Dear Self

Here's a handy tip: Yesterday's cold coffee goes down the drain and not into the coffee maker's fresh water receptacle. Have fun cleaning it out since you turned it on in your simpleminded stupor and let it singe the coffee into burned coffee mud in the bottom of the incredibly difficult to clean, made-for-water-only boiler.

Thanks. Smells awesome.

Love Self.

PS. You look like hell today. Do your hair.

PSS. Why would I do my hair? because headscarves.

PSSS.. Headscarves, Self? I suppose you're wearing jogging pants, too.

PSSSS... Uh... it's LAUNDRY day.

PSSSSS. Flylady.com says that you should get dressed to your shoes EVERY DAY.

PPPPPPS. We gave up on flylady, remember?

PSPSPSssS.. What's on the toast? Peanut Butter?

PssPPpsppPP... Yep.

PpppPSSSSSSS. Gimme a bite.

I was thinking

You know, for all the stupid ideas that I come up with and actually tell people, there are at least 987932346636.7 extra, extra, extra stupid ones that even I go, "like, what are you doing, Self? Go do the dishes. We both know that will never work out, secondly you can't even shoot fire out of your eyes. So move on, Self. Sure, it'd be an interesting art project to sneak alligators into strangers' homes, hide, and take pictures of their reactions, but let's not tell anyone that you thought of that while you were blow drying your hair, okay? They don't understand your genius and I don't think they're ready. Also, you live in Canada, where are you going to find alligators in January? At the reptile Zoo? No I don't think they let you borrow them. No not ever. No, not even on your birthday. No I don't think the reptile zoo will help you do this. Put down the phone."

So then I say to Self, "Look, Self, you self righteous bastard, the world turns on ideas, okay? I have to contribute to the turning of the world, otherwise gravity will get all screwed up and everyone will fall off Terra Firma... unless we all had world handles to hang onto. We'd have to make lots of them so that people could get from place to place. We'd develop pretty strong arms. We'd probably eventually evolve a little... but what would we do with the babies? would we have to strap them on papoose style?"

Self: Did you just say, "Terra Firma AND world handles??"

Me: NO. I thought it. And then I wrote it and I fully intend to click the publish now button when I'm all done here.

Self: Alright. Go read a book.

Me: I have been. Remember? I've been reading Chuck Palahniuk books. They're all kinds of weird.

Self: you're weird.

Me: And hungry. Time for some toast and jam.

Self: OooooH! Homemade raspberry!

Me: Let's Go!

Self: Hurrah!!

Something like that. So all 68 of you may be surprised to find out that I'm actually kind of a freak (let's say rare gem instead). Sure, you think about me all the time and imagine what it's like to meet me and get my autograph but please keep in mind that on the day the world gets to meet me and I have my fancy roboto-throne, that I'm just a person like you: thinking thoughts so stupid that I can't even tell anyone about them. Right?

Also, look what I made today:

Annnnnnd publish.

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.

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*

Dear Sushi (specifically spicy salmon rolls),

I am very sorry that I ever doubted you. I am sorry that I made my first sushi experience years ago in Grande Prairie, Alberta rather than a proper sushi establishment and that I snuck to the bathroom to spit you out because I just couldn't get you into my belly and all the sushi chefs laughed at me on account of I had to walk past them to get to the ladies' room while I tried very discreetly not to gag with a sushi filled cheek on one side of my face and my tongue trying desperately to get away from the sushi on the other while my eyes watered and I kind of drooled. I still remember that that garbage receptacle beside the toilet was blue and that you were not supposed to put your needles in it. It wasn't your fault that those chefs made you super gross.

It's all changed as of today thanks to a proper restaurant and my new best friend, wasabi- and I am going to think about you and maybe even write poems about you until the sushi place opens tomorrow.

Salmon in my guts

Nobody cooked you at all

Read about vampires.

Good haiku, eh?

Next adventure: Sake.. o'sake sakety sake.

Love Chelle.

Note to Self:

Don't microwave your slippers again.
Love Self.


Dear Self,
You don't have to tell me twice.
From: Self.

Self, What gets the smell of melted rubber out of your microwave? -Self.

Self,
Try microwaving a lemon
Love Self

Self, Have you done that before? -Self.

Self,
No. Dummy.
Love Self.

Dear Self,
Look. they are supposed to be magic-bag microwavable slippers, OKAY?
Love Self.

Self- Yeah.. watch for those zippers next time. You nuke the INSERTS. Love from: Self.

Self- good tip. Love Self.

Dear Western Canada,

I am sorry that we brought the zombie flu to your side of the country on the airplane the other day.   I assure you that despite my family's behavior and appearances at the time, we did not have any infected, illegal monkeys on board that we were aware of, however I may have to go through my luggage a second time to be totally sure.

So later this evening, when you are pretty sure that your insides have melted, please think of us and how I've apologized so very nicely and remember that at least 4/6 of your family are not throwing up while hurdling through the air at 30,000 feet, during which time an entire flight crew tries to murder you all with their eyes for coming on board despite the fact that you were clearly undead.

Unfortunately, I didn't see a provision in the Westjet small print for zombie travel.  Had I seen such an article, I most certainly would have made arrangements.  However, everyone knows that unfortunately, once infected with zombie germs- you really only have a few minutes before you, yourself turn into a zombie.  

So either one of the kids smuggled in a sick monkey or that security guy at the airport wasn't really checking my ears for bombs.

Anyhow,  Robert Neville will save you. I  have faith.  He's dealt with this particular flu bug before.  Buy gravol.

Once again, super sorry.

Love Us.

Dear Pomeroy Hotel Staff,

I am sorry that my parents accidentally let this owl go in the lobby of your hotel, then freaked and ran out to their vehicle.

They do things.

Love Michelle.

Dear Self

Yesterday's microwaved coffee is not good for your soul.

Love Chelle.

__________

Attn: Chelle

But it's so much easier than making new.

Love Self

____________

Dear Self,

So you'd rather have radiated, stale coffee than make fresh?

Love Chelle

___________

Attn: Chelle,

It's Kona.

Love Self.

__________

Dear Self,

I see.

Love Chelle.