The one wherein I ramble incoherently…yet again.

I have been back “on-line” for a total of what, like 6 hours and I am already freaking out about posting. I am a major tool.

So here it is my second post in a year. Aren’t you proud of me? Well I am so shut up.

I should write something profound but that would be a little far-fetched coming from me. So I will write several lines of nonsense and call it a night.

I would like to send a shout out to my new favourite person of all time – Mama over at MamaSutra. Hey Mama! Just wanted to thank you for paying attention to me, cause we all know I need the validation to keep me from jumping off a virtual blog cliff. For anyone else out there who may be wondering why all the adoration, Mama was the first person to comment on my first post this year. On the day it was posted. Talk about boosting my confidence. I may just have to stop blogging for ever now cause I think this is probably as good as it gets.

I have recently been randomly surfing the net and in my travels I happened upon Violent Acres, which I now have in my links under Shits and Giggles. Although to be truthful it really is more shits than giggles, I like it. V, as she calls herself is hard to describe but who cares! Just read the blog and then run away screaming. V’s blog is about pretty much everything, her personal life stories, real estate, why women suck and various other things. She gets like a bazillion hits a day, hates everyone and swears a lot. So, her blog is pretty much like mine… except I write about baby poop, (oh there will be more stories of poop) my hair and how much I love Arnold Schwarzenegger. Also I probably get like .01 hits a day. I hate everyone too….I mean we are practically twins, it’s downright eerie.

Wow, talk about a love fest. Does somebody have a blog crush? No, not me, I don’t know what you are talking about. Ahem. I like her blog and surprisingly agree with a lot of what she says. If you do venture over to see what I am talking about you will probably notice that I am the embodiment of most of the things she hates about bloggers. Except for one thing.

I don’t give a rats ass.

Am I bored, or just sad…

It is very late… or rather very early depending on your point of view.  Whatever the time I must soon retire to bed.  I have to go to work tomorrow then I will be going to pick up The Boy who has been on a much needed vacation with his Nanny and Pappy.

I have noticed that while the darling little one has been away I have been unable to sleep comfortably.  No matter how much sleep I get I do not feel rested when I wake.  I have also accomplished far less than I thought I could.  It seems as though I have less time than I did when The Boy was here!  How is this possible?  My first reaction was that I was just enjoying my free time a little too much.

Upon further reflection, I think I just miss my baby.

It’s too early for coherent thought.

Well well well

Here I am, half asleep and typing.  This could prove to be just as bad as drinking and typing.  Speaking of, did you know that driving while talking on your cell phone is just as bad as drunk driving?  I saw it on Mythbusters.  Great show.

I am listening to the new rock station here in Charlottetown.  Aren’t you excited?  I sure am.  They are having a watermelon seed spitting contest later.  I think I should enter, don’t you?  I can spit with the best of them.

Why am I asking questions as if someone will answer me?  We all know that I have a couple screws loose (someone actually said that to me yesterday at work) so humour me ok.

Well gotta go, somewhere.

Love ya dearly.

I smell Cinnamon rolls…

I am sitting here all by myself, drinking and typing. This could be trouble.

I was reading a style magazine (ewww) that told me leggings are back. Excuse me? They are back? What, exactly does that mean… The only explanation is there is a rip in the space time continuum that is warping all of our minds to think we look good in leggings. Because, seriously, we don’t. We never did, and we never will.

I’m sorry, let me explain myself. By “we” I mean anyone who is not a size zero, or alternately anyone who has a sense of style.

Why is it that just because celebreties are all wearing the ugliest clothes they can find, suddenly it’s the new hot look? They don’t look good, they just all look equally stupid.

I went to the doctor last week because I have big hands. Wait a minute…that sounds wrong. But it is so true. For some unknown reason my hands are swollen so much that I cannot wear my wedding ring, or any rings for that matter. I can’t even get them over my knuckles anymore. So I went to the doc and he took some of my precious (and delicious) blood so he could drink it find out what’s wrong with me.

Did you ever lick a spot of blood from a cut or something, then wonder what it would be like to actually drink a glass of it? No? Me either.

