Bisausaketges

Yesterday, I made more bread. Was it ugly, Michelle? Was it ugly? WAS IT? UGLY? MICHELLE? Was the bread you made ugly?

NO! It wasn't ugly, it was darling! I made delicious sausages cooked inside of delicious home made cheese biscuits. Piggies in a Blanket [1] Even the name is all cozy. Sausage rolls. Flesh 'n Bunz. Sausage Snuggies Bisausaketges (win!). Have a look:

OMG ADORABLE!

I want to prance around with them in a baby pram. Okay, so they're a smidgen ugly- but in that homely baby way. You know, like when someone's baby looks half alien & half hairless mole-rat and somehow retains its cuteness. I always find this incredibly miraculous. All of my children were tooth chatteringly attractive, so I have a difficult time dealing with this. It just goes to show that babycharm and super cute pajamas are important, or maybe I'm just really good at feeling sorry for ugly babies and homely meaty treats [2]... anyhow, I could put a bonnet on the sausages when we go for walks. That might help.

New mother: This is my new baby, "Atticus Breayndyrnegh"!

Me: *eyeballs enlarge* uh huh...

NM: Yeah, we made up the name. He looks just like my mother, don't you think?

Me: *inaudible mumbling avoidy sound*

*Atticus somehow makes his facial expression look like how sad your heart feels when you watch teenaged Eric Stolz play that kid with the giant disfigured face and Cher was his Mom. *

*I just can't judge that poor baby. My heart is too broken for Eric Stolz.*

Me: AwWwwWWWW! Poor Atticus-Watticus! I wuvs him. Wuvywuv. Poor homely, adorable Atticus. Him looks like a little sausage biscuit. Yes him does. I'm gonna eat him! I'm gonna eat up Atticus! Nomnomnom! Atticus McCheesyBiscuits!

NM: Give me my baby back please.

Me: Just a second...

*ahem*

So anyway. I made them as part of our dinner. HIT! Also, they are great for when you want to make lazy types of things but it looks like you tried pretty hard. That's why I'm including the recipe at the end of this post. Plus you can take pictures of them and then draw cartoons about them later:

You could do that if you wanted.
*Note: This is certainly not a cartoon about Phil Spector murdering anyone. It's about... the plight of sausage biscuits.
I have plenty of tact left.


It's only a coincidence that this bisausaketge looks exactly like Phil Spector. I'm sure that he was a perfectly cute baby once.

Recipe for Biscuits:

2 cups flour
4 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
1/4 cup shortening or lard
1 cup milk
*optional 1/2 cup shredded cheddar (add with dry ingredients)

Mix dry ingredients, cut in shortening until the pieces are really tiny. Add milk and stir just until moist. Will be sticky. Pat out the dough on a floured surface about 3/4 to one inch thick, cut out biscuits. Be careful not to overwork the dough.

Bake @ 400 degrees for 12 minutes until nice and brown.

To make Bisausaketges like these ones, cook your sausages and wrap them in the dough, then bake for 15 mins. Try and make it seem difficult when you present them.

[1] I had no idea pigs in a blanket had such a rich and diverse cultural history.
[2]Yeah, I said meaty treats

Sources.

Um. So.

Writey write.

My week has been inexplicably boring, except for that one time where I got a little obsessed with the news and fringe American politics. I couldn't help it, though: I watched network news. You dummy, Self! The pulsating pile of bullshit that feeds on itself and spews horrors and scandal at my fragile mind. It took me days to settle down over it.

I've had to periodically quit the news, you guys. It ruins my mental health and I start to think about fashioning an aluminium foil do-rag to keep the governments out. (I also feel compelled to force you to pronounce it AL-ew-MIN-ee-əm and not A-loo-minum in case you don't already.Trust me, you'll sound way more impressive at all the parties you attend when you're not blogging.)

"Why, Mrs Hilton, are those AL-ew-MIN-ee-əm chaise loungers I see? Why I just ADORE AL-ew-MIN-ee-əm and these AL-ew-MIN-ee-əm breezers are just to DIE for!"

She'd be pretty impressed that you noticed.

I'm not crazy. YOU Are.

Anyhow, I've had the sound mental faculty to shut it off and continue to just receive my current events from my neighbor, Lawrence who periodically strolls by with information on the whereabouts & social encounters of my cat , Fluffy Sparkles (entertainment news) and also through my 4th grader who filters information to me through her classmates' secret underground ring of knowledge (current-ish events). Really, what more do I need?



Did you know that Hitler chewed off his own arms? I heard it through my news sources. Also, Fluffy Sparkles was spotted consorting with the other neighbor's cat, Charlie (AGAIN!!). That Charlie is out of control if you ask me.

WHAT THE CRAP IS THIS??

"Go eat some apples, my pretty" says this bug.

"WELL, I think we ladies already fell for THAT trick once. Maybe if you were like, George Clooney and you told me to I might think about it. Instead, I'll have more smores and wine to drown out your awful bug face and crunchy yet slimy looking legs", says I.

"I hate you", we mutually agree.

...Besides something that probably wants to crawl into my ear so that it can inject its mind control serum into my brain, before it dries up into a pod, eventually taking over person after person until it reaches the Oprah, completing its domination of earth and starts hunting people until we're all a hybrid of alien nymphs reading coming of age book after coming of age book and the world as we know it ends...

