Friday, November 30, 2007

Superficial Surrey



These two fellas showed up on our street today and painted our lamp post. Sort of makes me wonder if some Surrey bureaucrat has been reading my blog.


Maybe next they'll pave the road leading down to my neighbourhood, the one riddled with black varicose veins.




Better yet, maybe they'll even manage to clean up King George Highway and deal with the drugs and crime and prostitution instead of concerning themselves with the salmon spawning creek that aligns my property by constructing a fugly fence with a warning posted "NO DUMPING" because fish live here. And by DUMPING, I'm talking lawn clippings, dead flowers, Fall leaves that are not even disposed near the water. And don't give me this dirt saturation bullshit either.



What's more annoying is in the 9 years I've lived here I have not seen ONE GODDAMNED SALMON, not ONE! I've sure seen a lot of Safeway shopping carts down there though, garbage, car parts, debris, debris, debris.



Nope, but let's get these street lights all purdy because we are the city of parks, don'tcha know. And we're going to pretend everything's hunky-dory because we've been painted over, we smell like new paint, look like new paint.....and dry like paint.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

The Sushi Study

I have had my children participate in many clinical studies specializing in vaccine trials since they were babies through TASC Research Services. If they fell within a certain age group we were called upon, and I took the opportunity to participate in these important studies to advance vaccine availability. Most recently, Sabrina was in the Herpes Simplex/ Hepatitis A vaccine study.

About a month ago we received invitation to participate in a Five-Year Immunogenicity Follow-up Study on the use of a vaccine to protect against diphtheria, tetanus, and pertussis (whooping cough), which Brandon received exactly five years ago. This new study is to describe the persistence over time of antibodies to the afforementioned, which means all they want is his blood....and this time they are going to pay $50.00.

Usually the studies are long, you need to chart your child everyday and keep notes and records of swollen needle sites, fever, rash, etc. and you were telephoned by a nurse to describe symptoms, everything and anything....for free. I certainly didn't expect compensation to receive the newest and greatest of medicines for my children.

Tonight Brandon signed on the dotted line, slowly and neatly, with such dedication and pride filling out a form which was being witnessed by a nurse, and he himself, agreeing to the study and allowing them to take his blood.

And with his 50 bucks, he wanted to give to his mom and dad to pay bills.

Tonight I went and bought him sushi for dinner, his favorite...and bought extra for his lunchbox tomorrow.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

The Panhandler

I deposited a cheque in the ATM last night at my regular bank. It was already dark, a bit of a drizzle, so Brandon wanted to wait in the Hummer in the parking lot, which is not visible from the cash machine. But, I always lock the doors and I know Brandon is familiar with stranger-danger and all that.

As I deposited my envelope I saw him walking across the street. "Please, God, please don't make him speak to me", but I knew just by the way he was dressed, his eyes on mine and me diverting my glances would not stop him from approaching.

So he stood and waited beside me until I looked at him again.

"Lady, can you spare some change, I haven't had anything to eat".

There I am with my bank card in the machine, a withdrawal of money still clicking away inside it, which clearly indicates a dispense of 20's only, and I've suddenly felt a rage, a flaming fire of fury erupting from my toes, straight up to my gut and out through my mouth:

"How dare you! How dare you ask for money from someone standing at an ATM machine....How dare you!"

"Just some change so I can eat" as his 300 lb frame jiggles up and down in anticipation of receiving a 20 dollar bill.

At the top of my lungs I screamed, "get the fuck away from me, how dare you ask for money...YOU'RE GOING TO ROB ME, AHHHHHHHHH".

I have never seen a panhandler run away from me so fast. Except, he runs to the Hummer and begins to knock on the window, figuring Brandon might have some change.

Well, that was enough. I noticed there was someone still in the bank, so I began banging on the glass door, yelling for assistance to walk me to my vehicle.

A bank employee and a security guard escorted me to the parking lot, as panhandler strolled off to a lady walking in the lot, by herself, in the dark. Geez. I mean, this guy was creepy.

I hate Surrey. I really, really do. And there has been a noticeable increase of panhandlers, drifters and rehabilitation complexes being approved by City Council....cripes, you can't even go to the liquor store without seeing a panhandler passed out near the door, cardboard sign pleading for money, or a shopping mall, or Safeway...always a beggar wanting the loonie from your shopping cart.

When I got home I felt really bad about the whole thing, mostly because if he'd ask me anywhere else other than an ATM, I would have tossed him some change, like I always do. I wish I could have told him that, but I think I scared the crap out of him.

This morning I got my period, which explains the flaming fire of fury. Poor guy. Poor timing.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Sasquatch, Fuckquatch and Transquatch

So here's what's pissed me off today:

2010 Winter Olympics unveiled three official mascots for the 2010 Winter Games and Paralympics to hundreds of excited schoolchildren today, coincidentally at my daughter's high school, except she wasn't allowed to attend because she was too old. Instead, they bused in a bunch of 6,7,8 year olds to hooray and cheer these figures, who look a lot like the Animee characters Hello Kitty and Pokemon...with the big black, sad eyes, puffed cheeks, Japanese cartoons.

The mascots were designed to resemble cartoon-like versions of a snowboarding sea bear (Miga), a sasquatch (Quatchi) and a winged "animal spirit" resembling both bear and bird (Sumi).

Sumi, for instance, is described as "an animal spirit who wears the hat of the orca whale, flies with the wings of the almighty thunderbird and runs on furry legs of the black bear."

Hello, my name is Colleeni, but you can call me "the fat white chick who rides a Hummer, but floats like a butterfly, and has hairy legs of Colleeni and, did I mention wears a hat, oh spirit".

Just adding 'spirit' makes all the difference.

Okay enough said, none of these characters represent British Columbia whatsoever, in likeness, in name, or in spirit...despite pointing out that the woods-living Quatchi is a big fan of hockey, with dreams of one-day being an NHL goalie. Oh, fuck off!

Nutfuck next door is at it again. Remember the Wonder Bread sandwich bag incident...well, yesterday she placed her garbage bin on our side of our property, where we store our garbage bin and bags. Normally, on this street, you place your bins on the right side of your driveway, like it has always been.....but NOOOOOO, fucktard is mad, we can tell by her plan of attack.

So hubby comes home from work and puts out the trash, but he places our stuff where he has always put it, and it's right up against her bin....making for one large pile for the garbage truck, hell, they may even pass us by as we are definitely over the limit of collection. We have one large plastic bin and 4 plastic bags full of shitty diapers, and she just has her one plastic bin and a 'blue box'. The trash collector may think this is all coming from one house!

But don't fret, dear readers...one hour later, I spy her on the street, in the first beautiful snowfall of the season, in a skimpy shirt, slippers...moving our garbage bags two inches off to the side, as to not touch her precious garbage bin.

Now, is this mental, or what...what's more mental is that I made hubby go out and put them back....HA! Gonna play with my garbage, eh! I don't think so, bitch.

