Things are about to get a little bit pissy...

Okay, okay, I know I'm not usually that kind of blogger - you know, the one who is pissed off about everything. This post, however, might seem a bit curt and grouchy. And I don't care. So, if you came here for some light-hearted post about my Christmas Tree falling over, scroll past this rant. Click the next number on your Blog Explosion pannel - don't wait for the word GO!

I'm making a prediction. And I don't have to be a ruddy psychic to do it either. Because year after year un-original bastards piss me off to the point I don't even want to open the newspaper.

Well, most days I don't open the newspaper anyhow. After all, the slanted publications in this country (parading as periodicals of journalistic integrity) usually lack any actual facts save what Stephen Harper wore on his most recent backyard bbq appearance. But that's a whole other rant which I will not burden you with today. No, today I target the folks who stand in the background - who hide in dim rooms of their houses, scetching big-nosed likenesses of anyone in the limelight, tongue lodged firmly in their cheek thinking to themselves, "Wow, I'm so intelligent. I'm so glib. I'm such a smartass."

Yes, I'm talking about the Editorial cartoonists of the world.

I've spoken to, and have met, quite a few in my travels, and most are fine people. So, I pass by their biased, editorializing cartoons with not much more than a twinge in the corner of my mouth, either from amusement or disgust - the reaction is the same.

But New Year - New Year is bloody different. I started thinking about it this morning and I got right pissed off.

My prediction: TAB, Cam or some other editorial cartoonist, at least ONE if not TWELVE here in Calgary will be guilty of un-originality, not to mention hundreds of others world wide.

Somewhere in Managua, a man with a sketchbook just stuck his tongue in his cheek and thought "Wow, I have a great idea for a New Years editorial cartoon!" (But of course he thought it in Spanish, not English, because they speak Spanish there.)

I'm sure we've all seen it. Baby with sash - 2006. Old man with sash - 2005. Baby is frightened. Behind old man will surely be some representation of Gomery, some Conservative-slanted dig at the Liberals. Old man wishes baby luck. Baby trembles with fear, wondering "what am I being thrown into?"

COME ON! BE ORIGINAL!

And by original, I don't mean merely sitting 2006 baby in front of a stack of giant boxes of Valium. That's just dumb, because Valium doesn't come in giant boxes! Trust me, I KNOW!

Use a tiger. Use a budding seed of a plant. Use a gentle wave sliding up the shore, about to wipe out "2005" written in the sand. USE SOMETHING ELSE, for crying in the sink!

This must be Political Cartoonist's favourite day.

"Hey! Mildred! Where's that box of my cartoons from last year?"

"In the basement, why?"

"I need to pull out that New Years 2005 cartoon, erase the years on the baby and old man's sashes and use it again this year!"

"Wow, honey, you're so smart. That's why I married you."

"That's right, Mildred, I am smart. And none of those foolish readers will even notice I used last year's cartoon! Wahahahaha. WAHAHAHAHA (crackle of lightening in background)"

If you spot a culprit on New Years Day, let me know. Just as we must expose Liberal scandal, Adrienne Clarkson's travel expenses and the truth behind Jack Layton's mustache, these cartoonists must also be exposed for slacking off.

Wow, you're still reading! I'm impressed.

Timber!

At around 3pm the other day, I was lying in bed (I was on holidays!) and I heard this odd crash. I emerged from the bedroom to find... well, this.

That mess of lights on the floor is our Christmas tree toppled over. I'm still finding balls around the apartment!

It's not such a surprise though... remember the theory I had about the angel on the top of my tree being drunk? It was kind of already leaning at that point.

The tree is once again standing, of course, but it's tilting precariously. It's really only a matter of time.... Stay tuned - another crash is just about as exciting as anything else happening this week, right? Right? What, you've got better plans? Something more exciting this weekend? heh heh

The Resolute Reader is Online!