I'm wondering if it has a scientific name, besides Satan as my friend, Amber suggested on the foozebook. For now, I'll call it Jeff Goldblum, but I need to know why this thing is living in Canada, where we like it cold because minus a bajillion degrees tends to ensure that we never, EVER, E V ER see things like this when we are blissfully jumping around in the river during our 8 minutes of summer.

I think Jeff Goldblum here is a girl, though, from what I know of horrible, horrible horrible bugs. I think that death stinger thing on its arse is really an egg depositor, which is what I was extra careful not to touch because my Mom just told me that some bugs like burrowing into people's necks and the only way to get them off is to burn them with a cigarette. No other way will work. I think smoking sounds like a good idea right now, because I'm a little freaked out... but hey. This is the lady who raised me we're talking about. It's no wonder I'm a little jumpy and eyeballing that bottle of cooking wine in her pantry like this it's the last bottle of perrier in a Saharan dust storm.
Oh good, Neil was kind enough to read my body language and bring me the wine. My body language pretty much consists of me jumping into the air and actually slapping my mother when she told me a horrible, horrible earwig story on top of everything.

Beach Vampire Bingo

Eddie Cullen. Forks prom night, 1977. Who says you can't makeover hospital gowns into evening attire? Vampires have many varied skill sets.

So. I watched a Twilight movie. I know, you guys- but I needed to know what the fuss was about for people over the age of 25. I still need to know, because as far as I can tell, it's just a cacophony of depressed teenagers being extremely serious & deep (as teenagers are world renowned for) while running around in the forest, getting into predicaments and making out and then deciding NOT to make out at the last second because it's too dangerous. Seriously, it's like Stephanie Meyer found the deep, dark, black velvet-lined, thesaurus-ravaged poetry anthology that I wrote when I was fifteen and just filled it in here and there with sparkles. I hadn't thought of mixing my mom-making-me-do-my-chores induced depression with sparkly magic boyfriends or I would be filthy rich today. Plus none of my boyfriends were very sparkly OR magic , except the ones who have had braces (Sorry ex boyfriends who are no doubt pouring over this blog every day with their regrets for letting this gem get away. We can still be friends, some of you.)- but that is entirely beside the point.

There is a glaring piece of history in this novel that needs to be filled in *fingertap x3*: What was Edward Cullen doing between the years of 1901 and 2003? I'm sure he didn't just sit around twiddling his thumbs and draining cats. He seems like a stylish feller. I mean, sure, Bella Swan came along and blew him off his feet with her great attitude, because in allll those years, those DECADES AND DECADES, there was nobody more interesting than a pissy little 17 year old whiner with zero sense of humor and a ton of baggage. Uh huh. Not to mention, she smells like BBQ to him.What we learn here is that the way to a man's heart is solely through his stomach, which means that smelling like meat 24/7 = win for everyone!

In fact, since seeing it, every morning I dab a little bit of Dorito cheese powder behind my ears to drive Neil wild with lust. Then he's all, "I would kiss you right now, but I don't want to hurt you..." and I'm like, "DAMMIT, I overdid it when I switched to the cool ranch Dorito cheese powder." Then Neil is all, "I am leaving and never coming back. To protect you." So then I say, "Then I'm making friends with the neighbor's Pomeranian and when it turns into a real boy, I'm getting it to fix the minivan and then I'm jumping in front of a bus and you'll HAVE to come back. To save me." Then he's like, "Damn. You are clever. Let's get married" So then I say, " SHa. Right. I'd have to get divorced from my OTHER husband for that to happen, speaking of undead." Then we laugh and gaze at each other, then look away in pain. Then we almost makeout, but I have to run out of the room in my flowing dress. We're just like Edward & Bella, only like 30 years later or something- and with a mortgage and no time to sit in our bedrooms and pout from the months of October until March. Plus he's even older than me. What a dirty old perv, eh? Yeah totally.

AAaanyhoo, what this pedophile, Edward, has going for him though- is his dazzlingly great looks! Just like Luke Perry, he can still pass for 17 at the age of 38, 76 and finally 102! I'm sure there are more than a few priests out there who would give their eye teeth (if they have any left- ho ho ha ha hee, *sigh* funny funny stuff, Self.) to be immortalized as a sparkling 13 year old.. Nobody would eEEeeEEver suspect what kinds of shenanigans they were up to in their forever-disguises as adolescents. Not even the Pope. Anyhow, enough digressing about vampire *pedophiliac church deacons. I am actually here to discuss the metamorphosis of Mista Cullen:

Ed on his way to his first Werewolf war. AwwWWww!

What do you mean you didn't notice??

Edward purchases his first automobile, 1920ish. What a wild day when he took it 4x4ing. Luckily he had the guns mounted on the roof loaded with silver bullets to ward off snickering werewolves when they could walk faster than he could drive and then later when he was cranking up the engine. He can't wait for trans-ams to be invented.


Ed sporting his stylin' new zoot suit. What a riot!


Just hangin' out with his satin, brocade dinner jacket, 1963. Chillin' out. Just Chillaxin' and being a vampire. He wasn't going to be any dirty 60s hippy; no, he was gonna be cruisin' the laydays...


Edward adopts his 'animals only' vegetarian-vampire diet. Silly Edward confused monkeys with monkees.

