Dear person who landed on my blog by searching for "video gyne exam"...

Dude... that's sick.

Don't always believe what you read

I have an HP all-in-one colour printer... the kind that scans, copies, and prints.

Last June, it warned me that my black ink was running low. I immediately went out and bought another cartridge so that I would be prepared.

I kept using the old cartridge, expecting it to run out any day. It worked just fine. The "ink low!" warning popped up on my screen a few more times. In July.... then in August.... then in September.... then in October....

Well guess what? Tomorrow is November. And guess what else? I'm still using that same cartridge that was "running low" in June.

That makes HP either a liar, or an alarmist. Either way... it's not a very nice thing to be.

NYC has banned trans-fat

... and not a moment too soon.

I'm 100% behind this decision. I, for one, can't STAND finding fat transexuals in my food.

What's your emergency song?

I was driving home for lunch today, and a song came on that I hadn't heard or thought about in about 25 years.

I recognized it from the very first note, and before I realized what was happening, I discovered I was singing along with it... perfectly. I remembered all the words exactly... even the special little nuances of the singer's voice as he sang them. I remembered every guitar chord, every drum beat. Every. single. little. detail.

It was Styx's "Crystal Ball".

I now understand what was happening. I had discovered the importance of... The Emergency Song.

This is a song that can be relied on for emergency purposes. Imagine, for example, that you've fallen into a deep coma, and no medical intervention appears to be helping. Have someone play your Emergency Song, and see if it helps bring you back.

It can also be used in cases of amnesia. Or to help identify the real you, in the case of identity theft. Its use is limitless, and dare I say... priceless.

It's time you named your Emergency Song. It may save your life one day.

Tell me, tell me
Where I'm goin'
I don't know where I've been
And tell me, tell me
Won't you tell me
And then tell me again
My heart is breaking,
and my body's aching
I don't know where to go
So tell me, tell me
Won't you tell me
I've just got to know

Less than 48 hrs to Halloween...

It had better hurry up and get here.

Do you know how incredibly difficult pre-Halloween is for a woman? Do you?? I've had a couple hundred mini-chocolate bars sitting in my kitchen, and I can't touch them.

No, they're not for me. They're for the kids. Yeah, the kiddies. Yeah.

Feeling better

I'd love to post something entertaining, but recent events in my life are just not funny. For example:

1. I was sick. Not funny.

2. The roofers chose my first day of sickness to rip apart the roof and bang on a new one. Not funny.

3. I'm back at the office today. Not funny.

4. My car registration will be due again soon, and I totally forgot to budget for it. So not funny.

5. A certain amount of blandness from daytime TV humour has embedded itself in my brain. Really, really not funny.

6. I'm afraid to eat any fibre, on account-a my recent illness. Not funny. (Okay... maybe a little funny).

I'm starting my winter exercise program again. Trust me, something funny is BOUND to come out of that. Until then... I'll just keep healing.

I've been ambushed...

... by a stomach bug.

Or maybe it was all that talk about rollercoasters. Either way, I'm out of commission for a little bit.

Talk amongst yourselves.

Let me off!

I caught the last half of some travel show this weekend. They were showcasing the different theme parks across Europe. Many of these were home to some of the most amazing thrill rides I've ever seen.

Truth is, I'm terribly envious of folks who get to ride on these things. You know... without puking. Their faces are lit up with exhilaration; their arms are up in the air; they're screaming and laughing... having the time of their life.

Me? I could barely watch the ride clips they were showing on TV without getting nauseous. Mind you, I'm absolutely cool with regular rollercoasters... the old-fashioned ones that take you up and down and around sudden corners. But the minute we start dealing with upside-downedness and g-forces, I'm out of the game.

Yep. I'm the official purse and water bottle holder. I'm the one who stays behind and minds the littler kids while the others get their adrenaline fix. I'd LOVE to be able to strap myself into that seat and get my kicks like everyone else. But I also once said, "Why yes... I'd LOVE to try that little Mexican restaurant that nobody goes to!"... and that didn't work out for me much either.

Why kids are fat

A new study released by Bristol University claims that youth obesity is linked to shorter sleep times.

(sigh) Let's go over this again:

Kids don't need more lying-around time. They need more moving-around time!

The study says TVs, computers, phones, and other goodies should be banned from kids' rooms.

I agree. I say put the kids' rooms in the basement, and the tv, computer, and phones upstairs. Now, get rid of the stairs, and attach a climbing rope. Let the little suckers work their way to the good stuff.

Get rid of school buses, and keep the kids in the house until 10 minutes before class starts. Make them run their asses off to get to school on time.

Get rid of instant messaging. Let's go back to having to walk across the classroom to slip someone a note.

Get rid of video games. Encourage kids to instead revive the old game of ringing a doorbell and then hauling ass to hide.

Get rid of Hot Pockets. Even adults shouldn't be eating those. They're gross.

Slip some rocks into kids' backpacks in the morning, and watch them burn extra calories as they run to school.

Seriously. Am I the only one looking out for the next generation??? Sheesh...

It's officially almost winter

I have an appointment to get my winter tires installed this afternoon. Most folks wait until the first snow before they do this. I think that's silly.

