Do you smell that?

Something really stinks 'round here...






Just DO NOT make her mad, or you'll be sorry.
I am psyched for Halloween- yah!!

I can't seem to write lately, so I'm going photo crazy.

A brag and a smile

Our favorite Calgary radio station, CJAY92, came to our restaurant last week, and wrote us a kick ass review. Thank you, guys!

CJAY has the best morning show, complete with fantastically funny audio clips and songs. Listen to this one- I challenge you NOT to smile.

Here is a pic of Piper and I at our Gym Tots class today. She has almost perfected her hula hoop floor routine.

Say what?

This site is creepy, excellent and addictive.
Try it, you'll like it.

I loved it, actually

I watched this movie again tonight, for the third time, and loved it, again. I want to hide in Hugh Grant's pocket so I can listen to his adorable British slang and laugh at his facial expressions and subtle hilarity. Next to "Four Weddings and a Funeral" and "About a Boy", this was my favorite performance of his. (*CUE WHITNEY HOUSTON) And IIIIIIIIIIIeeeeeeIIIIIIIIII will always love Huuuuuuuuuuugh!

I am a total whore for British humour. "The Office" makes me laugh so uproarously that I often begin to bleed internally and am forced to change the channel. And "Absolutely Fabulous" really is just that. I have come frighteningly close to losing consciousness from laughing hysterically at the "Adrian Mole" series of books by Sue Townsend. It's my favorite kind of silly.



If I had continued on with the lifestyle I was living in 1999, this is what I would look like today. Cheers dahling!

Babies have terrible table manners

Amazingly, a baby can make a half cup of spaghetti spread out to cover 6 square miles of table, clothing, body, and floor. The only item not soaked in sauce will inevitably be the bib. The child has NO dining etiquette whatsoever.





Honestly, I don't know where she gets it.

Ding Dong, the witch is dead

The Cabbage Patch Doll has been unsurped as the Favorite Toy- Hallelujah!!!
No more naked, haggard, eerie staring doll that can not be thrown into the washing machine after swimming in the toilet. Goodbye! It was weird knowing you!

Last night, Robb brought home an Elmo that he made himself at the Build-a-Bear Workshop at the mall. How cute is that? The woman at the store made him go through the whole rigamorole too- he had to make a wish on a little heart that goes into the Elmo. Robb, and about 50 other kids. Tee hee!

So- the slightly scary, Chuckie-looking Cabbage Patch is OUT, and the cute, soft Elmo is IN. He is sooooo in. I caught Piper making out with him earlier this morning.







Yes, Elmo still STARES, but he is only thinking about numbers and hugging- not plotting your death like the C.P.D. Welcome to the family, Elmo!

I feel rather flushed

We've hit another baby milestone. Each one is precious and special in it's own way- the First Smile, the First Steps, the First Words, and of course, the First Time She Washes Her Baby's Hair In The Toilet. She really is a toddler now.

And because I am a bad mother, I let her continue with the sewer spa so I could take some pictures.









The always naked Cabbage Patch Doll is now freshly bathed and ready for bed. Even after a dip in the crapper, she still smells like baby powder. How do they DO that?

The Stupidity of Eve Scaredypants

I did something stupid. I gave in to peer pressure last weekend, and went and saw "The Exorcism of Emily Rose". I knew it was the wrong decision as I was making it, and throughout the entire hellish film, but my morbid curiousity and self destructive tendancies held me in my seat. Plus, I was afraid to go and stand in the lobby by myself, because I knew that the demons from the movie would follow me out there anyway, and pissing them off was just ASKING to be possessed. So I stayed.

If you are planning on seeing this movie and don't want to know what happens, STOP READING NOW. If you are not a believer of the supernatural, then you may not find this film very disturbing, except that IT IS BASED ON A TRUE STORY, and the point of the story is that Emily Rose wanted everyone to know that demons DO exist, and can do some pretty terrifying shit. I've always believed in spirits, etc, and have had some freaky stuff happen to myself and other loved ones that just confirm it more for me. You would think I was nuts if I told you, and given my history of lying, my stories may not hold much weight. But I would never make a good movie, because if I woke up at 3:00am one morning, and smelled something burning, I would immediately have a heart attack and pass away. Roll credits.. movie over. There wouldn't be TIME for a possession or anything.