Sabrina's orientation and mobility teacher had session again today, usually Tuesdays, and usually during gym period, which really pisses me off. Sabrina loves gym, but this idiotic special ed teacher is more concerned about her time schedule and picking up her own kid at daycare to make my kid miss something she truly loves. I'm going to erupt soon ... trust me.

Today, I learned Sabrina took a transit bus ALL BY HERSELF. This may seem strange to other parents of teenagers, geez, what's so hard about that. Being visually impaired makes it hard and my kid has never had to rely on transit....she has me or her dad.

So, okay, she's going to have to learn sooner or later, right? But I have some serious concerns about it...how she is taught.

Teacher: Just tell the bus driver you want off at Hyland.

Sabrina: But Hyland is 5 miles long...where?

Teacher: Oh grow up, figure it out...don't you know where you live?

Sabrina: No.

Well, okay, she does know where she lives, she can walk to Tim Hortons and Dairy Queen, etc. but she is always with a friend. This time she was alone, on a stinky bus, full of eager hindus wanting to get close. Well, this is what she told me!

I asked her how the bus driver knew when to stop near our street, and she said, he stops at all of them. I have since corrected her...explaining there is a bell, string pulley thing you yank to announce your intentions to stop at the next bus stop.

But then, I wondered, shit....it's been 20 years since I've been on transit....has it changed? Do we now just yell out "I want my mommy!"

Sunday, November 25, 2007

What not to Talk about at Parties...Politics, Religion & Fart Missiles

I suppose my questioning why gov.bc.ca in an open forum has worked; they didn't reply back, nor have they been back since.

Now, I'm not some sort of paranoid freaktoid, thinking Big Brother is watching, but I certainly do see some red flags as to why someone, obviously employed by the government of British Columbia, would find interest in my itsy-bitsy blog, better yet, use MY TAX DOLLARS to peruse it, utilizing government time and resources.

Let's face it, we all tend to drift away from our business tasks at hand and may possibly end up at poker.net or whatever, and if this government employee is here just for the fun of it, then okay, let's create a secret code between us...something cool, like Red October, Red October, halt or we will shoot.

I love that movie!

We watched LIVE FREE or DIE HARD over the weekend, you know ...Bruce Willis, Yippee Ki Yay Bruce Willis...if you're into crazy, high tech stunts, well...this movie rocks....it's non-stop action with dangerous stunts after stunts. Believe you me, get this one on video now...it's better than all the other Die Hard movies.

Now what else, oh yeah....an old friend contacted me via Facebook the other day, which was a pleasant surprise. Except I accidentally "DENIED" her being a 'Friend' because I am not at all familiar with Facebook. After figuring out my mistake, I requested her to be 'my friend'. And she accepted me, so I learned all about her today, about her kids...some who are now married, or teaching English in Korea, a nice history to catch up on. She mentioned in her comment how I taught her to "fight back" and how she does that now and how interesting life turns out.
I emailed her back telling her I didn't recall this, but as I sat typing that message, I kinda' made a connection, I've always been a fighter and didn't realize it.

What I wanted to tell her, but didn't, was what she taught me...how to light fart missiles....lay on the ground, spread your legs open, flick a lighter at your blow hole, and FART....and WHOOSH, a flame shoots out of your ass.

It was such a nice day today, as hubby strung more lights on the house, but then, of course, fucktard neighbour had to come over to COMPLAIN. This time it was about a Wonder Bread Sandwich Plastic wrapper that had wondered onto to her driveway last Tuesday. "You buy another plastic garbage bin...I don't like your sandwich bag on my driveway...etc etc." Good thing I was inside taking a pee. Else, you know...she knows my bladder habits all too well.

Hubby just smiled back, ignoring her and kept stringing lights because we know this pisses her off...because her house has none.
She'll probably put some lights up on bushes two days before Christmas, like last year, or the year before.

They like to talk the talk about how Christian they are, yet we all know it's more like, CHEAP CHRISTIANS, envious of their neighbours...and who knows what other sins they commit day in and day out...envy, pride, sloth....WRATH. Yes, it's a constant WRATH with that nutcase.

Sabrina attended a Low Vision Clinic last Friday. I wasn't there, it's something that inhibits her daddy from sleeping well at nights. It seems wherever we go, doctors upon specialists want to see what Stargardt's looks like....as they drop the burning solution in her eyes. Test upon test and finally they present her with equipment she needs to SEE, a monocular...a very expensive piece of equipment. At least now, she can cross the crosswalk without being hit by a car. They gave her a bunch of other stuff, too, but right now I'm more interested in the friends she's been bringing home lately. I overheard one statement: "sex is better when you're sober"....so, once I finally get my kid alone, we'll be having a BIG talk.

Cousin Phil came over Saturday. He apologized. I apologized, sort of. So it's the end of that. I hate fighting with words...I'm just too good at swears. It's better live!

Friday, November 23, 2007

gov.bc.ca

Why are you reading me?

Are you watching me?

Bring it on, beeeatch.

I've got lots of things to say.

Walk the Cat..but can you Talk the Cat



AND HERE'S WHAT THEY REALLY SAID TO EACH OTHER..............

The Window Method


There have been many constants in my life.

Windex is one of them.

I don't care what anyone else says, Windex is the best cleaning solution on the market, hands down. Forget about the cheaper, generic stuff...you need twice as much to shine...shine...shine.

And this is true with paper towels, toilet paper, ketchup, meat...don't buy the cheaper stuff because you end up paying more for it in the end, then you get all pissed off wondering "why didn't I fork out the extra 1.50 for the tried and true".

Let's face it....we all love sales.

I sent hubby to Safeway to buy me some Windex and he brings home something called METHOD.

It's blue, but it smells like peppermint and is contained in a bottle straight out of design school.....

and you know what....I'M A LIKIN' IT !!

Wow!!! and it works fantastic, smells great, looks modern...this stuff is way cool.

At first you wonder about the name, sounds like a birth control thing, but lately I've been seeing their unique shaped bottles popping up in Safeway shelves, the hand soap, the laundry....

and it's safe for the environment....not that it factored in on my shopping habits, but BONUS....

..they say they made their solution blue because they believe consumers think window cleaners come in the colour blue. Admittedly, who wants to fool with a tried and true.....

...now that's smart business.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Gagging and the Pee Reflux

Bladder incontenence...this is what I've got, the unintentional loss of urine while gagging a stink away, or a disgusting task that makes one gag.

Whatever you do, don't GOGGLE 'gagging and peeing' you get a bunch of stuff you don't want to know...

I've noticed these past few months I can't stand the smell of shitty diapers, feminine napkins, toilet bowls or vanilla perfume. Usually I can change a kid's diaper, no problem, but when I have to clean the bum of a 5 year old, because they don't wipe good enough, I find I gag....a belching air heave...as I take two scoops of toilet paper to rid him of possible shit skids on his jockeys.