Alrighty then.

Gimme head with hair, Long beautiful hair, Streaming, flaxen, waxen.

I have been increasingly annoyed with my hair recently. I regret to say that I had the beginnings of a …. mullet.

Ewwwww.

So I asked my good friend Joan to come to my rescue.
“Give me a haircut or give me death!”
She was worried about cutting my hair, you know a girls hair is her crowning glory. But I had total faith in her hair cutting abilities. I just knew she would do a good job. And she did.

Here for your viewing pleasure, my before shot -

 

And my After -

We also dyed my hair, isn’t that special. Aren’t I the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?

Even cuter than a bag of puppies.

Great job Joan, I’ll be your first client when you open your hair salon!

I don’t even know what street Canada is on. – Al Capone

Its Canada Day!

Originally called Dominion Day, the name was changed to Canada Day on October 27th 1982.

This year we are celebrating our 139th birthday.

We just got back from the waterfront fireworks show. It was awesome

In honour of this special day here are some quotes about Canada -

 

-In any world menu, Canada must be considered the vichyssoise of nations, it’s cold, half-French, and difficult to stir. – Stuart Keate

-What is a Canadian? A Canadian is a fellow wearing English tweeds, a Hong Kong shirt and Spanish shoes, who sips Brazilian coffee sweetened with Philippine sugar from a Bavarian cup while nibbling Swiss cheese, sitting at a Danish desk over a Persian rug, after coming home in a German car from an Italian movie… and then writes his Member of Parliament with a Japanese ballpoint pen on French paper, demanding that he do something about foreigners taking away our Canadian jobs. – Anonymous

-Canadians have been so busy explaining to the Americans that we aren’t British, and to the British that we aren’t Americans that we haven’t had time to become Canadians. – Helen Gordon McPherson

-I’m not an American! I am a Canadian. I come from a “nice”, thoroughly unrealistic country. – Matthew Fisher

-We Canadians live in a blind spot about our identity. We have very strong feelings about who we aren’t but only weak ones about who we are. We’re passionate about what we don’t want to become but oddly passive about what we should be. – John Cruickshank (in McLean’s Magazine)

-The huge advantage of Canada is its backwardness. – Marshall McLuhan

“It burns! Oooh it burns!” *

We had a simply mah-va-lous time at “The Last Supper” this weekend. Here is but a taste of the joy that was had.

After we were finished with our appetizers, I noticed that my father had soup splattered all over his white shirt.

I used this fact to tease him, “you can dress him up…”

He seemed to think that was unfair so he waited until his meal came and dumped it in my lap.

Thanks Dad.

* a phrase that I actually had cause to use this weekend.

What?

Sometimes I like to eat peas. Most times I don’t.

BQotD from Jessica Rabbit
*They each got a big splotch of germ killing miracle goo, which could be angel spunk for all I know, because it’s power to kill germs is sent from heaven*

“O bliss! O poop-poop! O my! O my!”

A random story about my misspent youth.

This is actually about me when I was 2 or 3 years old. I never knew about this at all, I do not remember this happening and have never heard this story until yesterday when I was talking to my parents.

I was telling my mom and dad about The Boy and his adventures in potty training. Then my Dad mentioned “the time you pooped on the steps of the building supply store”…what, what? Apparently my parents, my uncle and aunt, their daughter and I were out and about one day walking the streets of Woodstock NB. I had to go to the bathroom but decided not to tell anyone. I simply walked up the steps of a store, hauled down my pants and dropped a doody on the landing. My cousin walked up and tried to go as well, then my dad and uncle saw us and kept walking! The pretended they didn’t have any idea who the weirdos defecating in public were. My mother and her sister came upon us and freaked! My poor poor mother. Not only having to admit that, yes this poopy child is hers but then having to clean up everything. I’m sorry mom…you can take comfort in knowing that your grandson is well on his way to driving me off the deep end too!

BQotD from All & Sundry
*I do not like the cardboard striptease and I MOST DEFINITELY do not like the startling “pah!” and the sudden emergence of dough, all pale and fleshy and…moist. *