I'm joking about it, but it truly did scare the poo out of me, and I wish I could go back in time to where I did not see the damn thing.

Once again, I learn that peer pressure is bad. I just hope that I don't have to pay with my soul. haha....ha... ( looks nervously over shoulder and runs away....)

More gratuitous ME...

I already did this meme in July, but Kathryn tagged me, and I am desperate to push that pesky Bush post down the page, so I will do it again...

WHAT I WAS DOING...

Ten years ago

Student at Dalhousie University in Halifax, Nova Scotia, navigating an unhealthy relationship, drinking, neglecting most of my goals, aside from trying to grow my hair long.

5 years ago

Leaving Los Angeles, fleeing my bad relationship, reclaiming my independence and self esteem in Calgary

1 Year Ago

Still marvelling at the fact that I had a six month old daughter, my days revolved a lot around breastfeeding, and eating, so that I could produce enough milk. Basically, I was a dairy cow.

Yesterday

Shopping with Robb & Piper, hanging out with my visiting mum. Wonderfulness.
We all went to my neice’s 7th birthday party, and partook of the excellent
cake-y fun. I watched “Sin City” and “Spanglish” again. Both fantastic.
Side note: I have at long last acheived my lifetime goal of growing my hair long. It is now officially long. Too bad my goals are so pathetic.

5 songs I know the words to

Journey To Ernie- Big Bird
Fix You- Coldplay
Bad Timing- Blue Rodeo
Wonderwall- Oasis
Hollaback Girl- Gwen Stefani

5 snacks I enjoy

mom’s spinach salad
cherries
popcorn
sour anything
oatmeal cookies/muffins

5 Things I would do with $100 million:

TRAVEL with family & friends
Donate to cancer research and charities
Split up ½ among our families, let my mom RETIRE, already!
anonymous gifts
build our dream house, and STAY there, no more moving

5 places I would run away to
(Really, it would be easier to name 5 places I wouldn’t run away to)

Thailand
Virgin Islands (ironic, I know)
Nova Scotia (home sweet home)
California
Margharitaville

5 things I would never wear

a dickie
moustache
white tapered jeans
overalls
a wrestling singlet

5 favourite tv shows (currently)

Arrested Development
The Daily Show
Supernanny
Wil & Grace
CSI

5 big joys

my Family
travelling
my health, & loved ones’ health
taking photos
reading a good book or blog

I'm not going to tag anyone else this time, but if anyone wants to do this- please comment so I can go read it!

And the mood swings back...

(Please picture Jimmy Fallon at a DJ booth for this)

AND WE'RE BAAAAAAAACK!

Something nice and light for this morning- politics!

I've been reading some opinions about George W. lately, people feeling sorry for him because he is so "picked on". I try to see both sides of a story, and Lord knows I am not the most politically knowledgable person in the world, but I find it hard to see this side.

When I watch George speak, honestly, he seems very dim, stunned, oblivious to the needs of others, and confused. His sense of humour is that of a five year old boy's. And without a script, he seems worse. I find it scary.

I don't think that George is an evil person, or a hateful person- and he definitely does a better job at leading a country than I could do. He has done some things right. I realize that it is impossible to please everybody, and that going on and on about George's stupidity is not really productive. But having an opinion is good.

I do think that Bush CHOSE to be President, and wanted to be in the position he is in- a position that carries an INCREDIBLE responsibility and level of accountability to an entire country of people. He needs to be extraordinary. He needs to be sensitive, intelligent, a good communicator, LITERATE, a good anticipater of what people will need, honest, and HARDWORKING. A tall order, indeed, but unreasonable? I don't believe so. That was in the job description when he applied for it. Part of the deal.