Edward "Sazzle" Cullen briefly performs with the band, Queen. He could even go out in the sun for a while and people just thought his sparkles were sequins. This is when he was also experimenting with supertight perms.

Edday Cull-an. Fashioning hisself after the (almost?) late Leif Garret. Is that guy dead? I dunno. I'm not looking it up. WEET WOO! Old Ed has been a hearthrob through ALL the decades.
(Oh me, Oh my, OH NO! That vampire has a camel toe!)


Edward attends a gladiator pool party in 1982, sadly he has to sit in the shadows and just watch even though he KNOWS he could beat those guys.. Poor Edward.


Edward Cullen did some extra work for the popular family sitcom, ALF in the late 80s. Again, he had to be extra careful not to be caught under the show's lighting equipment so nobody would see his telltale vampire sparklies.


Ed moves onto the 80s fashion scene nice. and. smooth-like. Here he is in his 76th 11th grade photo.


Seriously? I'm the only one who noticed?

So, there we have a sneak peek into the history of Edward Cullen. I am going to go now and continue trying to figure out why grown people are excited about this. Don't we have enough on our plates dealing with REAL teenager mood swings? Why subject ourselves? I mean IIIII have a good reason. I need blog material. The rest of you. *tsk tsk* I am fascinated by this phenomenon. It's like adults buzzing about parent-trap or beach blanket bingo. I will never ever ever understand.

Where was Mr Cullen when all THIS was going on?


*is too a word. No... don't check.

Some of my thoughts, each in 140 characters or less from this week. A summary.

Weekends are slow, what with all of you having such exciting things to do... so why not lazy out with a twitter summary?

• I .have. a. typewriter. in. my. possession. HAPPY DAY!
• So I burned an actual hole in the ceramic top of my stove. It doesn't mean I can't cook.
• Dear Cadbury Mini Eggs, Get in my belly.
• Saw 2 accidents, a woman laying in the middle of the street, gave away a typewriter and paid for a stranger's parking. Weird day.
• Why don't convenience stores deliver? Hm? Sounds like inconvenience stores to me.
• My son is pretending he's a big ball of armpit hair.
• I found a raspberry seed in my hair. This after a lice notice from the school. Nothing is scarier than the idea of having lice. *jeebity*
• I dreamed that I fell into the ocean and nearly drowned because I wouldn't let go of my iron & it pulled me down. IRON? Do I even own one?
• Also, I took a huge risk today and waxed my own eyebrows. Both remain intact! Success.
• I've rolled up 4 rims and not won a thing. WHY DO YOU MOCK ME, TIM HORTON'S????
• Whatsherface in the blue bikini looks like a 3 day old mozzarella cheese stick. #survivor
• Toddlers are not very good at taking care of laptops.
• Saw STOMP. Was pretty awesome. I want to break my garbage cans.
• Wait... I DID break my garbage cans already. With my car. Stomp never did THAT. I rule
• Apparently we're going to be watching, "Manswers."
• Why do I want to see hot tub time machine so badly?
• I'm pretty confident that Kevin James will be getting that Oscar for his inspiring portrayal of Paul Blart, Mall Cop..
• I don't understand what makes a grown person start a twitter account for their cat... and then pretend to BE the cat.. and they are serious.
• It enrages me. The End.
• If my cat ever starts a blog, it'll be about being a total whore.
• ZOIKS. See? Every time I rant about something, 22 people come out of the closet of their own weirdness.
• I would be getting a tattoo right now but the shop is closed???

**Also, Readers, Kirstie Alley talked to me because I told her that she was funny because nothing she says makes sense 96% of the time. Then she tried to explain something she had said. I dunno what she was getting at, but that makes me pretty much the best supporting actress in "Look Who's Talking". Not to mention that yesterday, we looked over into the car next to us in traffic and there was Don Cherry. For real. He was even wearing the cartoon tuxedo that he always wears to games. Now I can say that celebrities swarm me all the time. Back off, celebrities. I need my space. Concentrate on your jobs.

In which I Announce the Winner of the Sock Zombie.

For fairness, I let my kid do the picking from THIS glorious mug of Neil's that I pilfered from his office of animator wonders and treasures:



Also, I let him choose because I hand-cut each entry and placed them into the mug, shook it up and then couldn't fit my manhands into it to retrieve a paper. I should have thought this through. (Sciency-Mathy term about judging measurement) is not my forte.

Here he announces the winner and complains about my handwriting:

Congratulations to KEEPEE-YAN YON AWACK..

You da winna. That's right. Yes- That's how I announced it. You da winna. Say it with me. ya da wanaa. yer der werner. Yer wern... What is wrong with me? Nameless entrant and twitter buddy, 'KeepingYouAwake', who swears to me that he is a deformed freak and only needs a homemade flair button maker to complete him, will hopefully be solaced with a sock monster. Alas, I have no homemade button maker to offer.


Some highlights from his house-of-horrors collection:

"The Wooden Boy. He holds his bowl laboriously, full of fake mustaches. Carved from a single piece of wood, and I am not positive he's not really alive."

The fact that this is used as a fake mustache holder really just goes to show that everything has a use.

"Classic Car Dash for your wall. This is a GIANT art piece, made to look like the interior of a classic car. It has working dimmable dash lights, a working clock and (drumroll) a functional stereo and speaker."

