Random thoughts while housecleaning...

Why, exactly, do we say "clean as a whistle"?

I mean,.... isn't a whistle full of spit and slobbericity? Isn't it a little like saying "clean as a spitoon"?

... or else you're grounded!

Lindsay Lohan's in big trouble. While all the adults in her life are busy fawning over her and raking in the dough while she self-destructs, one particular grown-up has decided he doesn't want to put up with her shit.

It's about time someone acts like the parent around this girl! Now she might live to see 21 and actually be legal to club-hop and get loaded.

The head of the production company of her current film has put her in her place and warned her that he's not impressed. Here's the letter he wrote.

It's gonna be hard to sneak cocaine on the set now that she's being watched.

Some cooling images for you...

I hear this heat and humidity is affecting a whole lot of people in a whole lot of different places. So I thought I'd do a good deed and try to help cool you off with some imagery.

I did an image search for "ice", and this is what I came up with. Wishing you all much frostification and coolness!!

I tell you no lie

Unless you have a habit of sometimes being dishonest, then there really is no need to start your sentence with "Honestly,..." or "In all honesty,...".

Honestly, there isn't.

Honestly.

How weed affects me

Sure, my eyes get a bit red. And my lids droop. Oh, and I could sleep for hours on end!

Those things don't bother me. The part that does bother me, though, is that I walk like I've just staggered out of a bar at 3am. That's embarrassing.

Weed makes me lose my balance. Big time. Makes me wicked nauseous, too, on accounta all the stuff spinning around me.

I bump into door frames. I try to stand up from a seated position, and fall back down in the chair. I turn my head when someone calls my name, and just about fall down.

Fucking ragweed allergies. They mess up my inner ears really bad.

I wish I was one of those people who get the plain old sneezing and watery eyes. At least I wouldn't look like I've had 8 midday martoonies as I teeter along...

On climate and food...

FACT #1: Thunderstorms scare the crap out of kids, no matter how much they insist they "like them".

RESEARCH DATA: At the tail end of a recent 7am earth-shattering, unbelievably loud and crackling thunder storm, I decided to check up on Step-Son to see how he was faring. What I found was so cute, I just had to snap a picture (without his knowledge). My flash coincided with the paparazzi-like lightning happening outside the window, so he never suspected my presence. The lump under the bunched-up comforter at the head of the bed is Step-Son. That is indeed a brave foot sticking out. Here... see for yourself:

Later that morning, when I brought up the subject of the storm, I received the following nonchalent reply: "Oh, that? Storms don't bother me. I just sleep through them."

Sure sweetie. Whatever you say. (Please don't be mad at me for publishing your cuteness for the world to see).

FACT #2: Kids, when left to their own devices, will come up with the grossest-looking yet yummy sandwiches.

RESEARCH DATA: When I asked Step-Son what he wanted for lunch, he very proudly said he'd take care of his own lunch today. Fine by me, I replied, fully intending to help. What would you like for me to take out for you? Nothing, he said. He knows where everything is. So I went downstairs to the office to check my email. When I returned, I found this:

As you can see, the hamburger buns were very artfully smeared with Nutella both on the insides as well as on top. They were eaten as-is... as a sandwich... and not taken apart Oreo-style. (Step-Son asked me repeatedly why the hell I was taking a picture of his lunch, and was I done yet?... because he was ready to eat now.)

I, on the other hand, had a boring turkey breast sandwich with lettuce and tomatoes. I have no imagination.

We need to know...

This comb-like thingie is attached to a string-like thingie which is attached to the inside of the pocket of Step Son's surf shorts.

Anyone who can identify it wins a raspberry Pop-Tart, which I will eat in your honour.

Thank you in advance for solving this pain in the ass mystery.

It's getting hot in here...

I am a northern gal. I am built for a northern climate. You know... a colder, heartier climate.

Not this crap. Not this 104 degrees with 489% humidity crap.

Granted, I did live in the Caribbean for 13 years and survived just fine. But that's because I was drunk for most of those years and frolicking in the sea. Naked.

I'm not drunk anymore, and I'm hundreds of miles from the sea.

What I am, is hot. And sticky.

I would like for the world to go back to normal now. Back to the days when living in Canada meant never feeling hot and sticky. Or at least not for more than a single 4-day heatwave in any given summer.