And the day that people STOP demanding these things from The President is a sad sad day for the United States.

(You can have a different opinion on this, and I won't argue with you.)

Has anyone seen my confidence?

I'm overwhelmed with a feeling of inadequacy at the moment.

I read a lot of blogs, written by some amazing people, who are echelons more educated, intelligent, witty, creative, and charismatic than I. I am wondering why the hell I would write the crap I write, and expect my friends, strangers, and strangers who I pretend are my friends, to read and enjoy my silly little self obsessed ramblings.

And I am caught up in the desire to delete anything that I've written that might offend anyone, or bore anyone... on earth. That doesn't leave a lot.

Gross. I hope I get over this soon. I am closing comments, because now I feel like I'm fishing for some compliments or something. Whoo boy, I have to remember why I started this blog, 5 months ago, get over my blog eye, and get on with it...

The Liar King

Maybe it’s because my mom is here, and also because I’ve been reading some great childhood story blogs, but I’ve been thinking about my childhood a lot this week. My little sister remembers a lot more details than I do about our experiences- I think I blocked out a lot of stuff. I needed to drop some mental baggage so I could move on. And move I did- about 40 times in about 10 different cities. The littlest hobo. Every stop I'd make, I'd make a new friend. Don't stay too long, just turn around, and I'm gone again. Maybe tommorrow, I'll wanna settle down. Until tommorrow, I'll just keep movin' on...

There is one story that I remember vividly, because it haunted me for sooo many years:

We were learning about “Block Parents” in school one fine day in first grade. The teacher informed us that if one were ever in trouble, like being bothered or followed by a stranger, we could run to the door with a Block Parent sign on it, and that would be a safe place to go. Cool. There was even a film with a reenactment of such a scenario. Double Neato.

When I got home, I was drawing a picture of a car, and my mom came over and asked me what I was drawing. “It’s a picture of the car that followed me home today,” I lied sweetly. I remember getting a startled reaction, then lots of questions.... What, when, where, why, who, ????, etc... I answered swiftly and calmly, being a confident liar with a healthy imagination.
The fictional man had followed me in his made-up car, and tried to coerce me into getting into the aforementioned pretend car. I ran up a nonexistant hill to escape, since his car could not pass through the large rocks I'd invented. Crap was pouring out of my ears, I was so full of it.

When Mom related the tale to my dad later that evening, my load of bullshit really hit the fan. My dad was a cop- a Detective, no less. He’s been lied to by professional adult liars, and I knew I was in too deep, but I had to stick to what I’d started, because I was starting to realize that I’d done something seriously wrong. I gave a complete description of the car, dents and all, and the man, tall, thin, and possibly dressed in black. Thank god for the Block Parent video, or I would have had nothing to draw from.

But I realized later that night that it was EVEN worse than that. My dad called another Detective from the Police Force OVER TO OUR HOUSE, so I could give a complete description for the police so that they could begin the MANHUNT FOR THE CHILD MOLESTING CRIMINAL. I remember so clearly the moment I was lying in bed, trying to pretend I was asleep, so I wouldn’t have to commit PURGERY. (Although I didn’t know the word purgery, otherwise, I would have surely used it in a short story..) However, my dad “woke me up” from my slumber, so I could repeat my gigantic lie for the officer. I did not disappoint.

I never heard a word about it after that, but I thought about it often. I was shredded with guilt about it, and lived in fear of being caught. I had visions of some innocent guy being dragged away in handcuffs, as the police waved an artist’s rendering of my “boogieman” in his face. But even more than that, I had visions of my dad screaming at me until the skin melted off my face. My guilty conscience ate away at me like a piranha, it was awful.

So awful, that I couldn’t bear the weight of it. I actually admitted it to my dad, a few years later, sobbing and terrified. His reaction shocked the hell out of me. Instead of being furious, and grounding me for the rest of my life, and selling me to the circus, he was stunned and amused, and somewhat impressed that I had COMPLETELY fooled him. He, who prided himself on just knowing what was really going on at all times, (and he mostly did, to my teenaged horror,) had completely bought my story. He was sold the Brooklyn Bridge by a 6 year old girl in pigtails.