Not only will I be prepared to drive safely-ish in that first snowfall, I won't have to fight the herds of drivers racing to the nearest garage to change their tires in a couple of weeks.

I'll be treated nicely by the garage guys, because they won't be overbooked and overstressed. They'll have had time to eat their lunch today. They'll smile at me, and I'll smile back.

I'll sit comfortably in the quiet, empty sitting room, sipping coffee and reading a magazine. When it's all done, I'll drive back to the office at a leisurely pace, knowing that I'm prepared for the change of seasons.

When I get home tonight, I'll store my summer tires in a neat pile. I'll give them a pat, and tell them "I'll be seeing you boys in a few months." Then I'll turn out the light in the storeroom, and close the door.

I'll make my way upstairs, and I'll look out the kitchen window at the trees. They're already mostly bare, their branches flittering in the cold breeze. God, they look lonely.

And then I'll do what every good woman does when it's officially almost winter. I'll pig out!!! Woooo-hooo!! I'll eat hoards and hoards of comfort foods!.... Mashed potatoes! Pies! Home-baked COOOOOKIES!!! Yeeeha!

I'll wear fluffy sweatpants and woolly socks! I'll eat dinner at 5pm, just because it's dark already! I'll watch corny movies, starting now and continuing straight through the holidays! Weeeeeeeeeeee!

But first, I'll change my tires.

Dear new TicTac flavour...

... I love you.


I really, really do.

A view from atop my soapbox...

Another reason I support Dove products.

I'm not sure if these commercial spots are being aired in the U.S., but here's what we're seeing in Canada. I hope many, many young girls see this.

It's a great insight into what it actually takes to produce pretend beauty.

That, and well... it's an awesome selling point for Photoshop. (Woo-hoo! I'm gonna look fucking GORGEOUS in this year's Christmas photo!)

I stole this for you

I was over at Dale's this morning and came across something he borrowed from yet another fellow blogger, bluez0628 .

Long story short, I enjoyed it so much I thought I'd like to share it with you too.

So here it is, with a hug:

Open letter to Mel Gibson

Hiya Mel!

Gosh, I've totally never done anything like this before (I bet you hear that all the time!). Anywho...

I just wanted to let you know that I've been seeing you all over the news again lately, talking over and over and over and over again about your little indiscretion this past summer, and I wanted to tell you that it's okay; I understand.

Hell, who hasn't done stupid things after soaking in tequila, right? Am I right? LOL

Anywho...

So I was also wondering, when do you think you'll be done talking about it? It's just that, well... I'm a little afraid that you might be making things a little worse, you know? Kinda beating a dead horse, right? Am I right? LOL Plus, I think we're learning a little too much about you, and your feelings towards things. And, well... you're sounding a little creepy. But just a little! LOL

Gosh, you're so kind to be taking the time to read this. Anywho...

So yeah, I realize you like to run your own show and all, but seriously... shut up already, k? LOL Am I right?

Adoringly,

Berry

p.sshh. - okay. okay. oooooooookay. I'vvvvvve had a cuppla sipsoftequila m-slf now, ennnn I wanna fin... I wanna fin... I wunnuh finishhhhhh this letter right. (burp) phew!... tequila shtinks. Anywhoo... Yur a fucklin idgit, missurgibson. Yurrrrr a baggot. No... not a baggot. Yur a biggot! (giggle) Got it wrong there furraminute. Biggots are rizponzibluh for alllll... rizponzibluh for allll... for alcoholisma. ism. Are you an alcohol, missurgibson? (giggle) I gotta go. Here's a funny pitcher of you enn teqilla.

Send in the Special Ops

Canadian troops in Afghanistan are having a helluva time dealing with fields of monstrous pot plants.

The Afghan dudes are zipping into these fields to hide, and the Canadians are left helpless on the outside, unable to penetrate the "forests".



Bronwen Roberts / AFP - Getty Images


The obvious solution, of course, is to send in highly specialized troops to weed out the Afghans. (You like that? Weed them out? I kill me.)






Rasta troops are currently in intensive training for the assignment.






Man oh man. The Afghans have NO idea what they're in for!

The Amazing Flying Mimi has been grounded...

Not sure what the hell the problem was, but my Amazing Flying Mimi post caused many computers to not be able to see my blog.

So I've removed it. Problem solved.

It's beginning to look a lot like...

This is the Lake Tahoe region this morning.

I know!

I don't usually start to feel Christmassy until the end of November, maybe. But when I saw this image this morning, well...

Actually.... on second thought.... (sigh).... I'm not ready to start shovelling crap for 5 months.

Goddammit.

This morning on msnbc.com...

photo: Yao Dawei / Xinhua via AP file

I have a few things to say to this guy:

1. Wtf are you thinking???

2. Fire your optician. Those glasses are too big for you.

3. You have something in your nostrils. Get rid of it. It's gross.

Things I saw today (and wanted to share with you)...

See, THIS is what I'm talking about.


'Tis the season for Monarch butterflies to make their way to Mexico. One of them chose to hang around me for a few minutes. I was cool with that. (That's my hand holding that itty-biddy flower stem).