Fuck it. Maybe I'll just start browsing the Yukon real estate listings. It's 68 degrees with 37% humitidy in Whitehorse this evening.

Mmmmmm..... perfect.

(Tune in again in January, when I will be bitching and moaning about the cold, and how I'll be browsing the south Florida real estate listings. Like a true Canadian...)

It's not the Tour de Whatever, jerk...

Message to the young gentleman who caused me to almost DIE today on the road:

Hey you.... Yeah, you in the silly spandex suit and pointy aerodynamic helmet. What the hell are you trying to prove?

Get you and your bike the hell off the highway*, please. You're endangering people. Worse - you're endangering me.

There are hundreds of miles of cycling trails all over Quebec, and you feel the need to bike on the highway???!!

Christ, tourists actually travel here from all over, just for these bike trails! I pay a shitload of taxes to keep them in tip-top condition for you to ride on.

You know how I have to veer into oncoming traffic in order to not run over your fancy ass? Yeah, that's gonna stop. Next time, you and your shiny yellow top will meet my front bumper. I hope that helmet is as useful as it is fashionable.

Stop taking yourself so damn seriously, asshole, and ride the trails like everyone else.


*A "highway" here is a 2-lane road with a speed limit of about 50-55 mph. It is not a "freeway". A "freeway" would instead be an "autoroute". Just so you know...

What're YOU looking at?

You know that dream we all have? The one where you're doing something important at school or at work, and you suddenly realize you're naked?

Boy, that's embarrassing. What a horrible feeling.

Last night, I dreamed I was walking into a very upscale office building where I had important business to attend to. When I got through the revolving doors, I realized I was.... you guessed it... naked.

But rather than experience the usual sinking feeling that the whole world is laughing at me, and that my very personal self is exposed for all to see and judge, I actually copped a 'tude about it all.

That's right. I strutted right onto an elevator, and there was a young woman looking very uptight in her business suit and nylons. She gave me a disapproving, judgemental look, and I gave her one back, saying: "What's your problem, bitch?"

And then when I reached another floor, I had to get out and switch elevators (because I needed the elevator for the prime numbered floors, you see..... it was a DREAM, people!).

When I got on the second elevator, there were tinted mirrors on the walls inside. I admired my naked self (tinted mirrors make you look nice and sunkissed, which is why I chose them for my dream, you see).

I said nothing self-deprecating; I had no negative thoughts; I didn't wince or grimace. I actually liked what I saw, and kept on strutting right off the elevator and into this boardroom (where the dream ended).

I don't know what it all means, but I'm going shopping today for tinted mirrors. And if I ever see the building from my dreams, I'm stripping down and marching straight to the elevators, just for kicks.

He's a loaner, but he qualifies

My step-son is visiting us for the summer. He lives thousands of miles away, so we don't get to see him often. He'll be 11 at the end of the summer.

There are tons of reasons why I'm happy he's here, but one in particular I never get to talk about, 'cuz it's kinda personal. But I can blog about it...

When you're in your late 30's and don't have kids, people actually ask "but why"?, as though they had a right to know. When you're younger, folks give you the benefit of the doubt that you'll get cracking on that project eventually. But at my age, they figure you've been slacking and should explain yourself.

Well, for starters, my story is pretty complicated. I usually just cheerfully say "ah well... it wasn't in the stars for me." If they persist with their interrogation, I'll give them the old "Well, I lost 3 babies that took 6 years to conceive and thought maybe I should stop now that I don't have any more money or the heart to go through that again."

That usually does the trick.

But having Step-Son with me puts an end to this. I can just point to him and say, "See? Got one right here."

And then I pass the test.

Besides all that, he's a hoot to have around. And now that I've received my free Pop-Tart coupons, I'm the coolest step-mom in the world, 'cuz we'll be eating Pop-Tarts for dinner and all.

Arrr..... Don't mess with a good thing

Saw "Pirates of the Special Effects" yesterday.

I loved the first one. Really, really loved it. This latest one went overboard (heh-heh) with the special effects.

