh. I can't tell you. It's a secret. Duh.

And that, my dear blogger friends, is a small sample of what some of my posts may look like from now on. Due to the career of a certain husband of mine (although I can't tell you which one, it's very hush hush), I cannot write about some specifics in our life together.

For example, I can't tell you when he is home or away. Or what he does or who it's with. What size his underwear is, his favorite food, etc. In fact, just forget I have a husband.

I can talk about yarn and crocheting and the kids and my new AWESOME Dollarama job. But not my husband.

Because Mum's the word, ya know. My lips are sealed.

I know I have brought him up a time or two before. But forget whatever I said. I mean it. Forget everything I ever mentioned about him. I am even supposed to delete posts that give away some info. And I already have (I hope). For those of you who have been faithful Tara Stalkers (Hi, stalkers! Love ya!), and have printed up all of my posts and taped them to the Tara shrine that was once the tool wall in your garage or the inside of your mom's buffet hutch, please dispose of them now. Those posts are for people who are 'in the know'. And you, dear stalkers, are not in the know. Hell. I'M not even in the know.

So, in the future, as far as this blog is concerned, I am a single mom. And if I start acting a little wacky and stressed out and say something crazy like 'Purple Turkeys Howl at the Moon', you'll know that I have an alleged husband somewhere on the alleged planet earth and I am worried and freaking out but I am not allowed to discuss it. But I can talk yarn, so that's OK.

ME

2006-09-14T08:27:00.000-04:00

Little Brat just go on her 1st schoolbus for her 1st day of Kindergarten. Which is great. I got photos, but they are on my Flintstones camera. So you can't see them until the woodpecker carves the image into a slab of rock. I hear Walmart does that.

You'll have to forgive me for not being overly sappy and gushing. Partly because I did all of this 8 years ago. Actually, if you count all of the different 'first days' due to moving and other school changes, I've done this A LOT.

And she's not scared, or shy, or worried. She's more concerned with what she can say to make her teacher laugh. And as happy as I am for her, I'll be honest. I'm more happy for ME.

ME. Today is about ME. Because I get to go to work today. For a 3 hour shift, while she is in school. And I have waited a LONG time to work a real day shift.

ME. Not her. ME.

But now I have to go in the minivan and drive to her school to meet the bus, just to make sure she got there OK. But that's more for me than her.

My Tattoo....I think

2006-09-12T21:46:00.000-04:00

I know. I was very elusive in my last post. Just telling ya'll I booked for a tattoo and then left you hanging. Whatever. I'm a Scorpio. I'm supposed to be mysterious. It's written right there in the stars, peeps.

This is gonna sound stupid. I need everyone to promise, before reading any further, that you won't think any less of me after hearing what I say. That you will read the rest of the post before throwing up your hands in utter exasperation and washing your hands of me forever. Promise? For reals? Hold up your right and and say it. Say "I won't think Tara is dumber than a bag of rocks after reading her next comment." Good? Ok.....

I have no idea what my tattoo will look like.

There. I said it. I know. It sounds like some drunk party girl in Vegas going to get a tattoo and not caring what it looks like. And as much fun as that sounds like, that's not the situation. Unfortunatly.

I know WHAT the tattoo is of. A poppy. You know, the flower (there's one in my sidebar). And I know where it's coming from. The Wizard's Den, which is very well respected and has won a ton of awards. My husband got his first tattoo there a billion years ago. And I know that it will only cost 11 bucks. Yup. Cheap.

Are ya'll catching on yet? November 10th? A poppy? Eleven dollars? They are doing 11 dollar poppy tattoos for military members and their wives on the day before Remembrance day (november 11th). Cool, yes?

I thought so. And I though it was PERFECT for my first tattoo. I kept telling hubby that my first one would be a ball of yarn winding all down my leg and around my toes, but he just gave me dirty looks. I was ACTUALLY planning to get a yellow ribbon tied around my ankle. But that would cost a bit more that 11 bucks, and be bigger than a quarter.

The only question I have for myself now is where to put it. My top 2 spots are on my back left shoulder and my front right chest. Actually, my instinct is for the chest, but is has pros and cons.

Pro: It's above the heart, where a poppy should be worn.

Con: I can't really show it off without flashing everyone. Like my kids and mom.

Pro: It might look kinda hot.

Con: It might look slightly elongated as I get older and saggier.

Pro: Who's gonna see my chest when I'm old and saggy?

As for the back, there seems to be only pros.

