Sunday, June 30, 2002

Now there is 2 hours I will never get back.

Just finished watching Star Wars Episode 2. What can I say, I am just glad I didn't have to pay for it.

The only reason to possibly watch it is for the "flight and fight", with the absolute exception of the Yoda fight scene at the end.

Throughout the entire movie, Yoda hobbles around with a cane, then all of a sudden he is flying through the air brandishing a light saber. {rolls eyes}

Half the time Yoda is talking in that backward English "In danger am I" then he is completely eloquent and speaking normally. And in my opinion he talks way too much in this movie.

The love story........what is up with that? First of all, no woman in her right mind would have fallen for that brat. Half the time he is whining and the other half he is like a 5 year old having a tantrum, stamping his feet and blaming everyone else. Then he tells her that he has slaughtered an entire village, not just the men, but women and children too. Oh ya...big turn on.

She spends most of the movie telling him they can't be together while walking around half naked. She also is supposed to be in hiding but the getups she is in has everything but a huge neon arrow pointing at her saying, "Here I am! "

The dialogue sucked. But my favorite two quotes:
C3PO "This is such a drag" (R2D2 is dragging his head behind him on a string)

YODA "Shoot down those Federation Starships" (Hope Picard isn't on one of those, I like Picard)

Might be good for a laugh, but wait till it hits the bargain bin at Blockbuster to buy it.


Finally get home, after the wedding. And I can't feel my feet.

When I dropped the newlyweds off at the hotel, they were worried about the grooms family finding the hotel the next day for brunch, and if they had packed something to wear, I told them if they needed anything to call.

I am trying to get two wound up pre-teens to bed at 1:30am and the phone rings. It's "the bride" "the newlywed".

"I need Rolaids and Tylenol "

"Is this a joke? You do realize that you are across the parking lot from a convenience store?"

I am not kidding, she really expected me to drive back over there with Rolaids.

"You want me to leave the children to go over there, when you can spit on the store from where you sit?"

Needless to say, I did not go.

The wedding is over......go in peace.

Friday, June 28, 2002

No rest for the wicked.

10:00 pm :�the bride� decides that she doesn�t like the color I am wearing in the wedding. The wedding is on Saturday.

So I have to get a new dress made. Luckily the dressmaker said it was no problem.

10:00 am : I go in and pick up material (black tuxedo satin) and a zipper.

5:15 pm : Dressmaker calls, can I be there in 15 min?

5:30 pm: I have a fitting.

Morning: Dress is finished, �the bride� picks it up. How�s that for service?

4:03 pm: I fly over to �the brides� to pick up my dress, and it�s not there and neither is �the bride�. I call her on her cell phone:

�Where is my dress?�

�Out at Mom�s�
(is her mother wearing the dress now?)


�Cuz that�s where we are getting dressed.�

�I haven�t tried it on yet.�
(I wanted to make sure it was right, after all I only had one fitting, and that was with the shell only, if anything was wrong with it, I would hate to find that out 10 minutes before we have to leave for the church.)

�Marie said it was done?�

�Yes, but I have not tried it on yet. Do you want to be surprised right before the wedding? Cuz I don�t�

Long story short�.I have to retrieve the dress from her mothers. It is now ...

5:30pm : I am tired and cranky, I want to go home. But that would be too easy. I walk in the door at home and my son is waiting,

�I have baseball at 6.�

�Good Fucking Grief! You go ahead�.I will catch up with you.�

I put some grub in the microwave and drive my mother (the babysitter) home while its cooking.

6:30 pm: Return home and wolf down frozen dinner. �The bride� calls:

�Can I come and pick up the money for the dress?�

�Sure I will be home�

6:35 pm : Run to bank and get cash.

6:45 pm: �the bride� shows up and so does the girl who does the dishes. Shoot the shit with both.

7:00 pm : �the bride� leaves.

7:30 pm: I realize I still have to make cherry balls and dip cherry balls and peanut butter balls in chocolate.

7:31 pm: Realize I have no chocolate.

7:45 pm: Race up to ball field to try and catch up with son. He is gone. Race back home, pick him up (he took a shortcut through the woods) and head off to get chocolate. The local store doesn�t stock it. Have to go with chocolate chips.

8:55 pm : I am finally home. Check email, my son comes in holding a bleach bottle. I forgot he wanted his hair bleached.

9:55 pm : Put him off as long as I could, start bleach job��..after much bitching and whining it is done.

11:00 pm : Start trying to cover PB balls with chocolate. Sweet Jesus! It is just not working. Have to give up. The chocolate is just not melting enough.