As many of you know, I recently left Keepitcoming.net (and not a moment too soon, it would seem...) and went out on my own with my serial story, Mending Resolute. Linde is the main character, a south end resident with the ability to slow down time in her mind - to explore a second for hours. Oh, and did I mention she can kick some ass?

A hot Scottish guy ropes Linde into fighting the south end thugs (ain't it always boys who get us girls into trouble?!). Scott's gran has recently been hospitalized from a mugging, and he's desperate to place her attackers in the emergency room of Valeur Hospital. Linde's father has also fallen victim to the brutality of the south end thugs, and a once-Olympic footballer is now confined to life in a wheelchair.

The Resolute Reader is a shameless publication claiming to cater to all of Resolute. But instead of focusing news stories on the rich North Resolutonians, Simone Byline, the city reporter, focuses on the crime in the south end. Journalistic integrity is certainly not kept in check as Simone Byline tangles the facts with her rash opinion and calls out Resolute's figureheads, demanding answers about why nothing is being done. The first (and rather tame...) article is up on The Resolute Reader, and there are plenty more, ripped from the pages of Mending Resolute, to come.

Also on The Resolute Reader newspaper site - classifieds. I need more classifieds, and they are, of course, free. There is a link for emailing me on the actual paper site, or email me at mendingresolute@yahoo.ca.

Check it out, post a letter to the editor if you like and rant about the horrible state of affairs in the south end. In the meantime, Linde will keep using her Kali moves, mixed with random Scottish bar fighting techniques to protect the few good people still left in Resolute's south end.

www.theresolutereader.blogspot.com

Dancing in your underwear

This will probably be my last post before Christmas. I'm not really one of those super Christmas people, and I'm most definitely not going to dress up my blog with Santa hats and jingle bells that blast through your stereo and scare the shit out of you. But I wish everyone a Merry Christmas all the same. I hope you survive it. Go for the full calorie egg nog, tip in a drop of rum or 20. Get drunk enough to insult that relative you've always secretly wanted to tell off. Let your festivities spread into your fish tank - one tree ball won't hurt them, will it? Try to have fun. It is, after all, the celebration of the birth of Christ, and, judging by those nativity scenes that seem to be in abundance this time of year by Christians and non alike, the wise men, Joseph, that cow in the hay - they partied. That stable was out of control! Um... yeah....


I think every girl has it - the dancing in her underwear song.

Some might remember Carrie from Sex and the City on the commercial, bouncing up and down the hallway in a pair of underwear and a tank top.

No one talks about it. All girls want to. And I'm sure men want us to talk about it, too.

You're getting dressed. Your music is on. You're halfway to fully clothed and it starts to play. That song. You can't help yourself. You have to spin, twirl, sway...

The bed or the couch suddenly becomes your stage, and you don't even notice you could lose your balance and fall into the coffee table or knock over your night table. You're not at a nightclub, no one is around to see you. You have freedom to do anything - jerks, spins, moves that have been outlawed since the eighties. Maybe you sing. Maybe you don't. What is it about that song that you just have to move or you'll suffocate? What is that song??

Post below, all, I can't wait to read them. Crap, have to go, going to be late for work.

I think the angel atop my tree is drunk.

I was wondering what happened to all my Bacardi. No rum & egg nog for me anymore. Damn drunken angel.

Who is Linde and going to Nicaragua!

I refer to Linde every once in a while, and I've had a few people ask me who she is. Linde Riley is the butt-kicking protagonist in my serial, Mending Resolute. If you can't click the links, please visit http://www.mendingresolute.com and tour virtual Resolute. It's currently a WIP until my graphics designer and I are able to meet for coffee and discuss things further, but I appreciate everyone coming by and subscribing none the less. Did I mention the issues are now all in PDF? I'm so excited.

Speaking of excited, it's official! I'm going to Nicaragua on January 18th! Woohooo! We (Me, Himself, my cool cousin and her honey) are going for 5 days. They just bought a house there, and we are tagging along. Just hope I don't run into any lizards on rocks, eh cuz? heh heh.