Or cleaning up a puddle of pee from the kid who couldn't reach the toilet on time, or when I clean the garbage bin of my teenaged daughter, her sanitary napkins losely wrapped, the aroma of her menstrual cycle lofting into my nose....I gag....and I pee....I can't help it. And my bladder is not even full....yet, I can't control this reflux.

And the thought of another person touching my blankets and pillows grosses me out, the thought of someone's finger draping over my dinner plate as they serve me, and I wonder if they just peed and held his dinky in that same hand, and I gag....and I can't even control that part anymore...the heave, the gag, the wetness.

Maybe I'm just becoming a recluse, like Howard Hughes.

"I'm not a paranoid deranged millionaire. Goddamit, I'm a billionaire."

Throughout his life he shunned publicity, eventually becoming a recluse but still controlling his vast business interests from sealed-off hotel suites....The Bayshore Inn in Vancouver, British Columbia, for example.

In another elusively Hughesian airlift he was spirited out of Managua and moved to yet another bank of upper-story suites, this time on the 19th and 20th floors of the opulent Bayshore Inn in Vancouver, B.C.

When Hughes arrived in Vancouver, according to Canadian Customs Officer, he was wearing pajamas, robe and slippers.

What would Hughes do in Canada? He was not there on business, an aide insisted. "He'll spend the days sitting and watching movies."

See, I told you so.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Monday, November 19, 2007

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Released 1998

Brandon received a respectable "B" for his speech on Languages, posted elsewhere in my blog.

Following are memorable passages from hubby's favorite movie, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, a twisted, outlandish venture into the mind of a warped junkie, a reporter who is traveling to Nevada in order to cover a Hells Angels motorcycle race, along with his Samoan attorney Dr. Gonzo.

Brought to the screen by Terry Gilliam ("Monty Python and the Holy Grail," "Brazil"), one can only expect the movie to be strange, but it is severely distorted to the point of insanity. What is even more intriguing is Gilliam's use of his camera, cinematography and backgrounds -- the camera essentially takes on the role of a third person, as it is constantly moving, positioned at awkward angles against harsh, dizzying backdrops, wallpapers and carpets.

Written by Hunter S. Thompson, the book is an account of Thompson and his attorney's trip to Las Vegas during early 1971, perfectly matched by the acting of Johnny Depp and Benicio del Torro.



I have been to San Francisco twice. I was 19 years old when me and my sister decided to take a trip, just because. San Francisco, just because.

We were both living at home at the time and had lots of money to spend, no boyfriends and we were both skinny at the same time. Usually one is fat, one skinny, the other skinny and one fat, long hair...short hair. It is difficult to keep up the twin appearance.

On the airplane down from Vancouver, we met two other girls, Maureen and Irene...and if anybody hit on us, the "oh sure" looks we received on introducing ourselves as Maureen, Irene, Corinne and Colleen. They were 21 years old and also decided to take a trip, just because.

We met up several times during our stay in San Francisco, but on one thrilling night we all took a taxi to Oakland, where Jefferson Airplane...Starship were playing at a local pub, a very small venue. I desperately wanted to see the band play, as I actually was a fan of their music, but because we weren't 21 years old the pub owner wouldn't allow us in, which was a shame, because across the border in Canada we were legal age.

The second time I was in San Francisco I went with hubby and we sailed down from Vancouver on a spectacular cruise ship. However, this spectacular ship also had a spectacular casino, where I lost our trip money spectacularly. Thank God we pre-purchased our rental car, where we ended up sleeping for a few nights.

I was 21 years old, making desperate phone calls to the wire service to ask when the money would arrive from my folks. Again, across the Golden Gate Bridge, we were stranded in Oakland because we didn't have fare to pay the toll.

And despite being down and out, cold, hungry and without cigarettes, my memories of my trip with my sister flooded me, covering me like the San Andreas winds, thinking how I am of age now....and DAMN!...wouldn't it be nice to see Jefferson Starship.



I searched through YouTube to find the best memory I had of Jefferson Airplane and found lots of the reformed Jefferson Starship stuff, yet even though I wasn't at Woodstock and was too young to understand it or it's musicians at the time...like most of us now, we were somehow there.

Sunday, November 18, 2007

You Talking to Me ?

I had this sudden realization I had not posted anything today, except maybe edit some old posts. Then I thought, Hey!, maybe I'd be ... like some sort of winner in the NaBlowMe group of the month, since I've been posting every day. (Turns out I missed the 14th, but does double posting in a day count?) But don't fret I tell myself, turns out there's another group in blogland who challenge each other by how many words they write in a month....oh, woo hoo me...I'd win for sure!

99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer...and should one of those bottles happen to fall
98 bottles of beer on the wall....


Anyways, I'd thought I would leave you all with an interesting tidbit about one of my favorite movies "Taxi Driver" also known as "Chauffeur de Taxi" in the foreign tongue of my country...sort of takes away the appeal, doesn't it.

Directed by Martin Scorsese, the script simply states: TRAVIS STANDS IN FRONT OF A MIRROR.

...and with no scripted words, dialogue, the following IMPROVISED scene was brought to you by the genius of Robert de Niro himself...
(I bet you didn't know that...I didn't either...acting is hard work)

Saturday, November 17, 2007

What's in your wallet?

Before...



and after.....with light sets only....1200+...the double light bulbs.

Sunday, Nov18:
Tomorrow we will hang the 20+ years accumulation of ornaments on the tree....today, hubby strung the lights outside but had difficulty with the roof being too slimey, slippery....it's at least a three week project to get all the decorations in place.

Saturday, Nov17:
Today we brought out the 12 ft x 4 ft box that inhabits precious space in our garage....yes, it's the christmas tree, and once assembled stands about 12 feet high. The picture is blurred as there wasn't enough light, but I wanted to ensure I got a "before" shot before the lights and decorations are put on tomorrow.


We string many....many lights to illuminate this tree..and it becomes the focal point in our street and when people drive by the main road nearby it's funny to hear the sudden SCREEEECH, as they brake to catch view of it. We also decorate like crazy outside, too.....

So, here it comes, folks...another Christmas, another stampede at the shopping malls, more bills and more stuff....

From the Mouth of Babes...Ignorance or Puke?

I suppose when you're young and don't know any better, it's appropriate to post pictures of obese woman on your website, thinking it's really funny and maybe you got a few laughs from your buddies living far away, yet two weeks previous this same person was talking about his sister who was once inflicted with anorexia nervosa and almost died.



So now I ask, which is more offensive to post....

the fat chick

or

the skinny chick

Being a mother of a 15 year old girl and having her friends over everyday, it's a warning signal to listen for, when they begin to think they are fat, when they are not...it's almost a 24 hour struggle with appearance. Oh, sure, I could have said nothing, but how would these young people learn without their elders stepping in and saying "hey, just wait a minute".

