I Might Need Security

I know Montreal loves to bring the drama, but today on Decarie, it was a little much. It was the old guys’ turn, and they showed up in great form, ready to prove that you don’t have to be young and foolish to be foolish and just extra.

I mean, honestly, guy walking toward me who’s making super creeptastic uninterrupted eye contact while I look everywhere but directly into your gaze. When you wait until I’m a few steps away and raise your hand and slap it repeatedly – which I guess is supposed to energize me to the point of high-fiving you?! – I don’t know how fast or far to run. Because I’m a lady in a pink and white striped dress and I need you to treat me as such. Cross the street if you must, I’ll wait. Physical contact shan’t. It shall not.

Hey there, buddy who raced around me? I wasn’t gonna pick up that open bag of whatever it was sitting on that bench at the bus stop. I wasn’t gonna stick my hand in and start eating whatever it was. You win, friend. The mystery trash food is all yours. And no. He did not look like he’d fallen on hard times, nor was there any activity that would’ve made me suspect he might race up to a bag on a bench and start eating. Having done so, of course, I give him a pass. Because…a guy just ate out of an open bag on a bus stop bench on Decarie. The verdict is in.

Lastly, there was the old guy riding his bike super fast on the sidewalk. Toward me. And a family walking pretty much with me – which we won’t even question. They’re affectionate. So geezer on bike who starts aggressively swiping the air with his hand, which is apparently meant to make us get the heck out his way? Apparently, his voice did work – jury’s still out on the brakes sitchiation – because as he passed through us, face still tight in what I’d assumed was a disapproving grimace? “Have a good day, you guys!”

In a super sincere tone? After trying to mow us down with a seemingly homicidal snarl of misdirected hostility? ….k.

But don’t let any of that distract you from the bus that didn’t show or the metro that sat for 18 minutes. Because I certainly didn’t.



Go Home, The Following!

I wish instead of being able to capitalize all of the letters, I could instead make them so tiny that you could SEE MY RAGE. (Through squinting.)

Are we still doing this, The Following?! Early morning call after late night prison break?!

“We need you back.”

“But I’m not an agent anymore. I’m drinking myself to sleep every night to escape the nightmares associated with everything I’ve seen in my celebrated career that ended badly!”

“I know things didn’t end well with the Bureau,” said every caller ever. “But you’re the only one who can PFFFFFFFFFFFFT!

STOP. STOP IT. No more! Oh and you were seriously injured in the line of duty, too? HAVE YOU NO DECENCY?!

::ahem:: Pardon me. I’ve lost my head. Where are my manners. ::shuffles papers::

I’m sorry. I’m upset the way one can only be when one has hoped. And I did, friends. I truly tuned in hoping – nay, DESIRING – to be *destroyed* by this show. You heard me right. That’s what I was signing up for. I didn’t realize it would be death by cliche, with moments – snatches of milliseconds, rather – of possibility.

….we’ve gotta stop meeting this way! This blog is quickly devolving into that place where I just yell at people who are innocently continuing their daily lives with no consideration of my irrational anger, and rightly so.

Okay, quick, here’s something I like!

Wait. That probably…didn’t make me seem any less craycray. Hmm.

Tis The Season

First, let me just say: I know. I only review things that are so good I’m too gobsmacked to even properly present them or that are so bad that it’s just me with a cat of nine tails, lashing away until – one can only hope – I’ve killed it. ::Draws now-muscular arm back for one last whoopin':: “Is it…is it dead?”

So guess what kind of review this is gonna be? Here’s a hint.

Sidebar: This couple is awesome.

When I first heard this song about a week ago, I almost lost my ish. For real. O_O The gift God wrapped for ME was growing up on the west coast and having *never* heard this atrocity. Because, seriously, Brenda White? That was enough to make me go on a holiday-fueled killing spree.