In retrospect, I think the reason he believed me is because I had NO REASON to lie. There was NO MOTIVE. Nada. Zip.

The moral of this story is that little girls LIE. Sometimes to spare themselves, and sometimes just because their lips are moving. They can’t help it. Sometimes they just open their mouths, and big retarded lies come shooting out like shrapnel. Mothers, Fathers, Officers of the Law... be ye wary.

We Are The Champions... of The World

We went to the Zoogala on Friday night, and set up our booth for our restaurant, giddy with anticipation to serve our delicacies to the hoity toities of Calgary. Unfortunately, there was a torrential rainstorm, (but I will never again complain about a little rain, for obvious reasons...) and we only got about 600-700 people, instead of the usual 2,000. There were many booths set up for some mighty fine restaurants, and liquor reps, and all serving free stuff, along with loads of auctioned and drawn prizes, so it was obviously a good party. We were next to the Jack Daniels booth, and were gifted with hella tasty Lynchburg Lemonades all night long. All of it was to benefit the Calgary Zoo, so I opted not to wear my baby seal skin coat with the baby mink lining, with buttons made of baby beluga whale bones, even though it was rather nippy outside. I'm thoughtful that way.

We hadn't realized that there were food critics there, judging us all, and WE WON FIRST PRIZE! We beat the pants off many other higher end restaurants that have been open for MUCH longer than 2 months! Three big fat cheers for us! That sh!t is BANANAS! I think it may have been our homemade Tomato Bisque that put us over the edge. It is indescribably yummy. It is a party in your mouth, and your stomach. It is magical. If you poured this soup on George Bush, he would turn into Jon Stewart- THAT IS HOW MAGICALLY DELICIOUS IT IS, people. We were apparently being judged on food, presentation and staff, which consisted of Robb, our chef, her assistant, and I, so I am taking it as a lovely compliment. We got a hideous little plaque, and I love it.

Piper's mummy's mummy

My mom arrived tonight from Florida for a 3 week visit. Piper hasn't seen her since she was very wee, so Grandmama will be on probation for a day or so, until her Grandmamanian skills can be fully evaluated and assessed by the Tiny Queen of Pinkness. Piper's given her a few token kisses, but they were slightly dismissive.
But in general, so far Grandmama is faring well, as:

1. She came bearing gifts

2. She already has plans to help me sew a skunk Halloween costume for my lil stinker

3. She is a baby maniac, and speaks to Pip in a voice one octave above dog whistles

4. She likes to bake and cook- the way to Piper's heart is definitely through her stomach. The girl digs food. Big time. I have yet to find a food she will not ingest with gusto. I think she may have eaten my red sweater that I can't find.

Off to bed, big week ahead.

Nostalgia Overload

In our Big House Cleaning, we came across my School Day Treasures Book. It is huge, with envelopes full of pictures, projects and memories from Kindergarten through University. I was quite cute until about Grade Three, when my character (as Wade sweetly put it) started to "blossom", and I began to resemble a tiny cross between Annie and Johnny Fever.
In this book of yellowing memories, I found a short story I wrote in grade 9. I obviously saved it because I got 100% on it. My favorite teacher, Mr. Campbell, my English teacher, wrote this comment on the cover: Eve, you have a gift, nurture it! This is as good as I have ever read! Thank you, bravo! 100%!

So I had high expectations as I began to read the story for the first time in 20 YEARS.
Oh. My. God. As I read it aloud to Robb, and I had tears streaming down my face from laughing at the most DRAMATIC and CORNY tale of TRAGEDY and WOE, ever to befall a human being EVER. It's too long to copy here, but to sum up the story.. everyone dies, except for one person. 4 out of the 5 characters DIE. And, oh, the adjectives! The more, the better was my motto! I have to just write up the first page here, to give you the general idea...