I want this for my wedding.

"A plaster cast of Falstaff from Shakespeare fame. Won this in a random auction box once. Everyone needs a fat guy getting drunk for their desk."

It reminds me of my Dad... who isn't even drunk, nor does he have a beard. But he does take vacation photos of himself comparing his belly to Buddha and such and then puts them on the foozebook, so.. some of these things explain my personality.

So, Guy with no name, Email me your address and stuff and I'll send this dude out. Everyone , go to his website and read the rest of the entry, though. High-larious. These are only three of I think... 34.

I have preeminent guilt for not having consolation prizes for everyone. Like... everyone should get a ribbon. I lived for those when I was a kid and we had to do track meets. Look! I got 8 ribbons! All were green and said 'participant' and were jauntily cut with pinking shears at the bottom, except once when I got 3rd place in high jump. THAT one went on my bedroom wall, framed by my NKOTB posters and album cover (yes- stuck to the wall with a sewing pin) for the Chanda the Zoo's baby Elephant single that my sister bought for me as a souvenir on her class trip to Calgary. Highly sought after. I cherished the crap out of it.

♪ ♫When Kamala found out she was going to be a mooother
She blurted out the news to Bandara the faaaather
And all the animals honked and hooted to each oooother
The zoo is gonna have a baby elephannnnnnt!

Chaaanda the zoo's baby elephant
Born in the mammal house, right in his element
Born here in Calgary and that's very releeeevant
'Cause that makes him an honorary Calga-rary resident
Chandaaaaaaa♪ ♫ ♫

I listened to it a lot, clearly, since I can still recall the lyrics perfectly and instantly. Jealous? Okay maybe I still sing it a lot. Whatev. You don't know me. You don't know what I've been through. Oh right, this has nothing to do with the contest- except that I've made a participant ribbon hoard-award so that all the successful participants can place it into their blog and happily show their depressed parents the communist prize in mediocrity:


I will say that the hand chosen runner up by me, who wins nothing but a wince, though, is KRISTEN, who submitted a portrait of her husband; a terrible portrait of her husband; THIS portrait of her husband:

Nice right? No it isn't. But here is the interesting news about that: It was painted by, in prison by, lovingly by, commissioned by...... John Wayne Gacy (!). I know, I nearly fell into my oatmeal when I read this. Read the story here. This is her husband- painted by Gacy. Think about that. What do you do with a possession such as this? You leave it at a church, that's what. You just take it straight to a church and tell them that your soul is tainted from touching it. There, they will pour holy water all over it, but it will burst into flames and the holy water will just evaporate leaving it intact and stuck to your hands, so you'll try throwing it into a river, but it doesn't sink. It just hovers over the water and flies back to your wall. Right in your dining room. Then Christopher Lloyd breaks through the wall in green dry-icy-smokey-light and tells you that he is looking for this painting for his boudoir, since he's the antichrist. So you get a crow bar and you hit it and hit it and curse it and hit it and jump on it, but NOTHING HAPPENS, or maybe you get sucked into the painting and you have to sit there beside Kristen's husband, badly painted by a serial killer for all eternity. It is just too creepy for this universe. The brown burning flames in the background are an interesting touch, though. You know, it IS pretty neutral and would go with almost any decor.

You know, Kristen says it doesn't look much like her husband. Do you know why, Kristen? Because it looks like John Wayne Gacy minus the mustache. I think it's actually a self portrait and you could definitely sell it on ebay as such. Put them beside each other and you'll see it. Do it.

Maybe he could have like, set up an art stand in the park or something instead of serial killing everyone. That would have been a much more positive outlet.

Anyway, you all are lucky that I was drawing names from el homely purple mug, because that would have been the hands down, undisputable champion of creepy possessions and there were some pretty questionable entries- the highlights of which are to follow. It'll be like the closing ceremony of the the Fuglympics where we all unite and celebrate the diversity of our hoarding disorders.

Thanks for participating you guys! This was great! I can't wait to think up a new contest.

Also, sorry you didn't win, Mom! I did put your name in- since I KNOW what kinds of things you own *cough* drunk cowboy lamps*... *cough* clowns to watch your guests in the guestroom*..... *cough* man sized skeletal robot that you bought for my 5 year old child while I was in the hospital to place beside his bed, insisting that we keep it because you paid $20, even though it gave us all night terrors and said, "We. are. Friends." and had bare eyeballs.... *cough* panda painting from roadside fleamarket, he which now that I think about it, might have also been painted by a serial killer in prison. I know though, you like it.

*EDITED TO ADD- Also, I must have picked up the consolation prize idea from Will in my travels. Credit due for genius gathered.

They mate with their braids.

Me: SoOOoooo, Neilypants, what are we doing for VALENTINES DAAAAAY???

Neil: Um... you said you didn’t want to bother with it.

Me: *Silence and staring for 3 entire minutes* ......... Surely you know that’s female for, “I want you to think I’m special enough to ignore what I said about it not mattering to me and shower me with attention because I totally deserve it despite what I said earlier about it during the test phase....” Plus I ALWAYS make all the plans and you NEVER do blah blah blah...guilt guilt guilt... exaggerate, drag the issue out etc etc

Neil: Um, yeah.. I MADE plans, Asshole. I’m onto you. Secret plans.

