Oysters, Cat Rumspringa, Pee. Three important topics in one blog.

1. I ate a raw oyster. I was peer pressured. I thought it would be the devil, like cooked oysters are, cooked oysters are the tiny little taste-like-sweat devil... but I sucked it up. Get it? Sucked. It. Up. Like you do with oysters. Not funny? Okay.

I treated it like a little oystery jello birthday shot (which was kindly). Anyhow, turns out that I like slimy, saucy, little grey globs of flesh. The point is that once again I have to take back all the libelous slander I've expressed about oysters the same way I had to backtrack on sushi being yucky... which it isn't... if you don't order it in Northern Alberta at a place called, "Prairie Sushi". What is happening to me? I'm mutating or something. I'm all wild and adventurous.

2. My cat, Smarties, is back from her rumspringa. Her coming of age event where she snuck out and left for two days of sinning. The little ho. Thank the two year old for mangling the screen door so she could get away from the house. Anyhow, she was missing, during which time I knew that if she came home, she'd be pregnant; because she's in heat every 8 seconds. See how that works? So now I've been eyeballing her accusingly every time I walk past her.

"NAPPING, SMARTIES??? ARE YOU?? HMM???? TIRED FROM BEING A TOTAL PREGNANT WHORE?? Huh?? I see you came slithering back home. Make some poor choices did you? If you're pregnant, expect no help from me. You made your bed, cat. Do you even know who the father is??? Probably not, right? What's your next move? Cat welfare?? (Wait... do they have that? Because $$$).... OR maybe you want to go to the doctor and y'know... take care of this....? You could still get your life together, smarties. What about community college?? Was it the feral cats at Parliament, Smarties? Huh party girl? Couldn't resist, eh? Whore."

No really, is there such thing as cat abortions? Probably for a million dollars. Also, then I'd live in eternal guilt for forcing that solution upon my cat. Every time she looked at me in the future, I'd have to avert my eyes and bite my fist. Living forever with her leaving cat-pro-life pamphlets on my nightstand.... writing "KITTEN MURDERER" on my mirror in red lipstick, little cat picketers all around my house forever..... watching her try to herd around and mother the kids' stupid, horribly annoying zhu zhu electric hamster pets...... Waiiiiiit..... this could work.....

Oh fine. I'm going to hell for talking about cat abortions. I get it. Stop glaring at me through your fancy cd roms. She might not actually even be pregnant. Maybe she really listened to the talk I gave her about the facts of life. Maybe I'll just make her wear a scarlet letter.



3. Don't you think it would make more sense if the old fairy tale was, "The Princess and the Pee"? Because a pea? PEA? No... but if you pee in my bed, I'm going to get really princessy and cranky with you.

Me: OH EM GEE. Did I just feel something wet?
Bed: Yah. I'm peed. Everyone is waiting to see how you react
Me: WHAT? Everyone who?
Bed: The prince.... well Neil. He won't marry you if you're not grossed out.
Me: What?
Bed: Yeah. But you passed. You win.
Me: Do I? Do I really win?
Bed: Yep. There is only one loser here and it's me.
Me: Ha. Jokes on you, bed. I'm going to go sleep in the guest room
Bed: Yeah... Guest bed is a little starved for attention... you might not like what you find there. It took it to the next level so to speak... to see if you're a Queen and stuff. Think "princess and the corn".....
Me: Ooooh... nooooo... Oh man, Bed, you've always got my back. Can I get you anything?
Bed: Yah. A towel and some purell.
Me: Sooooo sleeeepy......glaughhhhhh
Bed: Yeah but could you... just...
Me: Crashing in 3.....2..........1
Bed: Hey... pssst.... wakey wakey.....about that towel?.... Hey! *shake shake*
Me: *snore*
Bed: please?

That's what I was thinking about as Barney the dinosaur sang to kids about the importance of getting married as soon as possible on tv... or something (Ha. tell that to SMARTIES *zing*). I wasn't paying that much attention, as I was imagining what I would do if someone peed in my bed to find out if I was a princess or not- rather than just ask.

Well aren't you going to ask? If you don't ask, I'm just going to go ahead and sleep on the couch.

Seeing Beer Dogs for the Criminally Insane.

You know what gives me a red rump? There is no bud light lime in any of the stores in Ottawa anywhere. Everyone is sold out. Which one of you is buying it all??? Huh? Get some help, eh? Stop using up all my beers. Sure- I only looked in one store and then just went home, but I'm just going to go ahead and assume by the condescending smirk the beer store clerk gave me when I asked if they had any while pointing at their giant poster of it, that nobody has any. Nobody. Well maybe the french do, but Gatineau is alllLLLllllll the way over there. Also, I am not pleased that the Canadian beer geniuses haven't come up with a Canadian version of lime infused beer, or if they have, they've forgotten to send me a registered notice about it in the mail. It had better not be Kokanee, either. Ew. Not that I would normally touch a regular budweiser with a million bazillion foot pole. The lime kind is A-OK. The only thing more depressing than this whole scenario is reading Post Secrets.

All this after spending the afternoon at the Canadian seeing eye dog farm. I'm not joking. We went for a tour because hey, free donuts and water! Also educational stuff for the kiddies. But it was blistering hot out and all I could focus on was all the bud lite lime I was going to purchase on my way home. The dogs were pretty nice, though. I thought about putting one in my vehicle, because hey... it's not like anyone would see anyway, right? Plus they said that the dogs are totally free, and I think only giving them to the blind is discrimination against the visually unimpaired. Oh man. That was kind of a tactless joke, eh? I'm a jerk. Sorry visually impaired people. If it makes you feel better, I owe money on my taxes. Also, FYI, I put money in the plastic dog and everything, don't write me hate letters, k?. The universe has rebalanced itelf. No bad Karmel for me.

What I should have done, though, if I'd have only known about this whole no lime beer shenanigan, was stop at every beer store on the way home until I found my lime beer. I need a lime beer finding dog. A seeing lime beer dog if you will. I would name him Beery the Beerdog, or Fender.... or Mister Sprinklybeer or Limey Beerstard.

The End.

PS.. check this out. Radioactive, Conjoined, Mutant Strawberry!:

Awesome.

This post brought to you by: Booze in my breakfast cereal.

Well. It's 8:06 am and I have had a most wonderful start to my day/continued day from yesterday- seeing as nobody got to sleep- thank you Eleanore's new tooth. We awoke to a chattering baby girl in her crib and an aroma resonating in through our nostrils and out through our ears. At first I thought it might have been my breath. Then I glared at Neil because surely it was HIS. Nope. It all registered in my brain too quickly.

Eleanore pooped the crib, then did some artwork. The little blessing from Heavenly Heaven who I love and adore and forgive and cherish from her piggy tails to her poop caked feet. If you could see the grin plastered across my face, you'd know how much I mean it.

The angel of reek.

Now I'm not going to be one of those parents who claims that the Virgin Mary appeared in the baby's poop-art but I'm telling you- it might have been the last supper (Get it? OH so FUNNY. No it wasn't. Sorry). No it was just the regular poop smears. Don't tell Neil, but so far she's no Picasso. Bev Doolittle maybe.... but not Picasso.

I'm delirious. I didn't sleep. It's not my fault that I am making vague-puns. I have acid reflux, too. I'm all out of rolaids. I woke up to a poopchild. I'm falling apart! Don't leave me.