And this same person believes it's appropriate to post pictures of your kids with their address in full view .... questioning, not only my concern, but their grandmothers - my mom - and we are simply being extreme. You know what, if you're going to criticize my mom, you better be leary of the wrath I will impale on yours. All you had to do was photoshop the address out and not send two fucking emails to say how wrong I am.

Up until 2 months ago we never knew this person, never met him before, yet we welcomed him into our home as if he was our long lost son. I don't think he'd appreciate a 21 or 22 year old boy telling his own mother to "lick my balls" and apologize if you want to see me again. Guess what, I will never apologize for your mistakes and misdirected attempts at humour and your immaturity to copy comments to your blog, in a long winded attempt to convince yourself "you're right".

... and this is why this person is no longer welcome here, and certainly he will not be missed by either my husband or my children, because we never knew you. But I sure know what sort of a person you are now, don't I. The question is, does your own sister know you and did she think your blog was funny?

Update: I understand my hubby called to apologize for my actions, however, this is not from me. Hubby still wants a connection to his family, despite the fact we never see them, call them, email, etc. Hell, none of them called on his 50th...so what family is he talking about?

Nov.17 ...11:30pm
Phil, you sure are mouthy when you've had a few beers, eh...do you actually read my blog, do you at least accept some responsibility in this mess? No wait, don't tell me, you'd rather continue spewing on your blog that --no one reads--- except for some lonely..okay, you know what...I'm not even going to respond to your friends....I am a mature woman, with a husband of 27 years and two wonderful children. I own a fantastic house and drive a Hummer...and my Christmas will continue as it always has,

WITHOUT YOU !

So, while all this is going on, where in the hell is your father...you'd think a mature man would recognize an ill-behaved child and TELL HIM TO FAM A LA BOUCHE.

Friday, November 16, 2007

Un, Deux, Twat !

I've been really pissed off these past two days and I can't seem to shake it. O the unfortunates who happen up0n my rage...in this case, the French. I hate them. Not the real ones in Europe, I'm talking about those cheeseheads in Quebec...and to think I went and married one of them.

Hubby got hurt at work yesterday...fell off a loading truck, between the loading door and the truck ramp thing, where it should have been flush, was a separation of about 10 inches. Not realizing this, he stepped off the ramp into the hole and his leg got squished between the two.

He said he has never been in so much pain, his legs spread in unnatural position, one up...one down, and he's trying to calm the truck driver from going into shock, wishing he could scream out in agony instead. Once inside the warehouse and as management was alerted, hubby hobbled to the bathroom to look...as he pulled down his jeans there was a knock on the door.

It's the office lady, the one who really is in charge, and hands hubby a camera, "take pictures" she orders. But he can't, he's in pain trying to twist around the camera for an angled shot of his upper thigh and bum, now swollen and severely bruised. He can barely stand.

So office lady looks at the digital pictures and decides they're not good enough, "pull down your pants". I suppose it could be worse, they could have had Svend from interior design do it. Thing is, no employee should have to pull they're frickin' pants down for management, however the irony, to prove injury. He shouldn't have been on the truck in the first place...as they delegate outside job responsibilities. Then they had the nerve to send him out on one last service call before ordering him to see a doctor!

The fact some other lady saw my hubby posing in his Joe Boxers really isn't the issue....it's what if it were me? First of all, I'd be telling the skank to shove the camera up her poo-tang, and second, I'd be more flustered by the panties I'd be wearing....are they clean, are they my special monthly ones, am I wearing any?

But, I have no concern over hubby's gonchies...which is perfect intro to a previous post:

Hubby is a clean freak. He washes the Hummer every day...even in the winter. He washes the driveway, the curb, the crow cream off the basketball hoop. He won't take a crap without filling the toilet bowl full of toilet paper first, thus preventing poop spatter up the rim.

He takes his shoes off at the door, he immediately showers after work, he trims his nose hair and performs eyeball exercises before bed, he's what most people would call "a flaming faggot". But he's not, no really, he's not. He's just a frickin' clean freak. I've come this close to going to jail over it, I swear, I'm gonna' kill him and his unscented farts.

Here's proof. I've discovered a new weirdness trait this weekend, one that pushes the limit of cleanliness beyond my patience and tolerance and where in the hell can I buy a gun. I swear.

We purchased a second garbage bin for the new trailer. One didn't seem to fit all the crap and muck under the kitchen sink, so we bought another bin for the toilet room. You know, because of the teenaged girls and their constant periods and hubby with his constant nasal congestion.

So hubby passes me the bin, "can you dump this out now", which he wants me to take to a huge garbage dumpster near our camp site. Again! I'm thinking, what can possibly fill up a toilet wastebasket so quickly. Hubby opens the lid and proudly displays a huge mound of toilet paper. Look what we've saved.

Huh? Saved what.

Aren't you putting your toilet paper in the bin?

What toilet paper? I nervously twitch with an already formation of an answer.

Hubby: I don't want you to put toilet paper down the toilet, look how much we have saved the pump, we won't clog the pipes, as he displays an apparent pissed stained array of toilet tissue clumps in our newly purchased bin.


But we buy the expensive stuff that disolves quickly.


Oh, for fuck's sake! Eewwwwwwwwwwwwwww

Now that's just fucking weirdtardness.....

What do you do with the shit ones? I smirkly joke.

YOU SHIT IN THE TOILET???!!! You're suppose to go to the public ones!!! Hey, kids, where do you shit?!! as he runs to the pipe thingy out back, the shitter thing that drains down to some mysterious holding tank, far, far to the underworld.

Oh, no fucking way!

And then I realize why the toilet always seems to stink that special stink, that son of a bitch...making me do the arm pit test and the breath test....I'm gonna' kill him, I swear, I'm gonna' kill him.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

H2 Hummer Transformer Instructions

Brandon's H2 Hummer Transformer toy came with difficult instructions to follow, especially for an 11 year old kid. With practice and the help of Phil, he finally mastered the transformation. And since he's such a YouTube kind of kid, he decided to upload kid-friendly instructions.
So unless you have kids into this sort of stuff, you may find it boring. I have added a YouTube clip just for you at the end of this post.

Part 1 of 2

Part 2 of 2

AND, following is a cool YouTube animation in reverse transformation...

Cool Magic Trick....



Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Are you a Death Hag ?

I am.

It's a fascinating website. It recounts the final moments of movie stars and famous people, their last minutes and hours upon our earthly realm....last meals, last sensationalized glory of themselves, even in death.

And they die in many ways.

I realize this may seem bizarre and spooky to some, but I stumbled across it quite innocently and was intrigued by the in-depth detail provided by the investigator/owner of this site, Scott Michaels at Findadeath.com, 5419 Hollywood Boulevard, #404, Hollywood, CA 90027 ...and NO, I'm not getting paid for this! His hard work deserves payment.

Watch out for the warnings....you are warned of gruesome pictures...official coroner pics. Check out Ana Nicole - Kurt Cobain - Nicole Brown Simpson...there is a directory of famous names lined up for your curiosity.