A curious face peered eagerly out of a large picture window on a crisp December morning. It was a tiny girl with bright green eyes and jet-black hair that framed her angelic face in silken curls. Her name was Melissa, and she was seven years old.

Melissa was staying with her Uncle Gary in his elegant Victorian home. She would have been enjoying her visit if she was not there for such a terrible reason. A week before, a tragic accident had befallen Melissa and her family, their house had caught fire. The reason for it had not been determined, but it was suspected that faulty wiring may have been the cause. As well as burning their home to the ground, the destructive, odious flames took the lives of Melissa's parents. Her 12-year-old brother, Jamie, was put in intensive care, suffering from third degree burns on 70% of his body.


And believe me, it got much worse from there. I have to quote another paragraph, where Melissa talks to her brother in the hospital:


For a moment, he opened his eyes, and in a creaky voice, barely audible, he whispered, "P..promise me you'll...never...stop believing in... fairies." He closed his eyes and his head sunk into the pillow.


I went on for 14 more pages in a flurry of "magestic firs", "trill melodies", and "perfectly exquisites." And then I brought it home in a gut wrenching description of the main character freezing to death in the snow, like Jack Nicholson in "The Shining". The End!

Dear lord! Was I like that all the time? Was my speech always littered with so many painfully dramatic adjectives? I don't even like soap operas, and yet I was writing them at age 14.

*New addition- Tina, you asked for it, here it is, the whole saga....


A Christmas Wish
by Eve DramaQueen

A curious face peered eagerly out of a large picture window on a crisp December morning. It was a tiny girl with bright green eyes and jet-black hair that framed her angelic face in silken curls. Her name was Melissa, and she was seven years old.

Melissa was staying with her Uncle Gary in his elegant Victorian home. She would have been enjoying her visit if she was not there for such a terrible reason. A week before, a tragic accident had befallen Melissa and her family, their house had caught fire. The reason for it had not been determined, but it was suspected that faulty wiring may have been the cause. As well as burning their home to the ground, the destructive, odious flames took the lives of Melissa's parents. Her 12-year-old brother, Jamie, was put in intensive care, suffering from third degree burns on 70% of his body.

Because her parents had previously named Uncle Gary the guardian, Melissa was sent to live with him. Nobody had explained the situation to the child, but by listening to conversations, she knew that her parents were gone, and that Jamie was badly hurt.

“Oh, it’s snowing,” a soft breathless little voice whispered, “and the flakes are so big and fluffy!” Melissa was an imaginative little girl who believed in fairies, dreams, and magic. She was not very close to her parents, although she loved them, because they couldn’t understand her dramatic creativeness. But she loved Jamie more than anything in the world. He always understood her, and talked with her for hours at a time. They were two of a kind, both having those striking green eyes that sparkled with the excitement of living. It almost broke Melissa’s heart that Jamie was hurt, but she had no idea that death was imminent.

Uncle Gary then walked into the room and looked pitifully at Melissa gazing out the window. She turned to him saying, “The snow fairies are here, tossing their white blossoms all around.”

“Oh, that.... that’s nice, honey,” stuttered Gary. He wasn’t used to Melissa’s imagination, and he didn’t know much about children. Melissa’s sweet ways had won his heart instantly, but he didn’t understand a lot of her remarks. Gary had never been married, he’d always lived alone. Some may have thought he’d be a happy man, as he was very wealthy, but what good is wealth if you have no-one to share it with? Gary was missing something very important, someone to love. Melissa had given him just that.

In the wintry days that followed, Gary and Melissa spent most of their time outside, exploring the picturesque landscape, sprinkled with snow. Melissa creatively named a few of the most outstandingly beautiful places. A small clearing in the forest, surrounded by tiny spruce trees and majestic firs, that rang with the trill melodies of songbirds, earned the name “Vireo Vale.” Melissa explained that a vireo was a small green and gray songbird. “I just know that it’s the vireos singing. Even though they’re hiding, their song is distinguishable above all others.”