11:30 pm : Realize I have not printed the bulletins for the wedding yet. �the bride� IM�s me, she is going to bed. (that�s nice�.rub it in why don�t ya)

12:00 am : sit down to print bulletins and blog. You know, writing this shit down helps me to let go of the stress. Even though I have just wasted probably 5 minutes of your time with all this boring dribble, I feel better. I know you don't........but frankly my dear, I don't give a shit. You can get back at me by writting 10 pages on your own blog about the hang nail you had in the 6th grade that got infected. I promise to read every word as penance, as soon as this wedding is over.

Good night diary!

Tuesday, June 25, 2002

A fun new Google game.

Google Search: "Eva is"

Eva operating profit minus an appropriate charge for the oportunity cost of all capital invested in entreprise. (a mouthfull)
Eva is........inside her cat.
Eva closed.
Eva is........coming.
Eva is........a joint project by libraries, publishers and expert organizations, beingpart of the strategy program Education, training and Research.
Eva is........well educated in Islamic customs and techniques for self-improvement via thirteen intensive years in spiritual Sufi training
Eva is........a CGI language that does everything you need: interactive shopping, games, database retrieval and posting
Eva is........not just a new perfomance measurement fad, it's ...
Eva is........a beautiful vintage purse with ROSES!

Want to play? Just type in your name with the word "is" in google and see what you come up with. Use brackets or google will ignore is. Have fun.

Monday, June 24, 2002

Ahhh to be young again!

Kim and I have been friends since we were 5 or so. We grew up in a semi rural setting, about a 5 minute drive from the nearest town. But when you are a kid, if you can't walk there.....the nearest town might as well have been Siberia. There was a farm across the way and we would spend most of our time there. There was always something to do or see. And to this day, I am amazed that we survived it.

Having races to see who could crawl through the packed hay barn rafters, to the window at the other end and jump down into the manure spreader. If you are not familiar with a manure spreader, it looks like the bed of a pickup only at the back there is a row of very menacing blades that churn up the manure and shoot it out the back. On one occasion, one of the boys failed to make it through and we had to search for him. We dragged his unconscious body out of the hay loft. Thankfully, he was fine once he hit the fresh air, but we made everyone swear not to tell. (and my son wonders why I worry about him)

As a kid our days were filled with adventure. Exploring the woods, and swimming in one of many favorite swimming holes. (Again, if our parents only knew.) Playing spin the bottle in the empty hay loft, chasing the cows and sheep, trying to ride the one and only horse, who incidentally thought the whole idea of someone on his back was totally ludicrous. Mostly we watched (and laughed) as the boys would try and impress us with their riding skills, only to end up on their ass in a heap.

In the summer our life consisted of swimming and baseball, with a break in there somewhere for haying season. Ahh haying season. Hot summer nights, young girls giggling, watching the farmer, muscles rippling, tossing hay bails into the loft. Sweat rolling off tanned biceps.......(shit! this is getting x-rated)

Pause for cold shower.

Anyway, I digress. We grew up, moved away each of us in various places, sometimes far, but it seems most of us end up coming back home. Through the years we would loose touch but always managed to stay friends. I settled in town, and for the past 15 years or so she has been living in the city, about 2 hours from me.

Last Christmas, Kim came home, fell for a guy and ended up moving back. Now they are looking at properties. He works in the woods and has a horse so he needs land on which to keep it. (Hmmmmm come to think of it....he sort of looks like that farmer from our youth.)

Yesterday I took my son with me as I drove them to look at a property near where we grew up. It was the old ball field. Basically a cow pasture that the farmer let us play ball on. It was sort of a small valley bordered on one side by the brook and the other by trees. The field was lush and green and covered in daisies. Once you were in the field you were totally out of view of the surrounding residents.

As Kim and I walked the property, it was like we were 10 years old, heading out for a day of swimming and spying on boys. When we came to the far end of the field, I saw the path through the trees and I almost cried.

"Kimmy, this is it! It's Big Rock".

Big rock was the name we gave to the swimming hole because of its (you guessed it) big rock. So the two of us were standing there, staring at the spot where we spent long summer days. Then we turn and look at each other.

"Was it always that small, or did we just get bigger?"

In actuality, the rock had probably been moved by time and erosion. But we took that trip down memory lane. Little by little remembering. How we used to sit on the opposite bank that was more like a cliff and spy on the boys as they swam, or fished. Remembering how quiet it was (and still is) even though we were a half a mile from home, we could still hear our mothers calling us for supper. My son couldn't resist taking a dip and I almost joined him, but the realtor appeared then with her boyfriend and shattered the moment.

At that moment I truly envied her for the first time. How I wish I could end my days in that little valley, next to the swimming hole.

Sunday, June 23, 2002

Sicko's on every corner.

Sometimes I wonder what the world is coming to.

Everyday you read in the papers and see on tv, people doing vile things.