DID YOU GUYS KNOW THAT CHRISTMAS IN THE NORTHWEST IS APPARENTLY A CHILD’S ANSWERED PRAYER?! No, neither did I! And that if you take away the presents, it’s STILL a dream. WHY, you ask? Oh, because it RAINS.


I’m done.

In Which I Labor

I know what you’re doing, by the way. This game you’re playing where you pretend I haven’t been ridiculously lazy about blogging – not the content, mind you, because let’s be real, candy woulda been involved one way or the other – and pretending to be entertained so I feel like a giant loser and have to commit to doing actual work here? You win this round.

First things first: My seven year old – who just turned seven, don’tcha know – is making up the guest list for his next birthday party. (Apparently, taking a trip every summer to celebrate the month of Morrow is lost on him and he’s wondering why he can’t have a crappy, four hour party like all the other cool kids.) Needless to say, he’s listed about a dozen people thus far – people I’m sure would love to celebrate him, btw – and nobody’s under the age of 21. Yet. Thankfully, there’s about four kids I know he likes. :)

Not good enough.

I wanna point out that today’s Labor Day (even in Montreal) and I’m blogging. Please double the amount of points I already deserve for awesomeness.

When there is an issue with my laptop that affects the way in which I interact with it, I realize how attached we are. The laptop and I. My son decided to bring his foot down on the left side of my computer and the audio promptly stopped working. I had to replace some drivers (some of which had no effect), it doesn’t hibernate like it’s supposed to, and until I disabled some start-up applications, it wouldn’t even let me move the mouse once the OS was open. So. Basically, I’m now able to do everything but listen to music and watch my stories – which is like having a child break your television, since I watch my shows online. And also, did I mention I can’t listen to music? Because I’m not sure I’ve ever mentioned how much music means to me. And also, that I listen to music when I write. And prepare to write. And develop a storyline prior to writing it.

(My son has offered – since music is so important to me – to make up songs. O_O)

EDIT: Sorry, I failed to mention that my USBs no longer work, either. And that I feel like an amputee.

How I Almost Met My Father (In Heaven)

If you are ever going to rent a u-haul, don’t take the metro all the way there before realizing your license is expired and then have to take the metro back and send your spouse on the same trek to get the u-haul you reserved for almost two hours ago. (Josh.)

If you ever have to go rent the truck you had no intention of driving because you’re the only one legally allowed to drive it, don’t try to get out of the way of the guy behind you and end up parking in the snow bank you now have to be dust-pan-shoveled out of. (Bethany.)

If you’re six, don’t direct your mother while she drives against her will. (Ezra.)

And now, a lighter note!





I’m A Hero, Too, James Franco

I’m not as ornery as I was last week, but there’s still a couple things that make me roll my eyes hard.

You all know how much I love Yahoo! headlines. I just saw one that was suggesting ways to satisfy a bacon craving.

I have a few suggestions myself. No, wait. One. I have one suggestion. Eat bacon. Pick up a piece of bacon – and here’s where you get to be creative because you can actually use your thumb and forefinger, you can unnecessarily use a fork, if you’ve got chopsticks around you can totally make this more complicated than is necessary and break out those bad boys; now eat it. By which I mean, put it in your mouth, using your teeth to break off a small or medium or – depending on just how much you crave that bacon – half a pig and then use your teeth – the ones you used to bite – to break that piece up further until it is significantly deconstructed. At that point, you’re halfway home because these smaller, unrecognizable bits of carnage are now small enough to be easily digested and your internal organs will take care of that. That’s the beauty of eating. You only have to think as far as your throat and then the magical invisible parts take over. Bam. Bacon craving satisfied. Now, if the point of the article – and I get increasingly agitated when I think of the fact that the headline means there is an actual article written on the subject – is that you are craving bacon despite some religious or moral obligation to abstain from bacon. Well. You’re on your own there. But you probably shouldn’t tempt yourself by reading articles about bacon consumption.