Me: You better have. *squint* Secret eh?

Neil: Yeah, I thought we could go outdoor skating in the afternoon, I got a babysitter.

Me: Hmmm... Sounds nice, but I hate skating and does it have to be in the afternoon? I was just outside yesterday, I mean how many times do I have to go outside in a week? A hundred? a hundred and one? But really. That’s our Valentines plan? Skating?

Neil: You are seriously the worst person ever.

Me: I know. I’m sorry. I like your plan. Really I do, let me make it up to you by us going for sushi and seeing Avatar in 3D instead of that skating thing on Valentines. BrrrRrrr... chilly out... brrrr.... You know me, I’m an altruist at heart. Only thinking about you, Darling.

Neil: Romance oozes from your pores

Me: *chewing gum* Huh? Are you saying that I have big pores? I'm working on it okay? I didn't think it was that noticeable... Frig, it's like they just won't stop expanding like little windows opening up on the great skyscraper that is my face... Oooh, this is a pg 13 movie; probably not a ton of blood, eh? Bummer. I hear there are dragony things, though and that they mate with their braids.. SoOoounds ROMANTIC! Maaating with their braaAaaiiiiiids, Neily, their BraaAaaaaiiiiids...... *uncomfortable winking* Hey, do you think I should grow out my hair?

Neil: Okay if you don’t want to go skating, Avatar it is.

Me: I don’t know.. maybe we should see Wolfman instead.

Neil: Seriously? you’re changing the plan again? We’re seeing Avatar

Me: Alright, we’ll see the movie you want, Darling. After all, it’s Valentine’s day. Valentines day is about selflessness.

.....movie watching (simulation).
My goodness, but if we are not just the most attractive pair...

...leaving the theatre (simulation)
Hubba hubba.

Neil: So did you like it?

Me: Um.. It was okay... it was like a Disney teen star. Pretty enough, but not a whole lot to it otherwise, you know? Like... it should just keep on riding the teen-idol train until the looks start dragging and it needs to be digitally enhanced because college isn’t probably going to work out for it anyway. Better to tell it now and save years of heartache and disappointment. Gets yours while you can, Avatar, get yours while your parents are still rooting for you.

Neil: It’s up for an Oscar...

Me: Really? Well I’m sure if it flips it’s hair enough and says, “Oopsydoodles” a lot, it’ll get what it wants. I’m not mad.. It’s just the way it is. After all, it was very very pretty. And hey! Good News! The cat isn’t in heat anymore!

Neil: GARBAGE WATER GARBAGE WATER GARBAGE WATER

Me: HEY *gag* no fair *gag* you can't say that *hack* you know it makes me throw up! *gag* Bad Form, Neil!! *gag*

So there. I’ve shared the romance of my Valentine’s day with you lot, except for the part where I scratched my valentine's day lotto ticket, hoping for enough money to buy a new toilet. I'm stilly madly in lovey with Neil. Gross, eh? I am though.

Now get back to minding your own business and don’t forget to enter my CONTEST.

Dear Oozing, Gum-Chewing Eyelids of Mine,

Your timing couldn't be more exemplary: Halloween! What a wonderful time to have conjunctivitis. It's very festive to go around seeing the world in a cloudy haze. You can all go ahead and turn off your expensive fog machines, now (unless you have one of those cool ones that also makes maniacal laughing sounds... BWaHahAHHaaA! You leave that bad boy on ALL YEAR, you hear me?). All you have to do is simply touch your eyeball to my eyeball and watch the thin string of slime that connects us in conjunctive matrimony as it stretches between our mutual gaze- and then in a few short hours, you'll get the very same, all natural visual effect. I will be starting a pink eye selling stand at the end of my driveway later this afternoon, when all the kids are walking home from school. Or maybe I'll hand out pink eye instead of Halloween treats. Who knows? Heaven knows, I'm full of money saving ideas these days.

What was really fun, though, was when I took 3 kids to the dentist yesterday, not fully realizing that I actually looked like someone had lubricated my eyeballs in vanilla pudding (HA. You'll never eat pudding again. This is great for your diet). They were fine when I left, I swear- perhaps a titch itchy but that can be easily blamed on the kitten (like most things that go wrong in my life. Damn you, kitten, for messing with my taxes!!). By the time I arrived, I looked like a viral monkey.


Now whenever I want to bat my eyelashes at the imaginary pool boy or a Canadian celebrity, such as Rick Mercer, I'll have to put on some kind of germ proof barrier, or wear one of those ducky yellow suits that Dustin Hoffman wore in Outbreak. Then maybe a hole will be accidentally punctured in the suit, leaving everyone vulnerable, as I lean over the hospital bed in despair as Rene Russo dies. I hope you're happy, Conjunctivitis. I hope you're reeeeeal happy.

Love Michelle.