Together, the two made use of all their time, skating, tobogganing, or simply exploring. Although Gary was totally drained at the end of each fun-filled day, Melissa proved to have unceasing energy.

It was visits to Jamie in the hospital that kept Melissa going. He was allowed to see his two devoted visitors only twice a week though, because of his condition. Melissa seemed to get her youthful energy from Jamie’s loving eyes, which seemed to be getting duller and duller. She thought it was just a matter of time before he recovered. He was dying. At one visit, he could barely talk, and his eyes were swelled shut. Before leaving, Melissa planted a gentle kiss on Jamie’s burnt cheek. “I love you, big brother. When you get better, you’ll come to our new house, and we can visit “Vireo Vale”, and all of the other perfectly exquisite places we’ve found.

For a moment, he opened his eyes, and in a creaky voice, barely audible, he whispered, "P..promise me you'll...never...stop believing in... fairies." He closed his eyes and his head sunk into the pillow.

Melissa placed her hand on his and said, “I won’t ever stop believeing…. I promise you.” He squeezed her hand lightly, and then he was gone. A worried looking nurse scurried into the room, and shooed Melissa and Gary out.

Nobody uttered a word during the trip home, then Melissa said, “He’ll be better soon, and then I can see him everyday.” Gary hugged the child and hastily wiped a tear from his cheek. “Don’t worry, Uncle, he’ll be alright.” Gary didn’t have the heart to tell Melissa that her brother was dead.

Days passed quietly and grimly until it was two weeks until Christmas.

“Uncle Gary, lets’s go visit Jamie today, he must be excrutiatingly lonely.”

Gary was stunned, and searching frantically for something to say. “Jamie’s….he’s…Jamie’s not in the hospital anymore,” he finally blurted out.

Thinking her brother must be recovered, a radiant glow suffused Melissa’s face as she asked, “Well, where is he?”

“He’s gone away, Melissa, and, well, he won’t be coming back.”

A desperate, worried expression engulfed the child’s pale face, and her eyes swelled with glistening tears. “NO! He must be coming back, he’s coming here to live with us! I’ll find him, he IS going to come back, he would never leave me! I would just die!” She burst into tears and ran hysterically outside. She ran and ran until she dropped to the ground, exhausted, among the frozen blades of the immense field. Melissa cried wholeheartedly for well over an hour, then picked herself up, and trudged slowly home, still sobbing quietly.

“I am both emotionally and physically drained,” sighed Melissa as Gary tucked her into bed a few hours later. “I will find him, you know. It’s my Christmas Wish to be with Jamie, and if you have but one Christmas wish, it simply must be granted to you.

In the following two weeks, the atmosphere was fairly vibrant and festive, due to Christmas, and Melissa’s untiring imagination. On Christmas Eve, a tired man and an excited child gazed admiringly at their beautifully decorated tree before slipping upstairs to bed. But if Gary had happened to wake up an hour later, and chance to look out his window, he would have seen a tiny black haired girl fleeing across the yard and through the field, off to find her brother.

On Christmas morning, Gary woke to an unexpected silence. He called out Melissa’s name once, then again, louder, in a more questioning tone. He searched the upstairs, then proceeded to search the downstairs, where his eys caught sight of a note stuck on the tree. It read:

“Dearest Uncle Gary. I’m sorry I had to sneak out,but I was afreaid you’d forbid me to go if I’d told you. I realized that I can’t expect my Christmas Wish to come true if I don’t help out myself. I know I’ll find Jamie, because I prayed earnestly for it. Jamie and I will return soon. I love you very much. Love, Melissa.”

“Oh damn me and my stupid lie! I should have told her Jamie was dead! She’ll freeze to death, why it must be -15 degrees celcius outside! Oh, DAMN ME! I’ll never forgive myself if….! Gary couldn’t bear to finish the thought. He tore through the yard and the massive snow-covered field as if persued by death itself. Two hours later, Gary was about to return home and contact the police, when he spied a small blue bundle cuddled under a tree. He rushed over to find Melissa’s small, frail body huddled nest to a strong stump. In her tiny cold hand, she held a red package marked, “To Jamie with love, xoxo, Melissa.”