Pro: My heart is kinda in the middle, right? So who says if it's on my back that it's not above my heart? Right?

Pro: Backs don't sag. Much. Unless you eat a LOT of ice cream and french fries.

Pro: I can show the cashier at the grocery store and my kid's kindergarten class without getting arrested.

I think I may decide the day I get there.

You're all still reading, right? You promised. Good.

Too bad I'm done blabbing now.

2006-09-12T15:41:00.000-04:00

I just booked my appointment for my first tattoo.....EEP.

It's on Nevember 10th.

Eep.

2006-09-12T09:22:00.000-04:00

I got a jo-OB. I got a jo-OB. I work at a DOLLar store. I am so COO-ool. You know it. You know it.

Sorry. I'll stop singing now.

Did I mention the store has yarn?

Red Friday

2006-09-08T08:36:00.000-04:00

Where red on Fridays to show support for the troops overseas and for their families back home!

I have a few Red Friday items in my Cafe Press store, Coffee Cup Art. There is no markup on these items, so I'm not making any money on them.

(If they are not there yet, they will show up soon. Link is on the sidebar)

2006-09-08T07:18:00.000-04:00

I think I accidentally got a job last night.

I was going to the grocery store to find water. Water. Because this STUPID town has no 4 liter jugs of cheap water left of the shelves. Yes. The whole STUPID town. I tried Walmart. And Shopper's Drug Mart. And the Grocery Store Mafia store. All out.

There are 3 main grocery stores in this area. And they are all owned by the same family. And they are what we refer to as the Grocery Store Mafia. Because they set the standards for grocery stores in this town. And the standards ain't high.

There is no selection. They constantly run out of things and take forever to restock. Basic things. Like Bread. Or Cheese. Or WATER.

And their carts don't have cupholders for my coffee. The bastards.

Anyway.......I was going to one of the mafia chain links and I saw a help wanted sign in the Dollarama. Not that working in a dollar store has been a dream of mine, but I was curious as to what kind of hours they need somebody for. So I asked for the manager.

I told him that I am basically free a few nights a week and the odd weekend. And maybe sometimes during the day, if he gives me enough notice. What? Did I say that? Is that how you get a job? By walking up to the hirer and stating what you will work?

Apparently. He wants me to bring in a resume tonight so he can interview me. Huh. Not that I actually HAVE the job yet. And I won't cry if I don't get it. But if I can get an interview by walking in looking like I spent all day in jammies and only threw on clothes to go to the store to buy water (which I did), then I should be able to FLY through the interview when I actually have real clothes and makeup on. Right?

Whatever. I wonder if they give discounts to staff?

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

A Haunting

2006-09-07T07:22:00.000-04:00

I want to start this post off by reminding everyone what my position is on ghosts.

I would rather be crazy than haunted. Because they make pills for crazy.

That being said.....my house is still SO haunted!!! There's no denying it now. And I'm not the only one who thinks so, anymore. And yes, I know, some of things can be rationalized. In another house. When something odd happens once a year or so.

NOT when things happen ALL THE TIME.

And, it's not like this house doesn't have some history. It's a 100 year old school, which was at one point an underground bar in the 70's. And the (unconfirmed) rumor is that 2 people died here while it was a bar.

So, for you skeptics (of which I was one before living here), I am making a list, in point form, of everything I can remember happening in this house since I moved in. Somewhat in order. It's all blurring together now. Some has been reported here on this blog before, but I won't make ya'll go back a year and half to read it all. And if you read it all and still think I'm crazy, that's OK. As long as you bring the pills to fix crazy.

~ While sleeping on my stomach one night, I felt a very hard, sharp jab in my ribs. It felt like fingers. It hurt. A few months later, we discovered that the exact spot that the jab came from was directly over the original trap door leading up to the attic of the school (now our second floor).

~ Doors that I close get opened. Often my youngest's bedroom door. She insists on having it closed at night because she doesn't like having the cat in her room. Sometimes, she starts yelling in the middle of the night because the cat is sleeping on top of her, even though I check her door before going to bed. And no, the cat can't open doors. He's a cat. Der.

~ Lights flicker sometimes when I am in a room. No, it's not the wiring. It's all new. And it's not the lightbulb. And it doesn't happen when anyone else is in the room. Just me. And they usually start flickering in the bathroom the minute I take off my clothes for a shower. See? Pervert ghost.