Open Letter to Faulty McFaulterson

Dear $%&*

Thank you for causing my dining room ceiling to start leaking all over the place in 8 different places appx 3 hours before I go for a surgical consultation on my jaw. What I really needed was yet another reason why I am going to look forward to my post operative painkillers, and toilet water filled ceiling pimples are just the ticket. Besides, who needs to shower before going to a doctor's appointment? Doctors totally see filthy, stressed out people EVERY DAY. Today I get to be one. New experiences are important. So it's great that the water is shut off. :D

Now, I realize that you think it's HIGH-LARIOUS that my back teeth do not freeze, even if they inject enough freezing product into my head to cause me to go into shock and then sick a dental assistant on me to watch from 6 inches away looking uncomfortable as I shake more tempestuously than Michael J Fox and Katherine Hepburn making out on washing machine during an earthquake, then turn me upside down on my head so that blood can "go back to my brain", because hey- that's pretty funny in a very tactless way (which is usually the best way). I couldn't even read my Canadian Living at Home magazine about stuffing turkeys with nylons and things while having a seizure in peace. Besides, what's the big deal? I just want my damned tooth fixed. I could have dealt with the pain if I'd have shut my trap and tried to pretend that I wasn't convulsing. "No Dr Nabnorfnsjdnfis53de, YOU'RE shaking. No YOU are. YOU. YOU ARE. NO. YOU ARE." Do you know that the freezing stuff they put in you contains epinephrine? I do. I do know that. Was it also necessary to wreck my house, though? Oh it was. I see.

I'd like to make something else nice and clear straight away, %&$#. If you somehow cause my surgeon to decide that Lamby Baby Bunny Tylenol 3 is going to be good enough after all of this, you can just step away and punch yourself in the throat right now. I'll pause to give you time..... Are sure that was hard enough? Sure, do it again. Better? Good. Me too.

Love

Chelle.

Maybe sometimes you just have to hit rock bottom.

This morning, while slurping away at my coffee and reading my new book about people suddenly turning immortal (no, it's not the bible OR twilight), I found myself humming a tune. Later this morning, while replenishing the coffee maker, I found that I was doing a little boogying with the humming. However, the final straw was when I began brushing my teeth and blurted out a line to a song that I know everyone has now heard, spewing toothpaste suds, eyes shut, toothbrush held in front of me like a microphone. I'm such a twit (an awesome twit). I was downright trippin' the light fantastic.

But then, I opened my eyes and saw standing there, dripping spitty greenish toothpaste froth into the sink, wearing mens pajama pants with Las Vegas print on them, my hair still snarled and mashed to one side of my head and staring at me was my very own reflection. I clutched my toothbrush and I realized what had happened. Miley Cyrus. Miley Cyrus. Oh. My. God. I've been corrupted by Miley Cyrus's new pop song. I do not approve of this.... The horror ran my bones as cold as the first time I looked into a dark bathroom mirror as a child, took a breath and said aloud, "Bloody Mary Bloody Mary Bloody....... Miley?"

You see? This is what happens when you raise your ear from ground. You get pulled in by the music you hear on TV commercials for new cellular ring tones. You start to like it. Apparently I haven't turned on my stereo in a really long time. It's because people need music and when you're starved, any old thing tastes great. Even Miley Cyrus.

But what to do? I feel for the kid. The ultra rich, gorgeous, grinning kid. Poor thing. She was born with real talent that was immediately commandeered and shaped by the despotism of The Disney, like those people who grow cubed watermelons in a plexi box. Cubed watermelons look cool, but did they want to be cubed? Nobody will ever know. And you gotta get 'em when they're still little. All I know is that they just naturally look less appetizing and too stackable. Much like all of the Disney Pop Stars before they were chewed and spat out into the sharks by Disney, used up. Never eased into adulthood with grace, each one has had to 'shake off' her childish image by behaving like a rhinestone crusted superskank for the cameras so that they might shock the world into realizing they are not a Mickey Mousekateer anymore. When thrown in prison, act crazy to keep the masses from raping you. Same survival tactic.

She didn't even have a chance. She really didn't, with her Dad being Billy Ray Cyrus, the one hit sellout country mullet God. He ran out of chances to sell himself out, so he sold his daughter to Disney in a blonde wig, telling himself and everyone why it is perfectly okay and it's different than when other people do it etc etc... Because afterall- she got an allowance juuuuust like a normal, well adjusted teenager. And it has paid off for him in a very big way. She's a bigger star than he could have ever hoped to be himself. However, the price being that all of her natural talent has been squeezed into a Pop Princess, do-it-for-the-tweens, let's do a fashion line, real popstars don't act like regular teenagers, hot pink, made to order, squeaky clean, plexi cube. What's that? An original thought? We have pills for that, Lardass. And they are now superduper rich. Whatever it takes, I guess. I do feel bad for her, because her life was snatched up and unless she performs a miracle, she will be the next gal to be shoved onto the train wreck with Britney Spears and Christina Whatsherface. Hopefully she'll salvage some of her talent and be taken seriously at one point in her life.

Way to crank 'em out there, Disney.

So, I can't help it if a teen focus group wrote a catchy song for her and I've caught the pop princess one hit plague. What can I do? I can't get it out of my head. My mind has betrayed me. I want to shake myself and then give myself a good slap and yell, "Pull yourself together for the love of God!!!" I am doing what I can to quarantine myself and get it out of my system. I'm going to have to give my mind a good washing out. A Joey Ramone Mind Enema (patent pending). That's what. (Tell me that there are support groups. I'm falling apart here.)

In the mean time, I have to go put my hands up, it seems that there is some sort of party in the USA that must be attended to. Or maybe I should just walk into traffic. Or dance. Yeah... I'll dance into traffic. WOoOooOHhooOOOo!