Don't be shy..... www.findadeath.com

Each star is linked with their official death certificate, and on the lighter side, their home mailbox.

Because I have mentioned in the past (please don't read all my old stuff to find it) inside information of Gollywood in my town, it is because of the tragic death of his -a truly famous guy- girlfriend, and not because I'm EMO or some weird stuff...whatever the hell EMO stands for! And even though I have some artsy-fartsy stuff that may make you think otherwise...oh, grow up! A big clue is he is coming to town, Santa Claus is coming to town...to film......a HUGE remake of a HUGE oldie...need more....Klaatu

Sabrina's Friends


What's really freaky is they come with names like, Breanna, Alyssa, Sabrina, Tamara....

A man was in his front yard mowing grass when his attractive blonde neighbor came out of the house and went straight to the mailbox.
She opened it then slammed it shut and stormed back into the house.
A little later she came out of her house again, went to the mailbox and again opened it, and slammed it shut again. Angrily, back into the house she went.
As the man was getting ready to edge the lawn, she came out again, marched to the mailbox, opened it and then slammed it closed harder than ever.
Puzzled by her actions the man asked her, “Is something wrong?” To which she replied, “There certainly is!” My stupid computer keeps saying, “You’ve got mail!”

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Ladybug, Ladybug, fly away home...your house is on fire

An update to my "Royal Canadian Mounted Poops" posting which was about my son being accused of lighting a fire at a townhouse complex, the accuser...a 9 year old boy, and the need for my ..... OUR tax dollars at work to send two frickin' police cars to my residence to investigate .... and the continuing nonsense dealing with low-life scum, loser trash people who call themselves parents.

Last Friday this boy was caught with a matchbox of wooden matches, intending to set a gas can on fire. Enough said.

It makes one wonder how kids begin to think of destruction and blame and if this is just the first step into their career of crime. How sad some parents turn a blind eye to smooze their lives over as a functional family unit.

Oh, yes, the picture is depicting Hans Christian Andersen story about a poor little girl who tries to sell matches to the townspeople of a small town at Christmastime to no avail. Snow begins to fall and Christmas Eve is upon them. All find shelter except for the Little Match Girl.

The Little Match Girl strikes a match and envisions dolls and stuffed animals that come to life from the Toy Store. She strikes another match and sweets from the Candy Store come to life and dance for her.

and.....-sob- -sob- -sob-

My gut instinct tells me this boy will never see such fantastic plays such as The Little Match Girl, or Oliver, things my mom took us to when we were kids, as I pass down to the next generation - my kids - art, inspiration and wonderment.

He's striking a match for other reasons and it sure isn't about keeping warm.

A Good Canadian Kid - living in the Panyu District of Guangzhou, China

Another Blog I found by happy accident....My mom, hubby, sister and me visited China in 1990 ...long before it was fashionable. Of course, this was also long before "flickr"and "facebook" and well, almost anything WWW related. Our itinerary was similar to his, except we also flew to Xian and saw the Terracotta Warriors. Not certain if they still have the military flying their commerical planes, or whether the planes still leak, or if the runway lights work now....we had a few scary moments.

http://farnorthblog.blogspot.com/

Sunday, November 11, 2007

themomblogs.com have "SPANKED" me

Here's what I gotta' say...sorta like this:

The First Amendment

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

First Amendment Handbook
The Reporters Committee for Freedom of the Press
© 2003 RCFP. 1815 N. Fort Myer Dr., Suite 900, Arlington VA 22209 (703) 807-2100

Libel: Infliction of emotional distress
=======================
Individuals sometimes sue the news media for emotional distress caused by the publication of embarrassing, truthful facts.

However, in Hustler Magazine v. Falwell,18 the Supreme Court ruled that public figures and public officials may not recover for intentional infliction of emotional distress without demonstrating that the material in question contained a false statement of fact that was made with actual malice. The high court noted that editorial cartoonists and other satirists must be protected not only from libel suits, but also from suits claiming emotional distress, when caricaturing public figures or commenting on matters of public concern.

Libel: Harm
========
The heart of a libel suit is the claim that the plaintiff's reputation was injured. In some states, harm does not need to be shown if the statements in question concern a criminal offense, a loathsome disease, a female's unchastity, or matters harming a person's business, trade, profession or office. When any of these types of statements is involved, damage to the plaintiff's reputation is presumed.

In most states, damage to reputation also is presumed when accusations of fraud, incompetence or improper behavior are made about business or professional people.

If the defamatory nature of the statements can be proven only by introducing facts that were not published as part of the original statements, a plaintiff usually must prove a monetary loss as a result of the publication to recover damages.

I could probably go on and on and on...unless I hear otherwise as to why I was FORBIDDEN/removed from the momblogs.com group of mommies, I will reserve my judgement and course of action until a response is expeditiously and formally announced.

Until then, I will continue my adoration and respect for MICHAEL MOORE, I will continue to use the words: fucktard, retard, shithead, cunt, and lonely midwestern skanks, and I will continue to exercise my right to free speech, whether I'm a goddamned American, Canadian, Frenchman or a Cuban....


EDIT: Long winded correspondence removed.

UPDATE: November 13
I have access to the momblogs again and look forward to blogging of my own free will.

Walter's New Habitat

We first met Walter one week before Brandon's 11th birthday. He was shy, nervous.....tortured.

As the teenaged boy showed off his new friend, bragging how this fat ball of fluff just bounces off the floor, flinging him into the air like an acrobat with the Cirque, "and sometimes I miss catching him".

My heart just went into a flurry of motherly protection and concern, as this poor little thing got shoved inside his coat pocket. But I can't save the world, all the time, and it seems I'm protecting frailty constantly, a neverending sorrow of these poor little creatures mistreated, neglected.

Oh, my heart...the image of his little face never left me.

On the day before Brandon's birthday he appeared again, but this time I asked, "is your little rodent for sale?" And $40.00 dollars later a birthday present is purchased, rescuing Walter from an early demise.

We have since ditched the crappy prison he was previously contained in and have purchased, module by module, like the space station, a new beginning for Walter.







1976

When other kids were listening to Boston, KISS, Peter Frampton or ABBA, me and my sister were at home practicing our Barbra impersonations; the cross-eyed stare and the head shake dance.

But mostly I think we were mesmerized by the high notes Barbra reached and held onto for what seemed like an eternity, the notes we could not copy, instead flailing to the ground out of air.

At one point I began buying opera records, like Carmen and Madame Butterfly, which probably made my folks wonder what the hell was wrong with me. But my curiosity of high notes lasted briefly, as I soon returned to Queen and Rod Stewart and the British invasion.

And when I grew weary of them, only she remained ... the greatest singer of all.

Saturday, November 10, 2007

Is this the Ferry to Guantanamo Bay?

Of course it's not...it's going to Gabriola Island, silly.