~As I was walking from the bathroom to my bedroom in the middle of the night, past the stairs, I heard a creak about halfway down the stairs. So I stopped. And turned to look. I know. That' what you yell at the girl in the horror movie NOT to do. But I did. And something else decided that I shouldn't. I felt a hand push my right shoulder and propel me into my bedroom. Where I proceeded to hide under the covers in terror until morning.

~ I saw a ghost. Yes, I did. Shut up! I did too! She was tall. And blonde. And had a yellow skirt on. She peeked around a corner at me while I was sitting in the living room. It was very fast, but I definitely saw her.

~ I was chatting with the local bookstore owner. We started talking about houses, since we both bought at the same time. When she heard which house was mine, she gasped. Apparently, we scooped her and bid on this house only hours before she planned to. Then she asked me how I liked it. When I joked that it was 'ok, just a little haunted' she gasped again. It seems that when they came to view the house, her daughter wouldn't come in because she saw a man in the window. The house had been empty for a few months at that point.

~ A friend was picking up the mail while we were on our road trip. She walked in the back door one day to drop it off in the kitchen. As soon as she walked in, she saw a man standing by the stairs (almost right where I saw the tall blonde lady). She said he was middle aged and balding, and then he went up the stairs quickly. She followed, because she's apparently CRAZY, but didn't see anything else. She did, however, feel a WHOOSH on the nape of her neck.

~ My oldest has one of those annoying teenager bedroom doorbells. You know, the kind that they think gives them permission to not let anyone into their room unless you ring the doorbell first. And, since I am SUCH an accommodating mom, I make sure everyone, especially my youngest, rings the doorbell as much as humanly possible. Because she asked for it.
The night we got home from out trip, after the kids were all in bed and sleeping, hubby and I were watching TV. I got up to turn off the kitchen and hallway lights. When I was in the hallway where her bedroom is, and nobody else was there with me, the doorbell rang. Just once. And hubby heard it, too. So now he KNOWS there's something weird going on.

Keep in mind that this is just what I can remember at the moment. With only one cup of coffee. And it excludes all the times that I just had a creepy feeling or saw a shadow moving. But I'm not crazy. Much. I swear.

And, no, I won't ask them to go away or leave me alone. One, because they were here before me. Two, because I've been told that while that may help, it could also make it worse. And even though I am far less freaked out now that I was 2 years ago, I am still a big fat ghost chicken.

New Cafe Press Designs

2006-09-06T10:53:00.000-04:00

A few new designs in my Cafe Press Store, Coffee Cup Art. If anyone wants a certain design on a different product, email me and I can make some changes.

The Trip: What I Crocheted

2006-09-06T07:17:00.000-04:00

I had 3 days of driving there, 3 days of driving back, and a full week and half of lounging by a river to crochet.

I took photos of everything I made. Wanna see?

Are you ready?

Here's the photo:

Yup. That's it. A big fat NOTHING. Not one single thing. Sure. I started a few things. And then yanked them out 3 minutes later.

What? I was busy. Doing nothing. So sue me.

On the other side of the country, though, my mailbox DID get the contracts for my first published crochet stuff (which I still can't show off until May). I signed them up quick and mailed them off. Yay.

And now I am in a little rut. I have at least a bamillion ideas. Some of them might even be really good ideas. I'm just not doing well with the sitting down and actually crocheting part. But, this is my first back-to-routine day since June, so I am hoping if I don't force it, the hook will call me.

Assuming they all come of hiding, that is. Don't missing hooks make you so mad? Who takes them? The dog? What for? To torture the cat?

And THAT, folks, is what a normal back-to-routine-Tara-rant-and-ramble-before-enough-coffee-has-been-consumed morning looks like.

Ain't ya glad I'm home?

A School Story

2006-09-05T10:33:00.000-04:00

What you would have overheard outside of Little Brat's new Kindergarten classroom this morning:

Me: Oh look. A wish Tree.

Hubby: What's a wish tree?

Me: The teacher writes a bunch of things on leaves that she needs for the classroom, and if you can send it in, you take the leaf with you. See, she has a couple that say 'googly eyes' and 'paper plates' and so on.

Hubby: Hey, would you look at that. There's one that says yarn.

Me: Huh.... Interesting.

Hubby: You have extra yarn.

Me: ........

Hubby: You have extra yarn, right?

Me: Define 'extra'.

Hubby: You're bringing in some yarn. You have lots of it.

Me: That depends on what you consider 'lots'.

Hubby: I consider what you have 'lots'.

Me: I think I may have some googly eyes somewhere.