Gary threw himself down next to the limp body, covering her with his bulky coat, desperately trying to warm her. But it was to no avail. Events of the past month flashe d vividly through his mind. He recalled all of the important things Melissa had taught him; how to live, laugh, and love. Gary had felt that life was of no particular importance before she had come. He began to weep bitterly, but then he looked down at Melissa.

On her face, was a contended little grin. Instantly, Gary knew that her Christmas Wish had come true. Melissa could only truly be happy with Jamie, and now she would be, forever in a place where the tiny angel belonged.

The End

(then a little curly-q with two lines through it, for some added flair)


That was exactly how the story was written by my 14 year old self. My penmanship was quite lovely… one may even call it “excrutiatingly lovely”. My influences were “Anne of Green Gables”, the movie, “The Outsiders”, and apparently, a thesaurus.

Mommy Dearest

My Mommy is coming to visit me next week, for a whole 23 days. I can't wait for her to see Piper, I'm already getting weepy thinking about the reunion. Mom would have had 30 babies instead of 2, if my dad would have gone along with it, so this Grandbaby thing is like winning the lottery/getting a new timeshare to her. My mom is somewhat of a timeshare junkie, Robb and I have been secretly planning an Intervention for some time now. After we get to use our week that she gave us.

It's a funny relationship that Mom and I share. We have not lived in the same city, or country for the most part, for the past 15 years, and we have gone months without speaking many times, and have only seen each other about once a year on average. Yet we are still close, and very much in touch. It's hard for Robb to understand, because his parents have always been so involved in his life, unlike mine, but I feel like we are equally close to our parents. I've always been very independant, and have never really sought the support or approval of my parents very often, and I've lived on my own since I was 19 years old. Yet, when we do visit, saying goodbye always turns me into a two year old again. I panic. I cry. I have an anxiety attack. I fall apart. It's almost funny, and I think it makes my mom feel good, in a way. It's just kind of ridiculous how I can go years without seeing her, and be fine, but then freak out at the end of a nice visit. It's gotten worse as I've gotten older, too, and have grown to appreciate my Mom in a lot more ways, and come to understand our history with more clarity. I no longer harbour the ill will I felt towards her for so many years over these childhood traumas:

1. She always cut my bangs crooked, especially before pictures were to be taken. I always looked like I'd cut my bangs myself... with a jacknife... drunk. Why were my sister's bangs straight? WHY?

2. She sent me out into the world wearing glasses that looked like Johnny Fever's glasses on WKRP in Cincinnati. I was a little girl. A little girl wearing GIANT ski mask glasses. Was she trying to protect my entire face from potential shrapnel spray? I'm still not sure.

3. She dressed me in the most hideous polyester ensembles, that I am sure were not flame retardant. I can't believe that the glare from my giant glasses never set my horrid leisure suits on fire. On the sunny side, if I ever needed to hide, my outfits allowed me to camoflauge perfectly into our disgusting beige/brown/orange/avocado/gold fruit patterned couch. I believe that Hitler is sitting on that couch in hell today.

In retrospect, she wasn't trying to hurt me. She didn't know any better, and she probably couldn't see that her oldest daughter was dressed up like a circus geek, because her vision was impaired by her own Johnny Fever spectacles. Despite these sins, and many more, I love my Mommy dearly, and am so excited to see her! But she will not be cutting Piper's bangs during her stay, because the cycle must be stopped.

Still crushing

I keep seeing the magnificent Jon Stewart on kid's shows, and it is only making me love him more, if that's even possible. The hotness, the hilarity, the warmth, it is almost unbearable. And I am totally allowed to openly have a crush on him, beause my husband loves him as well. So there.

After reading today's Nickerblog, I've been thinking about how I am not very driven or competitive. I do a lot of things half assed, and don't strive to be the best of the best very often. I should. I want to be full assed... a COMPLETE ass.