'Tis also the season for leaves to do their thing and become awesome and beautiful and majestic against a bright blue sky. Like so:

And then, just when the sun is setting and you think you've seen all the beauty there is to see on such a fine Autumn day, you look out the window and see this (taken from the family cottage window, Lake Brompton, Quebec):

Open letter to clothing designers...

Dear People-who-make-clothes-for-regular-people-to-wear:

While I can appreciate how much cheaper it must be to make tiny clothes... because it allows you to use less material and all that... I thought you should know that me and my friends are all grown up now, and we're no longer in the market for Barbie clothes.

What we're looking to spend our money on is clothing that we can wear. Like, in public and all. Clothes that we can move in. Clothes that we can take deep breaths in. Clothes that we can get in.

Here's a tip: Size 0 should be in the children's department, not in the full-grown women's department. That's just common sense.

Here's another: Size 12-14 is not "plus". Please relabel these as "normal". And why does anything need to be "plus", anyway? What's wrong with just letting the numbers rise without interruption, and especially without those little x's?

Also, now that Britney is sort of out of the picture, can we do away with the short tops? I need more material on my shirts. You know, to wipe my hands and all.

Oh, and if you're gonna use coton, would you kindly indicate the size that it's going to be, AFTER I WASH IT??

Thanks. That should do it for now.

Sincerely,

Berry

The winter, she's a-comin'

Yesterday, I did the unthinkable: I brought my golf clubs home.

I know, I know. Shocking.

I'm fully aware that there are still a couple of weeks of good golfing weather up here. And the club isn't asking us to empty our lockers until the end of the month.

Thing is, I'm... I'm... I might as well just say it already... I'm tired of golf.

I played a short round yesterday afternoon, and my heart wasn't in it. I was going through the motions, but I wasn't feeling it. I've moved on from summer activities.

That, and I played like crap. I mean really badly. And I got grumpy. So I punished my clubs by taking them home and storing them in the basement. In the dark. Next to the tent, and the cooler, and all the other stuff that's been banished to the storage room until Spring.

(sigh) Now I feel a little guilty. And I'm pretty sure that I'll be jonesing to get out there a couple more times this Fall. Especially over the next week, when they're calling for gorgeous warm weather. But I won't do it. No matter how loudly my clubs whine and call my name.

Maybe they're starving artists

Walking out of the grocery store this evening, Main Man and I notice a poster advertising the performance tonight of a French Montreal garage band called "Les Breastfeeders".

So M.M. says, "I bet they really suck."

And then he broke into a fit of giggles, all the way home.

I'm sneaky like that

Okay, one more post pertaining to my recent travels, and then I'm done with the subject.

I wanna talk about airport security. Anyone who's travelled recently knows that there are all kinds of added restrictions regarding what can and cannot be brought on board. Liquids, gels, etc.... they're a no-no. Certain restrictions have been lifted (i.e. you can carry on a bottle of water, as long as it was bought in the gates area, after clearing security), but for the most part, the screening is still pretty serious and thorough.

Well, okay... not so thorough afterall.

Main Man and I were selected for a random "extra" search and herded along a corridor to the special screening area. We were asked if we were carrying any gels or liquids. We answered no (I was not aware that I was actually lying at that point).

We were each directed into the air-pressure thingie machine, where you stand still and your body is air-tested for explosive residue. Our carry-on stuff was taken apart... completely... and searched. These included my purse (a medium sized back-pack style with tons of pockets and compartments), Main Man's laptop bag, and Main Man's camera bag.

Zippers and snaps and pockets were opened and emptied. My granola bar was inspected in detail. Satisfied, the TSA guy handed back my stuff and said I was free to go.

Main Man wasn't so lucky. They took his Carmex lip stuff. He was very sad. Then he was free to go.

As we walked away, it suddenly dawned on me that I had put my plastic bottle of Purell gel in one of the many tiny pockets of my purse earlier that morning. I also had a stick of Blistex in yet another tiny pocket. I checked my purse. They were still there.

We went through 20 minutes of special searches and inspection by no less than three TSA staff, and I walked away with a bottle of clear gel that was resting in an open pocket of my purse.

Still feel safe?

Too cool for scrambled brains

So I noticed during my trip that bikers in Indiana aren't required to wear a helmet.

I don't get that. I really, really don't. I mean, I don't get how someone riding a motorcycle would not want to wear protective gear.

I'm not a bike enthusiast by any means. I prefer not to be perched pricariously on a vinyl cushion while barrelling down a concrete surface at 65 mph. Nothing to strap me down, nothing between my face and the road when my tire hits a pebble at the wrong angle and sends me into a swandive, hopefully not towards an oncoming semi.

Seriously. What's so cool about not wearing a helmet? Most of the guys I saw riding had three or four grey hairs left on their shiny little sunburned heads, so there goes the "wind in your hair" excuse. Plus, the "bugs in your teeth" thing probably overrules the "wind in your hair", no?

Anyway, to each his own. I get the rebel thing. I was one myself yesterday. Between you and me, I unfastened my seatbelt during my flight back, even though the little seatbelt sign was still lit. True story.