Now I'm learning Spanish as fast as possible. I have the CD's and have been listening to them in the car as I drive. It has actually curbed my road irritation (It's not bad enough to be rage, but I have yelled at other drivers from time to time).

Also, I have added a guest map! Look that way --------------------->

Now go click and add your little pin thing! Oh what fun.

One last thing, thanks to Jag, who posted after my tooth debacle assuring me the pain would ebb and commiserating, thereby making me feel much less ridiculous. I still am talking funny. Although some might argue that has always been the case.

Fa la la la la la la la la

This morning I dropped my Mom off at the airport. Lucky bum, she's going to Mexico until the 23rd!

And as I was driving back from the airport, sick with jealousy that she will be on a beach soon while here in Calgary snow is lightly falling, I almost threw up.

Not from the jealousy sickness, but from the Christmas Carols on the radio.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love Christmas, but I've hit this point in my life where I can look at something, like Pork Chops, and say, "I'm not going to try to like pork chops anymore, I'm strong enough in myself to declare I hate them!"

And so, I am strong enough and sure enough in myself to declare that I don't like all Christmas Carols. In fact, there are some I downright loathe.

Like The Little Drummer Boy. I HATE that song! Oh, it feels so good to say it. Such a release! You try! Is there one song you despise? Confess in the comments. You know you've got them - you've been hearing them on the radio since October 31st.

My favourite though, is O Holy Night. So, if you're not at the point where you can admit to the songs that make you shudder, post your favs instead.

*Warning* For the good of all, any mention of the NKOTB Christmas album will be removed by administration.

Really, officer! The reason I reek of whiskey is...

First of all, since I've registered with Blogexplosion, I'd like to welcome all my fellow blog surfers. If you are at all interested in laughing at someone who constantly seems to do stupid things, Blogmark me now. You can also laugh at me in the comments. Go on. I don't mind. Most of the time I'm thinking that Linde would never do something like (insert stupid move of the day...)

Case in point... I started going to a new dentist, and they give new referral customers a custom whitening kit, with specially made trays designed from molds of my teeth. Yup, way cool. So, I received my whitening kit on Monday and, although I just had two (rather large) cavaties filled, I was excited to try out my new toys (the toys being the syringes and mouth trays and stuff). And so, Monday night I began the first of four nights wearing the whitening goop. It even tasted pretty good! (And when I say tasted good, I mean in a medicinal, flouride-at-the-dentist's-office kind of way. Not good like Pizza or Tikka Masala.) They said only to use a little, because, according to the directions, a little goes a long way.

The next morning I woke up SO excited! I ran upstairs to check my brilliantly white teeth. Only, nothing had changed. Undeterred, I reasoned I had three days of the treatment left, and I drink about 8 cups of coffee a day (which, if you're new here, will probably end up explaining a lot in future) so I had a bit of yellow for the whitener to combat...

Well, not like nasty-teeth-on-the-cigarette-packages kind of yellow, because that's just bad hygene. For the courtesy of my American friends and visitors who probably haven't had the pleasure of this disgusting sight, see below. (And even funnier, the caption under this picture when I Googled it actually read "Ugly Canadian Cigarette Warnings")

Yeah, nothing that bad. Just for the record.

So, last night I filled the trays a bit more. Not much, just a bit. At three am I awoke from a disturbing dream about throbbing gums to find my gums were throbbing. So, in my sleep, I took out the trays, the dentist's voice ringing through my hazy dream state. "Your teeth can be a bit sensitive after you use the whitener."

At eight am, even without the stuff in my mouth, my teeth were stinging and my gums burning! I couldn't sleep. I could hardly cry. I was reminded of the time I took some of those muscle-woman pills before I went to the gym and then got on the arms machine. For the next 72 hours I was less useful than a goat. It hurt to lay there. It hurt to sleep. It hurt to breathe!

And so, at 10 am I hit the sauce. I firmly believe that Scottish single malt whiskey is the cure to everything (it is, after all, called the Water of Life). For five hours I did little else but rub Glenlivet on my ailing gums. They would go numb for about 24 seconds, and then begin to throb again, at which point I would reapply the whiskey.