I have some video cam recordings of the ferry rides, but am feeling a bit lazy tonight to photobucket them together ... I've got a movie to watch. I once played the stock market, TSE, and did trade shares on this little known company operating in Vancouver....LIONSGATE. Damn! I wish I kept my shares.

Friday, November 09, 2007

Oh Me Oh My...the Misery

I joined the TheMomBlogs last week, linking myself to another social group in the hopes of finding interesting blogs or anecdotes from other moms from across the world, to communicate with other women from different cultures and backgrounds and family life, struggles and victories.

However, I didn't know this group had a rating scale attached to it, that other members rate your blog, elevating your star ranking from 1 yellow star to 5 yellow stars. So I logged in and sure enough, there is a scale of:

Awful!
Bad
So-So
Good
Cool!

I then asked my sister to rate me, Cool!, because damn-it...I'm cool, what can I say, but I was merely hoping the "Newbie" flag would be removed from my member name. I had no idea this rating meant a pissing battle of yellow stars because someone out there has ranked me out of my five star rank. Go on cunt, rate me again...you jealous, mindless skank...what was that?, did I just hear my star ranking drop to two stars.

Can't people survive without being acknowledged? It's a goddamned social area for pete's sake, until you actually start visiting other member's sites, you discover they're pastors' wives living in isolated wheat fields in Saskatewan knitting baby bonnets for their triplets, or moms in the midwest, reminiscing their glory days of sex because now they're eight months along and can't use vibrators anymore....and the majority of these members appear shy, timid, lonely, blushing into their monitors as they read the initimate details of some woman who just wants to garner a giggly "cool!" rating, then she posts another rant about performing coitus and her profile tells us she has 6 kids.

I choose to remember motherhood differently. The majority of momblogs I read are about newborns and here and now, which is fine, but I am also a mom of young children and I also have a mom, who mothered me...and she didn't need five yellow fucking stars to tell her who she was....

I love you mom. Thanks for making me a leader and not a follower.

I remember this following movie scene, forever and ever, something so captivating and real by Kathy Bates and her Oscar winning performance that reminds me of mom, as we sat in the theatre, my sideway glances, wondering if she recognized herself.

Back then, though, we called it the "screaming meemies" and for such a dramatic scene, I remember we were laughing, giggling uncontrollably under our breaths as to not disturb the people around us.

A forewarning perhaps, as I sat with my mom in the dark, in my 30th year of life, innocently aware that years later I, too, would become my own Oscar winning actress and beseige upon my own children a menagerie of glass.

The first 40 seconds of this clip is what I wanted to capture for this post, however, it was only available in 9 minute segments. You can either stop it after 40 seconds, or continue the scene, but I seriously would recommend you get the full movie, Misery, to enjoy it's masterpiece in full length, starring Kathy Bates and James Caan, who also gave a kick-ass performance.





UPDATE: November 13

From momblogs NEWSLETTER released today:
Finally - If you want to put up a rate box/vote box on your site. To get your link ID and coding, just log in to your account at http://themomblogs.com/blogs/profile.php and then click on My Profile, then My Links and you will see Rate Me Box, click on that and grab the code. Your IP is tracked so you cannot continue to vote over and over for yourself. Remember - this is something that is meant JUST FOR FUN. Don't take it too seriously - but you can get your friends involved to vote for you if you want. Play nice, and don't rate other blogs just to bring their score down.

Dear Santa, please make them build BRIDGES


http://www.gabriolaisland.org/GICC/home.htm

Gabriola Island is located in the Strait of Georgia, between Vancouver Island and the mainland of British Columbia, approximately 3 miles (5 km) east of Nanaimo on Vancouver Island. Gabriola is easily reached by a 20-minute ferry ride from downtown Nanaimo, or by floatplane from Vancouver (24 km).

Click on maps to manoeuvre around:



But first, you need to take a ferry from the mainland coast (we live closer to Tsawwassen terminal), to Nanaimo on Vancouver Island.



Hubby had a service call on Gabriola Island today, which meant he was up at 5am to catch the 7am ferry to Nanaimo to then enable him to catch the 10:35am ferry to Gabriola. He called at noon to say the customer had just arrived home and hopefully won't have to stay long because he has to do the whole ferry routine in reverse to get home. And he took Brandon with him.

The B.C. Ferry fleet is made up of all kinds of ships. There are now 36 of them, representing a wide range of sizes and classes. At the grandest end of the spectrum are the S-Class twins, Spirit of British Columbia and Spirit of Vancouver Island. Measuring 560 feet long (picture two football fields back-to-back), these vessels can accommodate up to 2,100 people and 470 vehicles. Compare those figures with the 111-foot Nimpkish, which carries 133 people and 16 vehicles, and you get some idea of the diversity of the fleet.

Over the next 15 years, approximately $2 billion will be required to upgrade and modernize the aging ferry fleet and ensure that terminals keep pace with traffic demands.

News release Oct 26/07
FIRST NEW SUPER C-CLASS VESSEL SETS SAIL FOR B.C. TOMORROW
VICTORIA – BC Ferries’ Coastal Renaissance, the first of three new Super C-class vessels is on its way. The vessel will depart Flensburg, Germany on Saturday, October 27, bound for its new home in British Columbia.

News release Oct 25/07
BC FERRIES TO INCREASE FARES ON NOVEMBER 1
VICTORIA – BC Ferries is reminding customers that passenger and vehicle fares will increase effective November 1, 2007. Fares will increase by an average of 2.8 per cent on the three major routes connecting Vancouver Island to the Lower Mainland and an average of 4.4 per cent on the remaining routes.

Suppose we all saw that coming!

Not only are we now being sucked into paying higher fees, the greatest insult of all is that these new super class ferries were built outside of Canada...outside of British Columbia! It's a bit of a sore spot for me because I once worked at a thriving shipyard in North Vancouver (operations ceased in 1992). But like everything else the government or crown corporations flog us with, it's you and me who get the kickin' up the arse.

And what about those catamarans in the 90's....my bum's still sore!

The construction of the three vessels doubled from $210 million ($70 million/vessel) to almost $460 million ($150 million/vessel) and final delivery was almost 3 years behind schedule. A large part of the delay was due to the fact that the shipyards commissioned to construct the vessels had very little experience working with aluminum. Also design changes during construction caused delays and more costs.

The ferries also had the following problems during their brief tenure:

-High fuel consumption. The four 8,375 brake horsepower (6.2 MW) engines driving their waterjets required an inordinate amount of diesel fuel and had to be used at 90% power for cruise speed, making them prone to breakdown. This was largely due to BC Ferries' insistence on using diesel engines rather than the more efficient gas turbines that were originally planned.

-Due to an unusually wet and windy winter, there was a higher than normal amount of flotsam in the waters along the route, some of which was sucked into impellers for the ferries' engines, causing breakdowns and sailing cancellations.

-When operated at full speed, the Pacificat fleet created a wake which was reported to have damaged waterfront wharves and property in coastal areas near the two terminals. This required that the ferries reduce speed in certain areas and alter course in others, reducing their speed advantage.