Like the woman in Calgary who left her 2 children (both under 2) home alone for 10 days, with only one bottle of formula between them. Apparently, she wanted to party with her new boyfriend. Needless to say they starved to death. Then to ad insult to injury when she came home to find them dead, she disposed of one of them in a dumpster, the other she just left there and returned to her boyfriends. Read all about it here.

What the hell is wrong with people? Are we raising a generation of people that just don't give a shit? Who do not value human life? Or is there just something in the water that makes people dumb as posts?

I think maybe the justice system has gotten so "politically correct" that is takes the justice out of everything. Now a days there is an excuse for everything. "Oh, they did something illegal, they must be mentally ill." Well who gives a sweet flying fuck! She may be a nut bar, but she knew enough to lie to the boyfriend and hide the bodies.

I say, if you commit a violent crime, you should suffer the same fate as your victim. Barring that.......I think they should do away with capital punishment and implement, I don't know, something like sandblasting or skinning them like rats.

Personally, I think pedophiles, for instance, should be peeled like grapes. Perhaps if the punishment was really gruesome, people wouldn't be so quick to toss the babies in the dumpster.

I could go on like this for days, but I am getting myself worked up. But you know what would be great? If all those nutbars would just commit their crimes against other nutbars. Like serial killers....if they would, say, only target pedophiles?

Come on guys, don't you think if you were cleaning up the rest of the filth, you might get away with it a little longer? Hell, you might even be considered hero�s. Cleaning up Dodge and all that. You could have competitions with other serial killers, see who could get the most child killers, or rapists.

Just a suggestion.

Friday, June 21, 2002

I am sick to death of saying "I told ya so".

People should just realize that I am always right.

And the reason that I am always right?

If I am not SURE that I am right.....I keep my big mouth shut. (More people should do that I think.)

So when I give advice, people should listen. But they never do. And so I get to say "I told ya so", which is fun the first 500 times you say it but, like anything done in excess, it gets old. I am just sick to death of saying "I told you so".

Maybe if I incorporated a little "I told ya so" dance. People would want to take my advice....if only to avoid the dance?

Wednesday, June 19, 2002

Hi, my name is "have you found shoes".

Ok...."the bride" is starting to get on my last nerve. For the last month or so she starts all her conversations with "Have you found a dress yet?"

Finally, I go and look and 15 min later I have an outfit, (which I bought more because she is obsessing about it than anything else) so now she is onto, "Have you found shoes?" I have half a mind to turn up at the church in black leather wearing a mourning veil over my head and bare feet. I understand she is stressing about this wedding...but we are not living in post war Germany, we actually have stores you can walk into and buy clothes.


Yes really!

Last night I am cruising sites like payless and sears looking for shoes. I don't really expect to find any online, I am more looking to see what the styles are now. ( I haven't worn heals since the last wedding) I mention it to her and before ya know it, she is calling and emailing stores with my measurements and having them check each store in the chain.

Obsessive compulsive much?

I let her go with it. I am not worried about finding shoes. I am wearing slacks so no one is going to be looking at my feet. And even if they were, who gives a sweet flying fuck!

I get home from work today and she messages me.

"Did you find shoes?"

"You mean since the last time you asked me, 12 hours ago?"

Holy Mother of God! I was working. I work everyday. When would I have time to find shoes? THEY ARE SHOES..........NOT THE HOLY GRAIL! I will find something to put on my feet. The wedding will NOT be ruined if I am wearing ugly shoes!!!! WHO CARES!

Ok, now I feel better. I have vented, I am ready to chat with "the bride" again.

Hey Riea! wuzzzzsup?

"Did you find shoes?"

Maybe I should change my name to "did you find shoes". She seems to prefer it to Evel.

Tuesday, June 18, 2002

Just in CASE you are SENSITIVE!

I walk in to work this morning and I am greeted with this note: (I have not changed the grammer or spelling)


U have changed my Email system & have left insufficient information as to how to use the new system. It does not except my password ******. After 16 hour days this is very frustrating. If u, the greatest technical mind ever to walk the face of the earth, change things then leave sufficient info for us morons to use it.

Please explain why u changed this format. Email SUCKS as it is mostly BS. If you are making it better, how do you filter out the SHIT !!!!! As I have other things to attend to other than deleting 100 useless messages/night.

This is the sort of thing I deal with everyday.

First of all I didn't "change" his email. I updated Netscape, from 4-6. And as for the 100 useless messages? If he would stop cruising porn sights and accepting cookies, he might not get so much junk mail.

This has been an ongoing thing, he tries to access his email and it won't work. So when I come in the morning he tells me. I go on and it works fine. I can't fix something if nothing is going wrong for me.

So this time he does it in front of me. Sure enough the password doesn't work. He leaves in a snit. "Why doesn't it work on this stupid machine but it will work on my laptop?" (I think the desktop hates him and I tell him so.)