Finally, at 3 pm I decided it was time to get out. I couldn't concentrate on my murder mystery, I couldn't even focus on the television. So, I thought I would take my new book (which is brilliant, by the way) to Chapters and get a coffee.

And so, I stood in line at Starbucks, tongue wedged between my top lip and my teeth to prevent any chilly air from sneaking through the tiniest spaces between my lips. The barrista asked me what I wanted. I leaned really closely and ordered (Thanks to Michelle) a Pumpkin Spice Latte.

"Only, can you just make it luke warm?"

He flashed me a weird look, glanced outside at the Canadian winter, then looked back at me (tongue back between lip and teeth). "Like, what - 140?"

"Actually," I said with great effort, "Like, 120." (Tongue immediately back between teeth and lip.)

He paused. "Are you sure? That's not very hot."

This time, without even dislodging my tongue, I replied, "I've indured my mouf."

He started laughing. And not one of those laughs like he was laughing with me. Oh no. He was laughing at me. And so he yells, as they do at Starbucks, to the other barrista as he wrote on the sleeve, "One Grande Pumpkin Spice Latte, 120 degrees for the woman with the injured mouth."

Durrrr!

Then he asks me if I still wanted the whipped cream on top. It was my turn to laugh at him. Um, yeah.

Then, as the other barrista hands me the drink, she yells it out again! I'm shushing her as people in deep arm chairs look up from their conversations and books at me once again. With tongue between lip and teeth, I say "thnks" and shuffle to the only available chair.

I went for the Pumpkin Spice because Michelle always blogs about them. Thank you, Michelle. I thought it would be gross. It actually was not.

Gross, that is.

And a friend of mine lent me a book called The Bride Stripped Bare by Nikki Gemmell. I'm only 37 pages in, but so far I love it.

My teeth are feeling a bit better, but everything I touch, for some reason, feels like I'm chewing on a piece of tin foil. I don't even have to chew on the aforementioned "things", I just have to touch them with my fingers, and I go into heeby-geeby spasms.

Moral of the story: don't be dumb.

New Mending Resolute Thumbnail!

Okay, I'm trying to make this sound like it's an actual, exciting blog subject, but really I'm just messing around with the format again, and I want to see if this method of adding my Mending Resolute thumbnail to the sidebar will work. But aren't you glad you read it anyhow? If this works and as you read this, you see the thumbnail below also on the sidebar, please click the sidebar link. If it doesn't work, let me know. If it works, have fun touring Virtual Resolute!

Work in progress

Well, today I got ambitious about The Spinning Pen and - well, this is what happened. Everything is almost the way I want it, but I can't get my graphic for my header uploaded... yet. Come hell or high water, it will be done. Any suggestions at this point would be helpful. Oh, and if you love it or if you loathe it, post below! I may not change things, but people ranting always makes for interesting reading.

I also updated most of the Mending Resolute site, and it's about bloody time! Tomorrow, provided my dentist doesn't incapacitate me (I doubt it, she's really nice, but I have cavities...) I will be adding more pictures to the Virtual Resolute section! Yahoo!

Also, Mending Resolute issues are now available in PDF! Thanks to Steve from Tall Tales Press for tipping me off on a way in which to publish in PDF! That's it for me - I'm going to bed. Maybe I will dream of a way to upload my graphic into my template...

Blog of the log and the Great House Migration 2005

Well, it happened again.

No, I'm not cracking up, it really did happen again. I got stuck behind yet another house two intersections away from the previous two last night.

As all three houses were traveling east to the edge of the city, I'm deeming this The Great House Migration of 2005. Perhaps the houses are collectively fleeing the cold, tired of having to shelter humans and not getting any appreciation. Kind of like all those birds who begin flying south for the winter and then a Chinook rolls in and they all come back, only to flee, squawking, the next day when the temperature drops again to -30.