Secondly. And again, this is moreso how I felt last week. There’s this new movie with James Franco about the story of Aron Ralston. Well. Mostly the whole cutting off his own hand/arm thing. And a few days ago, I was really annoyed because – in my irrational state – I felt quite put-out that my own will to live was being undermined by that fact that some guy hacked off his own limb. I mean. In my estimation, my will to live is greater than his. Because I would not hack off my own limb. Self-preservation – in my mind – is all about sparing your body harm. Because you want to, you know. Preserve it.

So I was going to generally project my upset-ness at this story of glorified self-mutilation. Only referring to James Franco, of course, which seemed less cruel. Aaaand then, in trying to find the trailer I saw, I came across this.

And. Nevermind. *single tear*

Things Too Obnoxious For Twitter

Let me begin by saying: you’re welcome.

Not too long ago, I recall twittering about how I love the sound of my little boy eating. And it wasn’t that long ago either, though attempts at finding out made me realize that (a) I like twitter and (b) I like Dubble Bubble gumballs (for full disclosure, I’ll let you in on a secret: I get them at Metro). I like Dubble Bubble enough that I should really update my About Me page. Or make a third one, rather.

Anyway, the whole point is that wow. My son was just eating a half a sandwich and I almost slapped the last quarter out of his little hands. SHUT UP ALREADY. GAWD. SERIOUSLY?! Close your doggone mouth, broseph!

When did this happen? Do hormones have anything to do with it? (Huh. Not sure why I didn’t consider that earlier. Like before I started writing a tirade about my six year old’s noisy-but-recently-considered-adorable eating habits…)

Other than that, I have one question. Are we so pathetic-tastic that – instead of just being responsible stewards of our finances and declaring, you know what, I can skip one pagan holiday for one freakin’ year – we are willing to buy USED. DISCOUNT. HALLOWEEN COSTUMES. WHAT?! Am I the only one crawling out of her hive-riddled skin right now?! You’re not just looking for discount (read: tragically wonk-nation) costumes that you ARE NOT LEGALLY OBLIGATED TO WEAR IN THE FIRST PLACE – but you’re willing to go used?! Women, especially and let’s not pretend it isn’t because you’re gonna wear something skankosity – you’re gonna wear something in which someone got wasted, possibly fondled and definitely musty last year?! REALLY?!

That Thing Brick Said About Bears

So I’ve never been to Washington D.C. But. I have not been to Washington D.C. And I can assure you that the D.C. of last night’s dream was not the real D.C.

You know that thing of when you think a thought in a dream and then the thought shifts the dream? Mkay, so I was thinking – in dream – that I should take the train to D.C. since I just got back from NYC and loved the train ride. (Although I have no reason outside of sightseeing to go to DC – I can stop using the periods now right ’cause they’re getting on my nerves.) Anyway, so suddenly, I was disembarking said train – only the train was invisible and it was more like I had already disembarked and said train had gone on its merry way in what would no doubt be record time for Amtrak. Oh and there weren’t any train tracks anyway.


Okay. So, I get off the train that never was and I am not horribly surprised to find myself looking out over lush green hills of rolling meadow. I immediately start down an incline, smelling the dew on the grass. No really, it smelled lovely. But as I’m getting to the base of the hill, I’m getting more and more concerned about the ADULT GRIZZLY BEARS lounging around me and at the bottom of the hill. I’ve already passed one on my right and now am too frightened to go back to the train-that-never-was and now to my left on the mount of another rolling hill is a MOTHER bear with her cub (who may or may not have been mentally disabled) and to my left is another full grown bear and at the bottom are several more. So now I’m surrounded by bears. They haven’t seemed to take notice of me just yet but I’m pretty sure the mother’s gonna eat my kidneys. And their pelts were damp and slicked into dark brown triangles and they were rolling around on the blanket of wet grass and it was the realest dream ever and I would have cried were it not for the burning that was going on in my throat.

Did you watch that documentary? That poor guy. But I wish he’d been there to get ate while I tried to find the train.

Anyway, the dream ends there. With the knowledge that I’m not long for the earth.