Ten minutes later I discover the problem. Mr. Clarity has the caps lock on. So I leave him this note:

PaSwORds aRe caSE senSitiVe: mAke sure THe cAPs lOCk liGHt is oFF! (with a nice little flag with an arrow pointing to the light on the keyboard.)

If that's not clear enough for him.....I QUIT!

Sunday, June 16, 2002

Its all over but the crying...

Well the stagette went well, but for some reason I couldn't get drunk to save my life.

I made jello shots (pint of vodka), and a bucket of frozen daiquiris (quart of rum). "The Bride" and I polished off most of the daiquiris and I had about 20 jello shots before we even made it to the bars.

But no matter how hard I tried, I was pretty much sober when the lights came on. And I was worried I would get so drunk I would throw up.

I don't know....maybe I am getting too old for this shit, and my body is saying,

"I don't know about you, but I am NOT spending the night talking to 'Ralph' on the porcelain telephone."
Found this...thought someone might find it interesting.

Turns of Phrase: Blogger As the pool of blog writers has grown, perhaps inevitably so have complaints about quality. It's true that some bloggers seem to feel the need to log every sneeze.
[San Francisco Chronicle, Feb. 2001]

Bloggers add their own foraging notes to links discovered on other weblogs. As a result, some estimate, anything new on the Web will filter through the blog system in some form in about 30 days.
[Dallas Morning News, Apr. 2000]

Saturday, June 15, 2002

Picture it. Sicily 1928...

Ok, it wasn't Sicily, it was Truro, and it was yesterday.

The big Stagette is tonight, so I had to pick up some special gifts for the bride. One of my fiends friends has been there before so Kim & I plan to meet her there. Of course, we get lost. Ok, 20 minutes behind schedule, we finally find the place. He has it advertised as a Fireworks store. It is in his garage, and we have to ring for entry.

We are greeted (almost boyishly) at the door by a 50ish man with a fake tan and a bad toupee. It was all I could do not offer it a saucer of milk.

�Jokes or fireworks, girls?�

�Jokes� we say in unison .

�Give me one sec (he is ringing up a customer) and I will show you what I have.�

We look at each other quizzically. We are standing there in an 8 x 5 room and can see everything he has on shelves to the right and behind us just by turning our heads.

We start to browse and laugh at some of the ridiculous contraptions displayed for all the see.

The first thing I pick up is a dildo. We want one completely obnoxious. This one had, what appeared to be, a purple soft plastic head with beads encircling the staff of it. I hit the �on� switch and it springs to life. HMMMM. It is alive in my hands, the head is twisting and the beads are circling as if on tracks, and its vibrating. I think we have a winner.

At this point the �man� has begun to gleefully demonstrate everything he has, pointing out the best sellers, and explaining what everything does. He reminds me of one of the Popeil Pocket fisherman guy on all those infomercials. Everything is in fast forward. He is trying to show us absolutely everything in about a minute and a half.

I miss half of it because my attention is split between purple pecker and the bad toupee. All I can hear in my head is �purple pecker eater�, over and over. By the way the vibrator is still going in my hands. I turn it off and put it on the counter, ready for purchase, and start picking out other various things. Motion lotion, flavored condoms, a little dick that when you wind it up it jumps around. The place starts to fill up with other people, and the man is showing a four foot rubber penis to my friend and we are all in stitches now.

�What in God�s name would you do with that?� It was four foot long and about as big around as your wrist.

�I know of one customer who uses that particular model.�

In my head��Ya, Mr. Ed�s sister.�

At this point my fiends friend spots the vibrator. The man is putting new batteries in it and making sure it works. �Your not buying that? I had an earlier model of that and it broke. When I sent it back to the manufacturer they sent me that one. I threw it out, it wasn�t long enough.�

Did she say that? Kim and I roar with laughter. �Well, that�s why you are here, so we can benefit from your expertise.� She directs us to another model.

It�s more realistic looking, The Ultimate Beaver, and has an appendage. (mimics a finger) The man demonstrates the 4 different settings. �We�ll take it.�

Some poor slob has just walked in with his wife, he takes one look at this scene and turns red. He does NOT want to be there. So naturally we draw him in and tease him a little.

Now the man is ringing in my purchases and says �Can I interest you in a man?�

I roll my eyes...please god tell me this man is NOT hitting on me. �Excuse me?�

From the top shelf he grabs an inflatable doll. �This one looks like Elvis.�

�I don�t think so.�

The Bride made me promise not to do anything too obnoxious. And I think making her run around all night carrying a naked Elvis, constitutes �over the top�.

Friday, June 14, 2002

I was wrong.

Remember when I said that "The Order", starring Jean Claude van Damme, was the worst movie I had ever seen?

I was wrong.