Still lots of fun to watch, though, and a hardy adventure. But lots more fighting and slimey wet creatures... and fighting... and gray-coloured objects for a dark feel... and fighting... and action scenes that involved camera work that makes you feel like you're on an amusement park ride.... wearing magnified lenses and blinders.

But still lots of fun.

And Johnny Depp's still hot (and funny).

Know thy neighbour

I'm adding an item on my "things to check into" list while house hunting: Thoroughly inspect neighbours' garages and sheds.

I'm looking for the following clues:

1. ATV parked in the garage or shed.
2. Dirt bike parked in the garage or shed.
3. Evidence of mechanical tools for auto repair or "tuning".

If any of these are present, I will insist on meeting these neighbours before signing anything.

I'm looking for the following clues:

1. One or more male teenagers in the household.
2. Any adult males with a mullett.

It seems no matter where we choose to live, Main Man and I will unknowingly land next to what we call "Clampett Neighbours".

These are families who, through lack of simple class and courtesy, will spend their free time doing one of several things in their driveway or front lawn, such as:

1. Tuning their perfectly fine dirt bike, ATV, snowmobile, car, truck, etc., in as loudly a fashion as possible, with lots of "Rrrrrrrmmmmmm, rrrrrrrmmmmmmmmm, RRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMM-MMMMMMMMMM-MMMMmmmmmmm" unnecessary engine revving.
2. Playing very bad music as loudly as possible while tuning said mechanical toy or while washing it for the 4th time in the same week.

We had Clampett Neighbours from 2000-2004 that also included a born-again wife who made it her personal mission to "save" us. When we moved here in 2004... hundreds of miles away... we laaaaaaaaaaaaaaughed and laaaaaaaaaaughed about all the peace and quiet we would finally get in our quaint little suburban rental.

Turns out our new Clampett Neighbours are louder and way more obnoxious than we could have imagined. This morning, I was subjected to (c)rap "music" in the morning while the teenager revved his dirtbike incessantly. Later in the afternoon, it was Dad's turn.... and Dad appears to be a very big fan of 80's glam rock. Dad washed his car and revved his truck to the tunes of a very young Bon Jovi and other gems including Quiet Riot, Twisted Sister, and the likes.

I am now an expert Clampett detector. I've studied them in their natural habitat, and I can sniff one out in a second.

There will be no surprises at our new place.

I am indebted

The first part of my root canal has come and gone (part 2 will be at a later date, to be determined).

It was long and uncomfortable, for the most part. But thanks to Steve Jobs and a guitarist named Govi, I am alive this evening (although still drooling from a frozen mouth.... over 4 hours after the procedure).

Here are two things I want buried with me upon my death:

and

Okay, not the dude, but copies of his music.

For 75 minutes, I listened to spanish guitar performed exquisitely by this man and actually drifted to sleep during the procedure. I shit you not. Well, not a deep, deeeeeeeep slumber of course, but a definite snooze.

Steve, Govi.... I love you both. No really, I do.

The Final Countdown

I haven't been posting because the only thing I've been able to think about recently is my imminent root canal.

My guess is nobody else is quite as obsessed with the thought, so it'd probably be a good idea for me to just shut up about it already.

5-1/2 hours to go until my appointment. Then after today, there'll be one more treatment, probably next week.

And then I promise to be more focused on blogging about non-teeth related things.

For example, here's a preview...

I turn 40 on Labour Day. (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) How the fuck that happened, I don't know. But I'm sure that for the rest of this summer, I'll be thinking about it.... and I'll be doing things and thinking "this is the last time I do this in my 30's".

Like root canal, for example.... I'll be thinking, "this is the last time I have root canal in my 30's".

Okay. I've managed to burn 10 minutes while posting this. That means I have time for 3 more anxiety attacks before my appointment, and then I should be okay.

Fucking root canal.

Chinese dental appointment

No really...

The dentist's office called today to say there's been a cancellation this week, so I can go in for the first round of my root canal. (yay! boo! yay! boo!.... not sure what to feel here; 50% says no more pain, yay!... 50% says it's still fucking root canal, boo!).

Anyway...

I go in on Friday. At 2:30pm.

Get it? ...2:30?

Say it out loud. Slowly. With an exaggerated Chinese accent. Go ahead... I'll wait.

Got it now?

2:30?

OH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!... tooth hurty. (sigh)