Hubby: Here, I took the leaf. Now you have to bring some. Hah.

Little Brat: What's that leaf, Mom?

Me: It's the beginning of the end for Daddy, dear.

The Trip: The River

2006-09-05T07:57:00.000-04:00

My home away from home for a few weeks. At my Mom's river property. You can't actually see the river in these pics, but it's there. Trust me.

The kids slept in the little trailer, hubby and I in the tent. The red tent was kind of a shed, I guess. The air mattress leaked the second night, so we had to go and buy a new bring-your-own-bed. The temperature dropped the third night, so we had to go buy toques (that's a warm hat, pronounced TOOOK, for the non-Canadians). It dropped again the 4th night, so we bought a new blanket. Thank Folgers Whitecourt, Alberta has a Walmart.

Yup. Whitecourt. Not the prettiest town in the world, but it's where my family chooses to live, in the bush, every summer.

It's nice. But odd. Like a bunch of hillbillies. After only a few hours, my kids looked like there were being raised by wolves. Which isn't that far from the truth there, since everybody has a few dogs and they all run wild over 13 acres. My dog, Duke, loved it. I think he's a little mad we brought him home.

The coffee sucked. Instant. With whitener instead of milk. I usually wandered over to my Mom's trailer in the morning and stole coffee while nobody was looking. Don't tell.

They are in the process of moving their business, Home Tweet Home, from Edmonton to Whitecourt, so there was a lot of birdhouses hanging around. I'll be making one of my own this year. The stone church. If anyone wants to buy a birdhouse kit, email me. I'll hook you up.

Random cute kid photos:

(the other 2 are my niece and nephew)

There are none of my husband, because now that he's supposed to be all secret army, I can't show his pic anymore. At least not without a black line across his face, and why bother showing him off then. He has very pretty eyes. And, there are no photos of me. Because, well, I had the camera.

More later. Today is the Jr. Kindergarten open house for Little Brat, and 1st day of school for Big Brat.

The Trip: The Drive There

2006-09-03T11:06:00.000-04:00

We started out on a Monday evening. Normally, I would choose to leave at about 3 am, but hubby's work decided not to give him a leave pass until 3:30 pm. And we still had to pack up the van.

As far as road trips go, it was fairly uneventful. The only real drama was when Little Brat told me that she didn't want to bring her 'friend' Diego on the trip with us. She was mad at him. What could an imaginary friend do to upset her enough to not want him on the trip?

Why, he shot her horse.

The bastard. Somehow, Diego found his way into the car anyway, because she kept telling him things. I think they were about me.

We slept in truck stop and Walmart parking lots, stopping for gas and Tim Horton's when we could. The Northern route through Ontario (aka The Eleven) is rather, um, bare. Not bare like Saskatchewan bare, but not much to see, really. Although, we did see a wolf and a bear. No moose, though. Signs everywhere warning us of moose, and not one single moose.

I didn't sleep much in the car. Not like the rest of those lazy lumps I call my family. The kids are, well, kids. They don't always need beds. And hubby is army. They can sleep on an airplane runway. And he has. Whenever I was wide awake, I just kept driving.

It was a relief to finally reach Manitoba. Until I remembered what the Manitoba roads are like. I lived there a LONG LONG time ago. The roads are so bumpy, you can be in the back of a moving van and know when you crossed the Ontario-Manitoba border. Come on Manitoba, you know it's true. And whatever happened to the Orbits? You Winnipeggers know what I mean.

Saskatchewan was just as flat and boring as ever, although with a newfound obsession for the TV show Corner Gas.

Alberta didn't come soon enough.

But you'll hear more about it later. Right now, I have to catch up on laundry. Ya, laundry. Heaps and mounds of it. I suppose my days of empty laundry rooms are over.

Pssssst!

2006-09-02T10:52:00.000-04:00

I'm back. Just. I still need to wash off a few weeks of camping and car trip crime. I'll be back when I smell better to tell ya'll about it.

I'm Outtie!

2006-08-14T10:38:00.000-04:00

Does anyone have a vodka handy?

2006-08-10T15:17:00.000-04:00

The oddest thing just happened today.

I mean, really bizarre. I think I can honestly say that this has NEVER happened to me before. And it will likely never happen again.

I went to do a load of laundry. And........

I. didn't. have. enough. dirty. clothes.

I couldn't start up the washer, because there wasn't enough dirty laundry left in my house to warrant it.

I think I need to lie down. This is rather earth-shattering.