-The air on vehicle decks became uncomfortably warm, either from the heat of the vessel engines or lack of air circulation. This made some people wary of bringing pets aboard the FastCats; however, the ferries had kennels with improved air circulation at the bow and stern of the vehicle decks.

-There was little outside deck space for passengers. The existing ferries had large decks, and it was common for passengers to spend the entire sailing circling the decks of the ship or sunbathing on the lifejacket containers. The ships had a more modern, European-style interior which was perceived by passengers as being cramped compared to the existing ferries.

-Loading took longer than the older ferries due to balancing issues. This further negated the ships' speed advantage.

After such blunders and a change in leadership, the new Premier of B.C . placed the ferries up for sale and were auctioned off the PacifiCat fleet for $19.4 million ($6.5 million/vessel). Further controversy erupted when it was revealed that the same company had offered $60 million for the vessels prior to the auction.

June 30, 2005

Thursday, November 08, 2007

Join my Bitch Society....for FREE

There's this blog, NaBloPoMo, National Blog Posting Month, where you sign up to join a group of other bloggers and the challenge is to make at least one posting to your blog each day, for the entire month of November.

Sounds simple enough, how hard can that be? Well, I'll tell ya...I've come across a few blogs sporting the NaBloPoMo badge with today's post, "why in the name of God did I join this?" and "what the hell was I thinking" yet it's only November 8. You know what, don't fret about it sweetheart, go watch Survivor....there's always December.

Frankly, I could care less about this sort of social networking. I'm not even certain if this NaBlowMe blog is really a blog. It has a MySpace sort of feel to it, Create Your Own Social Network for Anything, on NING.

You mean I can create my own social network, then get people to donate a buck to offset the cost of domain registration and hosting expenses. Nice try, bitch!

But that's not half as annoying as the "Thursday Thirteen" group who, as the name suggests, challenges a list of thirteen things...and this week we want thirteen of your favorite posts. So there I struggle, reading through my blogs I've diligently set as 'favorites', selecting the most worthwhile literary pieces of wit and elegance and bravura, only to link back to other challengers to discover their lists comprise of thirteen fucking pictures of their fat fucking cat.

Now I'm trying the momblogs. How bad can that be? I'm a mom, I occasionally pee my panties when I sneeze hard, come on now, you don't? You should have seen the size of forceps that butcher of a doctor used on me. But as luck would have it, all the mommys I've tried to be social with are either new moms with milk duct problems, or their kids are 2ish and they post pictures of first poos.
Just wait, just wait until you have your second kid and your vagina gets stretched like the Cat Woman's face.
Ha-ha I say.... damn you all and your social bonding, damn you all....isn't there a mommy out there who hates birthday sex?



Daymares

It appears Brandon is going through his tourettes phase again, with spontaneous yelps for no reason at all. I spy on him as he watches T.V. and out pops the occasional "YEAOWWW".

Brandon, are you aware you're making noises? "No I'm not....YEAOWWW".

This is probably why his teacher called last week to discuss Brandon's behavior during class. I wish teachers would just come out and say it instead of beating around the bush, "your god-damned kid is disturbing my classroom". Don't tell me his attention span waivers, don't tell me he's disorganized, and don't tell me his academics are fine but maybe an aid will settle him down. Jesus Murphy, tell me he's yelping!

Then maybe I can tell you prior to the sounds there were arm flips, like a huge chicken wing flapping up to make an armpit fart. Or maybe the eye squints, or the head jolts, or the hysterical cries in the morning, "Please don't make me go to school...please!"

Then maybe I can tell you prior to all these tourette-like symptoms, he was being beaten up and bullied by bigger boys. You would have heard about the bus incident when a Grade 10 boy held him down and rubbed a penny up and down his main artery in his arm...just to see it bruise. And the retarded bus driver did nothing about it but make Brandon sit up front with her.

Or the group of Grade 7 boys who snatched his bike away from him, rode the crap out of it trying to break the suspension, then throw it down the creek, followed by ripping his bike helmet off his head to spit inside it.

Or more recently, how he is being verbally abused by a drunkard father of some kid who falsely accused Brandon of lighting fire in their shithole of a townhouse complex. And when he walks home from school he is intimidated by brow-beating glares by that boy's skank mom.

And yesterday, when a kid grabbed Brandon by the neck and began choking him...he could barely get the words out, "I can't breathe".

Brandon walks inside the house and plops himself down, as if nothing happened at all. After a few minutes or so, he slowly begins to tell me what happened, almost like he's embarrassed or ashamed, "YEAOWWW".
He's worried I'm going to tattletale.

I've had enough of this bullshit and called the school principal today. I want a stop to this nonsense, but these bunch of hypocrites advocating a 'no bully - no tolerance rule' would rather incite instances when Brandon was being lippy. Okay, you know what, he's in Grade 5 and I don't care if he told someone to fuck off, he's still a little boy and shouldn't be strangled. And, while I'm speaking to you, I want you to investigate a mom who picks up her kid at school, too.

When Brandon came home from school today we had our regular little chat about our day, then off he went for a snack, settled himself down nearby to watch Scooby-Doo, and as I blogged and googled away, nary a whisper or a wimp, did I realize the silence.

Remembrance Day - November 11

In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army


IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.


Summer, 1915. World War I. English and French armies had dug in their heels against the bulldozer onslaught of the German army as it ploughed its way across the plains of Flanders. After a day of ferocious fighting following the second battle of Ypres, the sun rose on a relatively quiet battlefield.

Col. John McCrae cautiously poked his head above the security of his trench to be met with the horrifying sight of row upon row of makeshift crosses littering the plains before him: ghostly reminders of the grim aftermath of the earlier battle marking the graves of the fallen.

McCrae, a Canadian veteran of the Second Boer War and professor of medicine at McGill University in Montreal, was struck with admiration at the courage of the dead and overwhelmed by awe at their selflessness as he caught sight of the tiny, red poppies dancing lazily in the gentle breeze among the grave markers of his fallen comrades. Inspired by the sight, and by the memories of the previous days of vicious fighting, McCrae grabbed a pad of paper and pen and quickly began to write down the words that had suddenly appeared in his mind.

McCrae's fellow commanders read the poem and encouraged him to publish it. He submitted his simple poem to Britain's famous Punch magazine, which readily published it in a rarely-used bold type. The effects of the poem washed across Britain like a giant wave. All of Britain was moved and encouraged by the words, and the poem quickly spread throughout the allied nations.

The poppy became a symbol of 'Life' and 'Resurrection': the red petals were the colour of the blood that stained the battlefield; the yellow/black centre represented the mud and desolation; the green of the stem became representative of the forests and fields where generations of men have died to make their land free; the stem itself symbolized the courage of the fallen soldiers. Life and freedom, all in this tiny, overlooked flower.