I just saw "Lost in Space". It was wrong on so many levels. Way too campy. Kept expecting Matt LeBlanc to look into the camera and smirk.

Its one of those movies you think, "If I just watch for a couple more minutes it must be going to get better." Believe me ... it never does.

The only upside is that it was not on Pay Per View. If I had paid for it, I would've had to take myself out back and shoot myself in the face for being so stupid.

Bottom line, that's 120 minutes I will never get back.

Thursday, June 13, 2002

Tech support, schmech support!

You always hear the techies telling stories about the moron customers who call up with asinine questions.

Well this isn't one of those stories. I am the customer, and I am about to encounter a customers worst nightmare, someone who knows LESS than you.

I decide I want to utilize all the personal web space that I am paying for with my ISP. So first I go to the website for info. Apparently, you have to FTP all content. No problem, I've done that before. Now I am searching for the info I need for the FTP program. Address, username, password. I enter all this info, but something doesn't look right. I screw with it for a while and decide to call tech support. After all, that's what I pay for!

ME: "Hi, I am trying to upload to my webspace and I am having trouble connecting. Can you walk me through the entries, to make sure I am entering them right?"

TECH: "Sure, what FTP program are you using?"

ME: "Smart FTP"

TECH: "I am not familiar with that one."

ME: "Well I just need to know what address to use for the host, and what format to use for the User ID."

TECH: "I don't really know, because I have never used SmartFTP, do you have WS_FTP?"

ME: "Sure, I can use that but I just need the host and userid info. I think I just might be typing it wrong"

This goes on for 15 minutes, I am asking for simple info and he is trying to learn the program. I switch to WS_FTP, but this doesn't help him. You see even though my ISP address is, for purposes of personal website, some addresses are And since my connection is an old one I use email address for username instead of a crazy alphanumeric login.

Then it starts to get good.

TECH: "Can I put you on hold and I will ask my supervisor?"He comes back.

TECH: "My supervisor tells me that we do not give support for FTP, that it's a separate program that we are not trained for."

ME: "Your joking right?"

He's not.

ME: "So you are telling me that the only way to get stuff onto my webspace is to FTP, but you can't tell me how to do that?"

TECH: "I know, it sounds crazy, all I can tell you is to search FTP, and read up on it."

ME: "So, I am paying for 10 meg of web space, and the ONLY way to access that webspace is to use FTP, and there is no tech support for that, you can't even tell me what address to use?"

TECH: "try putting the http:// in front..........that sometimes helps."

I hung up on him before I started to use foul language.

Long story short....I screwed around with it and finally got on, but had to stop to write a vicious email to my ISP.

I am not expecting a reply.

This is what that whole experience has reduced me to.


Oh...Mariea? I thought I would make one for you too.


Wednesday, June 12, 2002

Who Shit in Your Cornflakes?

I get into work this morning at 8:49am (I guess it's yesterday morning now) and my boss has a shitty on. Not an uncommon occurrence.

I�m thinking he probably got up around 7ish. So what could have possibly happened in that time to make him so irritable? So, I asked him.

"Who shit in your cornflakes?".

Bad Idea! He almost never gets the joke. This makes him even more irritable. But sometimes I just can't resist, making a wisecrack.

The problem is, you never know how he will react. Sometimes it is favorable, but more often than not he gets annoyed. And you don't have to be the one to actually annoy him for him to take it out on you. Most of the time if you annoy him, he takes it out on the next guy.

My problem?...............I am usually "the next guy".

Tuesday, June 11, 2002

I love kids, as long as they're cooked properly.

When I was young, I used to say to people, when they asked if I wanted kids, "I'm not having kids, I will just have cats". At the time, I didn't even like cats.

They would say, "Don't you like kids?" and I would reply, "I love kids, as long as they are cooked properly".

Sometimes, I look at my son and think, "Why didn't I just get a cat?"

Don't let anyone tell you that motherhood is a completely miraculous thing, its not.

Don't get me wrong, I love my son, but sometimes I would like to strangle him. Real mothers will know exactly what I am talking about. New mothers don't count, you are still under the influence of "newborn intoxication". Once your son/daughter starts to talk, then you can chime in with your two cents worth.

I can tell you exactly when my son turned on me. I have the video.

When he was first born I filmed him every single day, first smile, first laugh, first roll over, first fart. Hours and hours of him sitting eating, or sleeping. (Side effect of "infant intoxication")

As he got older, the films got better, but one xmas, when he was 2, I was telling him he should be good or Santa wouldn't bring him anything. He turned to the camera, with murder in his eyes, and said " I'll kill Santa!".

CUT! That's a wrap people!

No more streaming video. After that little demon moment, the only video of him are 10 minutes clips of his birthdays, and xmas'.