They’ll Miss American TV

Please remind me to blog about watching the pilot episode of Lonestar with the actor whose Native American name must be “Acts with his face”. Knew by the quirkiness of said mouth and how he holds it that this show couldn’t possibly be on real tv (ie NBC). Joshua doubted me. We’re watching – they’re giving exposition like nobody’s business, literally placing tear stains on the guys’ face and expecting us to buy this ridiculous storyline…yeah. FOX strikes again. LAME. SO lame. Everybody overact now! *people on beach blankets start doing the monkey*

How hard did it try, you ask?

Too hard.

Also, Andykins sent me this song which totally reminds me of my Avrilis book and makes me wanna see a trailer (as in movie trailer) with it:

New York, New York

[First thing's first - 'member that contest I posted like twice and tried to force you to click the link and go over and read stuff that clearly didn't interest more than like two of you who also were probably just responding to my sobering desperation? I'm a finalist. You can click here to verify that I'm not making stuff up because I'm bored and breakfast is taking forever making its way to my mouth. Woot!]

On to New York. (Not literally until this weekend, though.) Which I just realized my tiny big sister, JenJen, wrote about, too! The last time I was there was four years ago, but that’s not the story I wanna tell. Okay, well, maybe this:

We behaved like we’d been dipped in spirits. Maybe Jonathon had (pretty sure he hadn’t) but I know I was as sober and stupid as I ever am!

Anyway! The first time I went to New York, I was five years old. Celebrated my sixth birthday. The parts that stood out the most? Shopping, for one. George Michael playing in Bloomingdales. Me wearing my favoritest outfit EVAH! (Pink spandex shorts under a neon green skirt with a white t-shirt decorated with neon pink and green puffy paint with neon pink and green – see a pattern here? – scrunch socks and ….. wait for it. LA Gears. WITH. GILLS.) Jennifer getting lost after we came out of the museum of natural history. Jennifer getting a wrought iron spear stuck in the back of her thigh. Jennifer getting stitches at some “hospital” where a dude had been severely burned on his face but was in the waiting room with us. Oh, Jennifer. Thanks for the memories.

You know what I honestly remember most? The fact that for weeks after we came back to California – I say as though I’m writing this from California – I had nightmares. Apparently I’d been fearing for my one year old brother’s life the entire six week trip because upon our return, all the things that “could” have happened to him played out in my dreams. Those dreams are more vivid at times than the actual memories of the trip! (Other than when Jennifer was given the Jem doll that turned out to be one of the Misfits and at first we were like, why would you give someone the Misfits doll instead of one of the Holograms?! But then we fell in love with the cassette tape of songs that came with it? ‘Member?!)

One dream was in Queens, outside of buildings I would learn were projects. I was running up to the entrance and had been chasing literally the big bad wolf. O_O How’s that for a six year old’s nightmare? He was bipedal just like in the cartoon and had a snout that more resembled a crocodile. Just like in the cartoon. Anyway, just as I was getting to the front doors, there was an explosion. Not very big. But it turned out it had been my baby brother. Which I knew because his little soft-soled shoes were still standing there on the pavement where he’d been. O_O Yep.

Oh and there was that one rare occasion upon which we took a cab. It was late and it’d been raining and my baby brother had horrible allergies and junk when he was little. Had to sleep with a humidifier. Anyway, I remember his stroller being encased in that plastic dealie. I. Don’t remember having an umbrella myself, though. I don’t know, it just seems like maybe one parent taking five small children to visit New York for six weeks wasn’t the best laid plan. O_o Sure, I loved it at the time but um… I’m pretty sure I’d not do it with two of my own.

I also remember the picnic where I won some race and was a total spoiled brat who couldn’t hide my disappointment at the quality of the prize. (But then neither could Jennifer.) And then we took those “crappy” prizes home and hung them on the wall for years to come.

{Warning: I did not reread this from when I wrote it at like four this morning. Huh. Shoulda prolly said this at the top, huh?}