In 1918, a seriously-wounded Col. John McCrae was carried by stretcher to a rear base hospital on the coast of France and placed in a room where he might look out the window toward the Dover cliffs across the channel. He died three nights later.
McCrae's final words, according to his doctor, were: "Tell them this, if ye break faith with us who die, we shall not sleep."
Colonel John McCrae was buried in the cemetery of Wimereux.

Courtesy "My Collection of Canadiana" Compiled and composed by Neil Simpson

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Blogging Blit

Having had over a year mucking about with Blogging I've become familiar with the types of blogs out there and I've "favorited" some so that I can keep up a good read. This guy, http://cartablanc.blogspot.com/ is brilliant, with a mix of topics eloquently written, and more times than not, too brainy for this simple mind. Even those who leave comments on his blog are literarily composed in confident prose.

An excerpt from his post, Of Blogs and Bloggers, speaks true of other "favorited" blogs I read, and indeed, my own is guilty of such incongruous spew.

in·con·gru·ous (n-knggr-s) adj.
1. Lacking in harmony; incompatible: a joke
that was incongruous with polite conversation.
2. Not in agreement, as
with principles; inconsistent: a plan incongruous with reason.
3. Not in
keeping with what is correct, proper, or logical; inappropriate: incongruous
behavior.

What he said:
That bloggers tend not to read the blogs of their fellows might be taken as incuriosity. But we might better call it discernment, because, if truth be told, most blogs aren’t worth reading. For starters, most sites are confusing because they have so much incongruous stuff on them, one doesn’t know where to start. They have photos, drawings, advertisements, and all manner of other irrelevant information which obscures the writings of the blogger. And isn’t writing the raison d’etre of blogging?

As to the writings on blogs, most are bilge because they are badly written and boring, borne of the monumental ignorance, illiteracy, self-absorption, narcissism, and solipsism of the bloggers. “Ranting” is a favourite word among bloggers, who, proudly proclaiming that they “rant”, don’t consider that to read these seemingly interminable “rants” is, for the reader, to suffer a torture only slightly below water-boarding and the other ingenious methods used to extract secrets from the unfortunates incarcerated at Guantanamo.


solipsism:
–noun 1. Philosophy. the theory that only the self exists, or can be proved to exist.
2. extreme preoccupation with and indulgence of one's feelings, desires, etc.; egoistic self-absorption.
Whew, I'm glad I didn't call my blog "Colleen's Rant".
In blog world it's my decision who I read, who I respond to, whether I am forced to skip over all the titties and beer blogs, or recipe and homemaker's guides, just like some folks who will skip over Carta Blanc because you need a frickin' dictionary to understand what the hell he's saying...I think it's okay to be part of both worlds sometimes....and so I leave you with my half today...



These four pesky critters have been showing up at the back door almost every night now, scratching at my window, ripping the screen door, grasping for pellets of food. They really like Sylvester's cat food, but it's costly and they eat like pigs.

But what's worse is when I don't feed them at the back door they race up to the front door, where my cat has probably taken refuge. And they piss, they piss like dogs and spray all over my evergreens and dig holes and do messy, solipsism things.

Survivorman




We love this guy! Survivorman, aka, Les Stroud, is successfully surviving into a second season with ...

"No food, no shelter, no fresh water, no tools ... no camera crew. One man - alone in the wild for seven days with only his wits and stamina to sustain him.

Airing on The Science Channel in the U.S., and The Outdoor Life Network in Canada, each episode finds Survivorman Les Stroud abandoned in a remote location. He carries little more than the clothes on his back - and his cameras. Les not only needs to survive for a week without supplies, but he has to film everything himself, lugging over fifty pounds of camera gear the entire time. The Costa Rican rainforest, Arctic ice floes, Georgian swamp and the high Sonora desert include a few of 9 locales where Les has overcome seemingly impossible obstacles."
from

http://www.lesstroudonline.com/

Catch up on a good read....Survivorman's Blog

http://www.lesstroudonline.com/blog

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

Put Flowers on My Face, too !

Repeat of an older post, since my mind is full of movie funder-wonder these days, having all these movie trailers nearby.

I am increasingly forgetting my past as the consciousness of days melt away into each other, and the other, and the other. I don't do it on purpose. It drives me crazy when my google search in my brain doesn't work. I especially recognize these failed searches when I can't remember quotes from movies, or who starred in what, and their names, and all the titillating scandals.

But even more worrisome is how my gray matter has become defragmented and distorted and impulsively tries to provide a quick response to my queries, which usually are more memory blocks with just a hint of recognition. Then these little hints evolve into digression, and I digress, and digress, and digress, until finally I can't remember what it was I was thinking about. My brain is such a slutty tease.

You know, sort of like Algernon, and "don't forget to put flowers on Algernon's grave". See....I wasn't going to talk about rats today. I was going to talk about the X-Files and The Warriors, although I'm fairly certain there was a movie made about Algernon, I'm positive it didn't star David Duchovny or that bitch wife of his, Tia. I remember her name because it's my daughter's middle name. She's the one who forced the X-Files to relocate to California after many successful years filming in Vancouver. She got wiped out by a big tidal wave in some movie, can't remember, but I do recall David's whine "I want to be with my wife", o-boo-hoo, then the producers just up and left. Then he starts shitting about Vancouver being an ice-aged forest. Don't get me started.

So, what I really was thinking about was how the kid next door comes over and asks if Brandon can come out to play. Abracadabra, I'm transported to movieland, and The Warriors and favorite line "Warriors, come out to play-ya".

And there's the girl, Debra Van-van-van-van,
who was the daughter of Ted Baxter from Mary Tyler Moore, but on a different show.


I wonder how she's doing? She had that big steamy kiss with that hunky guy in The Warriors. I think he's dead now, no wait, it's his career that died after starring in that crapola movie, Glitter, no...wait for it, it was Xanadu-something. Oh who cares, at least we got one good cult film out of him.

I loved Valerie Bertinelli.
I hope she's not dead. She reminds me of Debra Van-van-van-van, except she started to piss me off when she referred to her husband, the king of guitar, as "Edward". Come on now, bitch...it's Eddie, Eddie van Halen, okay, no one calls a rockstar Edward.




So Valerie was in a T.V. series
a successful one because I watched it all the time, and the mom had red hair, just like


Lois


in Family Guy. I love Stewie.

Anyways, I went to watch the X-Files being filmed once.

It was amazingly boring. The guy I worked with, who came up from the California office because, apparently, we Canadian counterparts are too damned stupid to write Ada,
had a rented home on some prime land in Richmond, an isolated back country scene, with a verandaed house and a sign on the front door, "He has Risen". Talk about poor language skills. So the scene involves a car chase and a big truck full of chicken cages, and they topple over and, oh what a mess. I think it turned out to be the most boring X-Files episode of all time, and I was there.

And this all began because I couldn't remember the name of the woman who was the partner to David, you know, the brainy redhead skeptic doctor. Gilligan.