Ever notice how there is always that one bird flying north? I used to think it was because he was an outcast, or got angry with the other birds in his flock.

Now I'm convinced it's because he forgot his wallet.

Tonight after work I sat on the couch staring at the television. After about 20 minutes of watching who knows what, I started channel surfing and found the best program.

It was a burning log on channel nine, like those DVDs one can buy if one wants to watch a fire but doesn't have the luxury of a fireplace.

I wondered what would happen when the logs died down - whether or not a hand would come out of nowhere and put another log on the fire, or if a poker stick would appear from the right and begin rearranging the wood. And so, for another 15 minutes, I sat watching the fire on TV, waiting.

I wanted to change the channel, but I couldn't stand the thought of missing it. One smaller log was burning at the front, outside the metal confines of the fireplace. Soon it would break off and the log would fall out and surely start a house fire. If only I waited long enough, it would happen.

After watching it for a while, I called Himself and told him to turn on channel nine. After trying to determine what kind of ads would show ("Coming up after the break, we add another log. You don't want to miss it!), Himself asked me, "Don't you have a real fireplace there?"

Indeed there is. Not three feet to the right of where the TV is.

I turned momentarily to see which Simpsons episode was on, and when I came back, there were new logs on the fire! Disappointment flooded my veins and, with a string of profanity, I gave up on the fire channel.

But more than likely, I'll tune in again tomorrow. I can't wait to find out what happens to the little log at the front, teetering perilously on the edge of the metal fence.

House on the road!

I now know when I've officially lost my cool.

It doesn't come in the form of an insane rant.

I don't go postal and start shooting.

It would seem when I just can't take anymore, I crack into hysterics.

In Halifax, after spending the night on a hide-a-bed in a conference room, Tara and I wound up at the call centre in which we were to work for 4 weeks (in a strip mall next to a Dollarama after spending $32 one way on a cab and then finding out no one actually came into work for another five hours). I laughed until tears rolled down my cheeks and Tara looked on in horror, surely wondering how she would tolerate working beside such a freak for a whole month.

Tonight was another classic. Over the last few days, nothing has gone right. My Mom would be quick to tell you it's due to the fact Mercury is in Retrograde, making all sorts of bizarre things happen. But tonight, after - well, let's just say A LOT of stuff over the past week, I started laughing. Hard.

After work, I got in my car to find the fan was not working again. So, no heat. In Canada. In winter. WTF? So, I put on the blue mittens Mom insisted I take with me, bundled up and figured I would brave the trip with the windows open to prevent the windshield from fogging up. It was, after all, only a 15 minute drive.

Only, there was a house in the road. A house that apparently had broken free of the flat bed. Somehow, this ambitious little house had made its way into the opposite lane. In the intersection. Screwing up traffic in, miraculously, all directions.

And so, the 15 minute drive became a 45 minute snail race. I made it past one house on the road to find another one not a few yards away, going 2 km/h in an 80 zone.

It was freaking HILARIOUS! I'm not an advocate of talking on a cell phone while driving (in fact, it's horrible, don't ever do it or may a rain shower of frogs fall on you), but since I was at a dead stop anyhow, I thought I would call... well, a bunch of people.

The word "raving lunatic" came out once, and I spent a while trying to convince a few people that I had actually gone to the gym after work and not a bar as they believed. It was not the house, after all, that was the crazy part. It was how incredibly FUNNY the whole thing was.

Later, I had some Glenlivet and defrosted and decorated Mom's Christmas Tree with her while listening to Bing Crosby, who, as far as I'm concerned, is the quintessential voice of Christmas. (Strangely, if you click the link to Bing above, it comes up with the exact album cover of the CD we were listening to...)

The whiskey and Bing have made me normal again. I realize a house in the road is not funny at all, and neither were the 45 minutes I spent behind it. I should not have been scouring the pavement through the darkness looking for ruby slippers or cracking jokes like "hey buddy, I think you dropped something..." I blame temporary insanity mixed with subzero temperatures. After all, runaway houses are no laughing matter.