Mullet in a baggie.

Eleanore/Relic/Eleanore. If only we had a mini tuque.

Yesterday was a pretty big event at our house. It was the cutting of the mullet ceremony. Eleanore's baby mullet is now tucked away in a ziplock baggie for when I want to cherish it. She no longer looks like Joe Dirt and is now a princess rainbow strawberry with her little bob.

It's bittersweet... but the mullet was getting less mulletish and more scraggly 'Relic' from 'The Beachcomers. I will always treasure the time in her life when I got to force her to have a mullet and she didn't even know it. Kind of like what I'm going to do to Neil if he ever goes senile or lands in a coma or something... What a hilarious trick! I can't even wait!

The Bureau of Termination (B.O.T.) and awesome photoshops.

Last night I watched The Terminator for the first time. Yes that's right. The first time. Yes I know you're disappointed in me. I know. I should have watched it YEARS AGO. It haunted me for years like a little collection agency, sending me letters through my alphabit cereal.

"Dear Michelle, we can see no reason why you have not watched the Terminator, we have had it playing on the Space channel at very least, monthly since our maiden broadcast on Canadian cable. You have had every opportunity. You have one week to watch it before we begin to take evasive action. Every attempt to contact you has been fruitless. Stop avoiding us. We have even put Arnold in office in California in an effort to have him give you accusing looks through your television. Yes we realize that we should have made him the Prime Minister of Canada or at LEAST given him the order of Canada or put him in the house of commons, because mainly it would be funny to watch the Terminator arguing with Mike Duffy (AKA the Penguin) on the "What's going down on Parliament Hell channel" or made him lead the New Democrat Party into victorious coalition or something...

Anyhow, if you could at least watch 1/8th of it, we'd be willing to forego having you watch the opening credits. This is a great opportunity. We already know that your television is sitting on Ed Broadbent's old teak armoire, which plays into the whole New Democrat thing. What we don't know is why.... But our sources indicate that you have been intending to watch Terminator Salvation and the problem we have with this is that you will not fully grasp why robotanks are driving over perfectly dried skulls if you have not previously viewed the first three."

Kind Regards,
Dale at The Bureau of Terminations I, II , III and IV, Credit Dept." (which was signed in swirly alphabets with little heart marshmallows dotting the I's. I eat a lot of cereal, okay?)

So I submitted the following response via my son's alphagetti:

"ATTN: B.O.T.: I have in fact now watched the first terminator and my fears have been realized. I kind of want a fuzzy, sandy blonde fem-mullet, an aqua jacket with shoulder pads and a vespa that looks like a golden toaster now. I hope you're happy. You have ruined my fashion soul.

Sincerely, Michelle"

See? I can totally pull off the fuzzmullet & shoulder pads. It looks good.

So that's done. Now I have to track down Terminator II or a similar movie featuring Edward Furlong as a greasy Founding-Father-of-Emo teenager.

And this one because, well because who wouldn't want their face to be photomorphed with Arnold's roboskeleton? Also because it will give my ex husband nightmares when he's stalking my blog later... *snicker*

Cyborg Tiger-Unicorns.

So I've been a little MIA and all distracted lately. Distracted from the internet. By things like chores. What gives? Boring eh? In any case, I've just finished a triple espresso latte of secret knowledge & power and I have some important things to share with you in point form now.

• I bought steak today. $40 worth of it. That's 4 steaks at $10 each. I didn't actually mean to do this. I got through the checkout with my squirming, mangled hoard of children and failed to notice how much the steaks were going to be. So we're having steak. I like steak, but the kids don't. Tonight they will see the light, though, because dammit- THAT steak was expensive and there are starving kids in Disneyland to consider. Well, it wasn't THAT expensive as far as steak goes, but when considering that they would much rather eat hot dogs or hamburger prepared in ANY way imaginable (I'm pretty sure they'd eat it boiled in yak milk as long as it is HAMBURGER), it's kind of nerve wracking to buy them $20 worth of steak by accident. Freeze half of it for later, you say? Meh.

• Last night, Neil learned a lesson in giving a litre of orange pop to an 8 year old juuuUUuuust before taking her into a movie theatre. I opted not to go to the movies last night thank GAWD. Eleanore has stopped being fun there, so I got to stay home and watch reruns of True Blood. Anyway, I am trying to stop laughing at the predicament he put himself into, bless his pea pickin' little heart. Orange Pop is to Libby as cocaine speedballs are to a colony of paranoid, manic, manipulative spider monkeys.

• I just realized that I forgot about my bread dough raising and now it's deflated all over the place like a brand new mother's deflated pile of skin for a belly (Show a picture of THAT mess to teenage girls and see if they ever want to have sex). It's going to gross me out now. I should go deal with it. Aaaaaanytime, I'll go check on it. Here I go... Off to clean up the deflated bread dough on my cupboard.... Riiiight now. Hey! Lookie! Sparkles! I'd better keep nice and still here in my chair until they go away. Pretty!

• The new G.I. Joe movie coming out has the following elements featured in it from what I can tell by the preview: Ninjas, submarines, aliens, giant robots, bombs, suspenseful music and a poor plotline just bursting with half-baked conspiracies. If I find out that it has Disco Criminal Samurai Vampire Nuns in it too, I might have to camp outside the theatre until it arrives.