Nothing is completely anything. It's got its pro's and con's. The real con is that you don't know what little personality you are gonna get, and if you don't like it......there are no refunds. And at the exact moment you are ready to wrap your fingers around their little screaming throat......they say "You look pretty today, Mom."

"Ok, you can live......... for now".

Sunday, June 9, 2002

What Next?

I just had a heart stopping experience, my blog was down all day. I tried to republish, and it kept telling me that there was an error 104 NuPointer or something to that effect. So I am trying to get to my template, to see if anything is wrong, but it is soooo slow that I can't get it to do anything and didn't have the time to sit and wait. Had to go and pick up my mother to take her to church so I left it.

So for two hours I am fretting over what the hell I did wrong and wondering if all my posts and archives are lost forever. Why the fuck didn't I backup everything?

Please God...if you just restore my blog I promise to never procrastinate again.

Ya right, I will backup for a few weeks and slowly slack off. Many of you reading this can identify I am sure.

Anyway, I get home, and just for fun click on my blog, and there it is, perfectly fine.

Good Grief! Does that mean God came through? Shit! Now I have to do what I said I would or suffer the consequences. Unless someone emails me their thesis on the non-existence of God. (PLEASE?)

I don't know, I think God understands by now that I am a lying sack of shit, and probably doesn't listen to a word I say.

So I probably shouldn't worry about being hit by lightning or anything. (Fingers crossed.)

Been trying to publish this entry for 3 hours, blogger site seems to be very very slow. At least I hope it is the site and not my template code. Maybe it�s God getting back at me for the above entry. Hmmm.

Saturday, June 8, 2002

The sounds of silence.

The Boy went to his fathers this weekend, and the silence is deafening.

I love it. And I am sorry, I do not miss The Boy.

He is never gone long enough for me to miss him. But now, thanks to the fact that his father lives in Butt-Fuck-Nowhere, he can�t call me to �come and get him� like he used to when his father lived in the next town. So when he goes, he has to go for the weekend., or at least overnight. Perhaps if he went for the summer, I would begin to miss him after, say, a week. But when he is gone overnight? I don't think so.

So far I have been absolutely unproductive. I have gone out of the house for smokes only. Oh, and Tim Horton's coffee. (I have my priorities straight).

I do, however, have a date with �the bride� to go with her for her wedding dress fitting. Should be interesting, since �the bride� tells me that the dressmaker is some piece of work. She went to discuss the dress with her once and the woman was on the phone and turned to her and said, �would you mind leaving now?� Not exactly what you would call a social butterfly.

I have no tolerance for rude people and am usually rude accordingly. Probably the reason I don�t want to go to �the bride�s� mothers the night before the wedding. She is rude, mostly to �the bride� and I told her that if she didn�t want a big scene at her mothers, I should probably skip that little excursion.

And it is not that I would attack her mother, it�s more that I know I wouldn�t be able to keep my mouth shut, and probably tell her to �go fuck herself� kindly refrain from insulting �the bride�.

But enough about the bitch mother of �the bride�. I will let you know how the �fitting� went. Should make for some fun commentary.

I know I should be looking for a dress, and shoes etc. But If I am given too many choices, I tend to not make one. If I go with a week left to choose, then I will find something. I am not worried. (check back next week)

I should also be cleaning my house, but there are a lot of things I should be doing that I am not going to do. If you look under procrastinate in the dictionary, you will see a little picture of me. You know all the jokes and one liners, they all pertain to me. When I get the chance to do nothing, that�s what I do.

I know I will be running around like a chicken with my head cut off in a couple of weeks, but don�t all the worlds delicacies taste like chicken?

Friday, June 7, 2002

There is a first (and last) time for everything.

I am 36 years old and the other day "the bride" and I entered a boutique for unmentionables, for me, it was the very first time.

As we were browsing the various selections of sausage casings, push up bras and thongs, I realized why I have never gone into one of these places before.

What sadist invented these things? Each rack was filled with various torture devices, promising to mold, tuck, and generally contorting your body into some sort of ideal shape. That is, if you didn't mind sacrificing a little thing called "breathing".

I was contemplating one such item, trying to decide just how long I could possibly hold my breath without taking a header into the punch bowl, when "the bride" called me in to view her first selection.

She had asked the lady for something to hold in, and push up. What she got was ...........I can't describe it...but it wasn't push up. It was more�.squish flat, clearly NOT what we were going for.

I suggested "bustier". The lady took one look at me and decided I was not the one to give advise. (I had just come from work and I wasn't even wearing a bra). So I went to the rack myself and picked one out. I mean really, any self respecting child of the 80's knows (thanks to Madonna) that hold in + push up = bustier.