So... I am going to become Jon Stewart's most dedicated and obsessed fan ever- his #1 fan! More fanny than anyone! Hah! We are going to legally change our names to Mr. & Mrs. Jon Stewart, and name all of our future children Jon (or Joan!) Stewart. I will memorize every word he's ever uttered or written, and quote him constantly, even in completely inappropriate circumstances. I will not get plastic surgery to look more like him, (I'm not NUTS here,) however I will urge Robb to do so, and I will get the image of Jon's face tattooed onto my own face. Won't that be neato? I will buy expensive surveillance and camera equipment with which to stalk Jon, and maybe even dedicate a website to him. I will fly to wherever he lives, (note to self, find out where he lives,) and break into his house and hide in his closet, smell his shirts, and watch him for hours- so deep is my admiration and respect. Then I will steal some hair from his hairbrush before I leave, and make a little friendship bracelet out of it, that I will wear at all times.

Because I want to be a better person. #1! Yeah!

Reach for the stars, as they say. For if you can avoid their bodyguards, you just may be able to touch one.

Things I enjoy a great deal

1. My grandmother's broken english, spoken in a thick french accent. Actually, I 'ave a likes for hanyone oo speak dees way.

2. When my friend Chelsey sings a rap or R&B song in her opera voice. She can destroy any contemporary song- it is awesome. Especially when intoxicated and dancing.

3. When I laugh until it hurts. The last time I did this was yesterday, while Robb, my sister and I were watching the movie "Eulogy". It wasn't even that funny of a moment, but when the coffin exploded, so did Mich and I. We have the exact same laugh, so we were like one giant echoing hyena, and the fact that Robb was not laughing, and was looking at us like we were insane, made us laugh even harder. I think I dislocated my esophagus.

4. When my daughter laughs a big chuckling belly laugh, I am hit in the face with a giant crashing wave of happiness. This is even more enjoyable than laughing myself. This phenomenon alone makes childbirth worth it.

5. Reading comments on my blog. It's a thrill to me, to have this amazing window into peoples' lives and humour, and when someone I enjoy takes an interest in mine, well shucks, I am very flattered. It's such a delightful little interactive community, this blogging community.

I forgot a big one:

6. Organizing things. Yesterday, Robb and I went through the last of our new home clutter, and Robb completely cleaned out the basement and garage, and I packed away Piper's outgrown clothes and redecorated her bedroom. For me, this feels indescribably fanatastic. I insanely love decluttering and decorating. I would rather have battery acid thrown in my face than have a "junk drawer". This show is like porn to me. Oh yeah, baby, you label that box! Label it faster... oh GOD!!!! So, it was a good day. Aaaaahhhhhhh.

Maybe if there was better fly fishing in New Orleans...

I'm not usually a huge fan of Micheal Moore's style, although his antics are quite amusing. But in the case of his letter to George Whatthefuck Bush, I agree with him wholeheartedly. I mean, really.

With a temper to match

Dirty Little Secret of the Day;

My natural hair colour is red. I've been living a big bleached blonde lie for the better part of the past 18 years, with brief reddish interludes. I was a strawberry blonde kid, and a medium red teen, but I'm not sure which shade of red my hair would be now, if left to it's own devices. I go through phases of wanting to dye it a vibrant, fiery Julianne Moore red, but I am not brave enough yet. I love it on other people, but fear I may look like this.

I be very afraid

Just knowing that this nightmare of a movie is Coming Soon is making me afraid.
I totally believe in all things ghosty and supernatural, and the thought of this movie being out there, getting closer, all based on a TRUE STORY and everything, is seriously disturbing me. Robb is making fun of me for not wanting to go see it, but I am already afraid of my closet at night, (and, to be honest, in the daytime as well,) and if it gets any worse, we will have to move again. And I hate packing, almost as much as I hate evil spirits that go around possessing people.

If anyone sees this, will they please give me a review?
I will be here, cowering.