• At bootcamp today, they were painting with epoxy based paint while we worked out. Nothing like huffing paint while over-exerting yourself. It was kind of like high school. I felt extra hilarious and entertaining today. I told Sue to go stick her finger in Instructor-Dale's smoothie. It was solid gold material. Solid. Gold. Oh how we laughed.
  

The End.

That's how they git you. They're under the $#%&@& ground!

So tonight I'm going on a real live date! I've had this post stewing around in my head all afternoon, by the way. Even when I was laying half consciously on the couch, reclaiming the sleep I'd lost by my ridiculous adventure into boot camp at 6 am. Even as Neil and I sat at the restaurant, gnawing on deep fried dill pickles (which I've decided are my newest and most potent vice after triple espressos), I stewed. It rolled and sloshed around in my brain like a half filled barrel of fish aboard an express train to hell, and you can imagine what THAT must be like. I even felt a little sea sick.

So. I wonder what we should do on our date... at first we had considered going and renting a fancy hotel room, but you know what? You can totally nap at mattress world for free, except for that time that I fell asleep there chewing gum- First they wanted me to BUY the mattress, but as if. I told them that there was gum stuck to it and there is no way I'm buying a gummy mattress, so I loaded up my take-out boxes and my sleeping bag and vowed never to return.

No no, naps are an awesome date idea and all, but I'm thinking of something much jazzier. We've already taken Neil's phone to the repair shop to have the glass replaced from an unknown and mysterious incident which caused the glass to crack and has nothing to do with me borrowing it and going out for martinis the other night. It's something else altogether and frankly I'm a little offended at the implicating feeling I'm getting from all of you who are glaring unapprovingly at your monitors right now. I can tell, you know and I'll thank you kindly to knock it off. So basically we can cross that activity off the date night list of fun rendezvous ideas.

I'm a little disappointed that the date isn't tomorrow night as the Mayfair is featuring the movie, Tremors. I haven't seen Tremors in a theatre. I only saw Tremors when I was 11ish years old on late night satellite when I'd snuck up to watch TV one night. I was not allowed to watch Tremors for a very valid reason. That reason is that I may or may not have had the inability to tell horror monsters from reality and I might have believed that there was a very real possiblity that the show was actually a documentary about living beings (because what if it WAS?). Once I saw the monsters in the movies, they probably existed which would lead to my mother being annoyed to death with my paranoia. In fact, after watching it, I distinctly remember playing at my friend, Donna's house, and trying desperately to jump on her trampoline without alerting the underground space worms as to my location so that they wouldn't explode from the earth and slurp me down their terrible, muddy throats, moreover, I had to still appear to be cool and fun to hang around. It was a fine balance to walk.

I also refused to go into the basement and avoided it at all costs just in case a tremor worm burst through the concrete and sucked me into the ground adjacent to me. I felt pretty safe in the winter, thanks to frozen ground- but I developed a genuine fear of making the ground vibrate in any way. So I was a very light stepper. Being pregnant helped that whole stepping lightly precaution. In fact, when I was pregnant, I remember stomping around, hoping that the ground WOULD open up and swallow me. Even if it was just for a few hours of nap time.

Well. I want to let you know that I've gotten over it (pretty much) and in celebration, it would be prudent to watch Tremors at the Mayfair Theatre/renew my very real fear of giant underground predatory worms for my date if a nap is going to be totally out of the question.

Here is a little bit of Sunday morning awesome.

Click here.

This is still bugging me.

So the other day we went to the beach. It was a very nice day. Very nice weather. The same day that I ran up the hill, actually. Anyhow, we'd decided to all stumble around in the sand. The kids were finding shells and dismembered crab claws and garbage etc to stick in their pockets for me to find later and throw up.

Not too far from us, was a nice little family building a sand castle. Oh how delightful it was- until we wandered closer to them and found that the Father was like, the angry, jaded foreman of sandcastle building and his 3ish and 5ish year old crew members were just not making the cut. I'd say borderline ass on the line, almost fired if they didn't watch it.

Never in my life have I seen someone more frustrated at sandcastles being built unevenly by preschoolers:

"No no no, it's NOT STRAIGHT. We have to remake it", and he mashes down the new tower.

"No, it's not symmetrically lining up" Mash Mash

"That will never work!, COME ON! Line it up!"

"I SAID don't put the tower there!"

Among other confidence building statements.

Like, take a step back and a big breath of fresh air, guy. Mebbe count to 12 or something or picture baby chickens and rainbow unicorns for a minute or two. Was he worried that clients were watching? Was he worried that the Mike Holmes of sandcastle critique would pop out of a bush and criticize their shoddy workmanship and he'd never work in this town again? "Gee whiz there Buddy, if that's any indication of how you would build a real castle, you and your crew here are just not going to be able to work for our massive, global sand-home building enterprise. Better luck next time. It's a shame because you stood to make gajillions of dollars. We're also going to be filming a shameful exposé about the substandard work we see here today".


I dunno, Maybe that WAS the case. There were quite a few strangers there after all. Mike Holmes is pretty much everywhere. Him and Christopher Lloyd. Anyhow, the point is that I've finished publicly judging him and it was very cathartic for me.

Carry on.