All of a sudden the sales lady decides this is exactly what she needs to have and would have suggested earlier if "the bride" had made herself more clear. (groan) So, "the bride" takes the bustier into the dressing room, and I join her with the vegetable shortening and a shoehorn and we manage to get this contraption on her. She turns around to face me and���..

"HOLY SHIT, BE CAREFULL, you could put an eye out with those things." We had a winner.

Now I am thinking, I want tits like that too. And in the grand scheme of things, breathing is really overrated.

I just love Starchoice!

I completely loathe the cable company ever since they came out with the whole negative billing thing where you have to pay in advance, and when they come out with new channels you have to call to tell them you DON'T want them. And if you want one channel you have to pay for a whole lot of other channels you absolutely hate, just to get the one you want. Not to mention the fact that you have to stay home all day on the off chance the cable guy "might" show up. So I wanted to get a dish.

Well the first two I tried (the ones you can hack) didn't work because I live in an area with too many trees and tall buildings that were, unfortunately, right in the line of sight.

So, on my last birthday my friend Kim gave me a Starchoice satellite system. The programming costs the same as cable, but you can pick and choose what channels you want. I told her the problems I had with the others, but installation was free, so I gave it a shot.

The other two guys who came went directly to the roof. I didn't like that idea because if anything happened I did not want to have to climb on the roof to fix it. So this roof.

I called the Starchoice guy (Ken) to set up a time for installation. He said he would be there the next day during my lunch hour.

WHAT? Did I hear you right?

He said "yes". Their policy is to come within 24 hours of being called.

You are definitely not the cable company!

So the next day he shows up and 10 minutes later I have dish! He slaps it up on the side of the house and BAMM! 99% signal.

Before he leaves he says "I am just concerned about that tree, in the summer we might have to cut a branch off it."

Which brings me to today. I called Ken this morning (I had been without signal for 3 days) and he met me today at lunch to cut a branch....which turned out to be 3 branches.

It was funny, the neighbors were all out in force to see the funny little man hanging from the tree. They were watching and commenting, and I am sure one of them ran home to call my landlord who owns most of the houses on my street. No worries though I had already okayed it with him, along with the screen porch thing.

The best part of the whole thing? I didn't have to pay the funny little man with the saw. "It is all part of the service Miss."

On the way home today, I saw a cable company truck and gave the guy the finger.

Even though I have to pay for it, I just love Starchoice!

Wednesday, June 5, 2002

Holy Shit!......People actually read me!

I am always amazed when I see others link to my page. It gives you that warm and fuzzy feeling. Like you aren't just floating aimlessly out here in cyberspace.

I have been online in one form or another since 1990. And these past few months have been the most connected I have ever felt. I guess I can thank blogs for that, the feedback you get from these things is mind boggling.

So today, I am sitting here, going through my sitemeter report and it takes me here to Jon Sullivan's blog. At first I am reading the comments and I am sure I never commented about shrimp......but then I look over to the right and see "Link of the Day"....and there I am.

Gave me a chill. I don't know weather to feel proud, that Jon thought my blog was mildly entertaining enough to have as link of the day or send him a get well card (on account of the brain injury he must have sustained).

Well whatever possessed him, I am tickled. Thanks Jon!

Will make losing the Sexiest Female Blogger thing not quite so heartbreaking.

Try and catch that butterfly!

How cool is that butterfly?

Thanks to pegasong (a.k.a. Deb) for that one, I saw it on her site and couldn't resist.

Just try and catch it.

Tuesday, June 4, 2002

I am woman...hear me roar!

I am woman and I have power tools.

Although a woman can usually get just about anything done with a rock and a butter knife, I love power tools. If I have something to do around the house and there has been a power tool invented to make it easier...I want that power tool. Mind you, there have been many a time when I get the urge to do some home improvements in the middle of the night and the rock and butter knife thing has come in pretty handy.

So far I have made a headboard for my bed (picket fence), a couple tables, a canopy for my bed, blinds for my windows, assorted shelves and my first desk was a rigged together collection of wooden shelving and barn boards (totally functional even though it was an eyesore).

When I need something "heavy" done I usually do the "girl thing" and ask a man to do it for me. Then I wait.....and wait.....and wait.....and eventually do it myself (unless it is a really shitty job, in which case I keep on waiting and just add whining to the equation).

One of my brothers is a carpenter, so when I have a carpentry job to do I ask him to help He is one of those short memory kind of guys so if I don't keep on him 24/7 he forgets. (it took him 9 months to make me a coffee table).

That's what happened this time. I want my doorstep converted into a screen porch. I was sitting on the step with the usual collection of 15 mosquito coils, and a couple hundred citronella candles and figured there had to be an easier way. So after waiting 2 weeks for advice I am going to do it myself. My brother does hard could it be?

The beauty of this sort of thing is that if it is for yourself, and you fuck it up, you only have to worry about pissing yourself off.

I will let you know how that turns out.....with any luck it will be this weekend, if I can round up the power tools I need.

MMMMMMMMM power tools! I love power tools! Urgh Urgh!

Monday, June 3, 2002

Proud to be testosterone free.

Sometimes it amazes me how civilization has survived for so long. Considering what we have to work with girls. If men were in charge of propagating the species, I think we would have been in real trouble.

Last night I watched a program called Maximum Exposure on UPN. It should have been called "Men think of the stupidest things to do."

In India they have this festival that has men throwing rocks at each other from across a river. The kicker is.....they are trying to get hit. Apparently, a direct hit means they will have good luck all year long. It was really gruesome.

Also in India, they have something called the Colors Festival, where (among other activities) women are encouraged by their husbands to whack them over the head with a huge stick. Now that's a festival I could get behind.

In Japan, there is a bar, where you can go into a little cubby hole and for $100 you can smash plates and scream. Wouldn't it make more sense to buy a $20 set of plates and smash 'em at home?

I could go on but considering I am in this whole "Sexiest Blogger" contest, I probably shouldn't piss off the Neanderthals voters.

To all you men bloggers reading this, I am positive that you are the exception to the rule.

Girls? Just check out the link, makes ya proud to be a woman. And if you are still unconvinced? Head on over to "Jackass" on MTV.

Sunday, June 2, 2002

Sexiest Female Blogger?

I have been called a lot of things in my day.........but sexy isn't one of them. Well at least not by anyone that actually knew me. Most people, after meeting me, settle on "bitch". Hey maybe that is why I was nominated? Stir up the pot, get a cat fight going?

Wish I could oblige, but I am still pretty new to blogging and I don't know many the other nominees. I suppose I could make some shit up? Nu uh, heard that can backfire on a person.

Well I guess I will just say this then, "winning isn't's an honor just to be nominated".

Jeez! Try not to break your shovel on that load.'s this. "Please vote for me, I may be a bitch but you probably will never have to meet me in real life".

Huston....we have comments.

I finally got through to YACCS (quite a popular place) and got my comments up and running. I can see now why they are so popular, very easy to set up and use (once you fight for your spot in line to sign up).

My favorite quote is from Dolly Parton - "I am a nice person, but if I don't like where you got it I can tell you where to put it."

So, on that note:
Comments anticipated, praise appreciated, criticism ignored.

Saturday, June 1, 2002

Biker Chick!

My sister just showed up on her Harley. A couple of years ago she and her husband got into riding bikes and are now in a club, Pictou County Cruisers. Well the other day she bought a '97 Harley Sportster, and you couldn't pry her off it with a crowbar. Her husband drives a trike (three wheeler, VW bug back and motorcycle front) it is the funniest thing you ever saw. Now if you need to get a hold of her just check the weather, if it is anything but snowing, they are out on the bikes. I will have to get a pic to show on here, without the visual you just can't appreciate it. I did find one of the trike though.

What is it with men?

My son just came into my bedroom to tell me he was going to throw up. What is up with that? Hello? I don't know....go to the bathroom? No. That would be too easy, it is much better to puke on my bedroom rug. (My son is not 2 or 4 he is 12, he is, however, male.)

Ok, now I am screaming...."Get into the bathroom!" He walks to the kitchen and sits down at the table.

"In what universe do you think people puke in the kitchen?"

He gets up and goes to the bathroom.

Finally, he is where he clearly belongs. But testosterone is apparently the hormone that deals with stupidity. He is standing between the sink and the toilette puking on the floor.

At this point I completely lose my mind, "Pick a side, sink or toilette, but for Christ sake pick one!"

Please don't feel sorry for him, we discuss it every time he gets sick. And I even use one syllable words so it gets through the testosterone haze. Puke=Can NOT FLOOR! (And later you will discover the reason for the puking.)

Now I have finally pointed him in the direction of the toilette, and I realize what is confusing him. He also has diarrhea. This night just keeps getting better and better. I pick him up and put him in the tub. Ya gotta love the tub in these situations, it doesn't matter what end its coming out of.

I am the kind of person that if I smell puke, I puke. I have a really short gag reflex. I can barely brush my back teeth. So now I am faced with not just puke, but puke and shit. So, of course I puke.

An hour later, everything is cleaned up, including my son. And he says to me that maybe it was a bad idea to eat the entire tub of Cool Whip.

Ya think?

And here they are.....right on schedule

It's spooky really, how do they know?

I just finished watching a movie and went to the door to let the cat in. All over the doorstep were June Bugs. How do they know its June, every year you can set the calander by them. June first, June Bugs. I think I will obsess about it a bit and search Google for the reason, while I am at it I will search for the meaning of life. It's gotta be on the same page out there in cyberspace.