FOLLOWING THE PATH OF THE LOTUS FLOWER

I recently purchased and received this beautiful pendant made in Kathmandu, Nepal.  Oh its so gorgeous, at least to me anyways.  It’s this lovely piece of turquoise that has a carving of a Lotus flower on it.  To me, its ironic that I received this piece one day before receiving bad news from my doctor. The Lotus flower, you see, is sacred for its spiritual meanings.  What most people do not know is that the Lotus flower grows below muddy waters and rises through the murk to the above surface to bloom with remarkable beauty.  At night, it closes and sinks underwater only to rise again and open at dawn.  The thought of something so beautiful arising from something so ugly, gives me hope.  Spiritually, the Lotus flower represents long life, good health and good luck...  All of which I seem to need at this point in my life. 

You see, yesterday was a hard day, one that I wish I could rewind and not repeat.  It wasn’t so much the diagnoses I received from the doctor, it was more the lack of remedy I received.  My doctor used phrases like: “we have to figure out how to make you more comfortable for the rest of your life” and “it seems to be several diseases overlapping each other and could take years to figure out the best course of treatment for you” and “I have never seen test results this abnormal”. I walked out of the office really not knowing where to go to from that point. It’s funny how your day begins, beautiful and sunny and with so much promise.  I must admit I was definitely looking forward to taking the day off and spending it with my better half and our pooch in my favourite City, but as I walked out of the office in a bit of daze, I spent the better part of my afternoon in deep thought, and sadly, I missed the moments I should have cherished.

I once read a quote by Anais Nin that said: “ Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death.” I do not wish to remain in this state, but I have however given myself permission to have four complete days of self-deprecating pity time.  But only four days because I really do believe in that saying: it’s okay to visit pity city but don’t take up residency.  And I won’t.  I just need some time to process it all, grieve the fact that I may never be pain free again and then take a plan of action. And in my usual dramatic fashion, I do see myself as the human equivalent of the Lotus flower.  Right now, in this moment of time, I am surrounded with the ugly, but I plan to rise above it.  Unlike the Lotus flower, I do not plan to emerge back into the muddy water as night falls, I plan to raise my head to the sun, the moon and the stars and keep it there.

In the meantime, I plan to wear my pendant as much as possible as I feel this odd connection to it.  I suppose in a sense it has become my talisman.  And I think that every one needs to carry around a piece of hope with them, mine just happens to be a turquoise flower.

Until Next Time
Smooches Pooches

I'M VELCRO BABY!

I’m a magnet for the unusual.  It’s true unfortunately.

It started when I moved from my small town to a bigger city at the ripe old age of 20.  The first week I was there I had gone out to a nightclub and as I was walking the street back up to my car, a homeless derelict came running out from the side of a building yelling “whore, whore, you filthy whore” and brandishing a butcher knife.  I had to kick off my heals and leave them behind and run my butt off to get to my car.  I made it in time, but I regretted leaving my shoes. (What? they were brand new!)  I had this weird feeling that he probably picked them up and hacked them to pieces.  I suppose it was better my shoes than me.

You think that would have been enough to kick some sense into my rather large noggin and send me packing.  Well it didn’t, and the next 10 years of living in the City provided me with enough stories that I could have written a novel, seriously!

Things happened to me like a serial arsonist set my apartment building on fire while I was in the middle of making Christmas cookies. I was on the top floor at the time and I calmly walked around my apartment unplugging my appliances (no, I don’t know why I did that) and collecting my jewelry and a clean pair of underwear while smoke was pouring into my apartment.  Ironically, our local stoned-out-of-his-mind postman saved the day! Then there was the time I got a hankering for a big salad after watching Elaine ordering a big salad on a Seinfeld episode.  As I was coming back with my salad, I noticed this scary looking dude hanging outside the entrance of my parking lot.  By the time I got out of my car, he was right there in my face.  Luckily for me, a young couple walked out of my apartment building at the same time.  He looked me in the face and told me I was a very lucky girl.  I wasn’t sure what he was going to do until I reported him to the police and they said his description fit that of a sex offender they were looking for.  Makes me shiver just thinking about it.

However not everything that happened was frightening.  Take the time a family from the states moved into the apartment building below me.  Their son was anorexic and he was attending a well known facility for treatment.  I ended up seeing them the following week on 20/20 as they were being interviewed because it was rather unusual for a boy to suffer from anorexia.  But what gets weirder is that later in the week, I saw the father on America’s Most Wanted.  Apparently, he robbed several gas stations on his way up to our City.  The next day, the police were knocking on my door looking for them.  Of course other things happened to me like the time I had new neighbours move in below me and I could hear all this arguing for hours.  Finally, being sick of it, I went down and knocked on their door and as the young guy opened the door, I leaned on it and fell inside.  To my astonishment, I saw approximately 30 young arab men in turbans sitting in an unfurnished bachelor apartment on bedrolls.  They were freaking out over something that was on TV and it was apparent that they were horrified that I saw them all.  The next day they vacated the apartment without notice.  Can you say future “Jihad”!  Lordy!

I wished I could say it stopped there, but no, it didn’t.  I can once remember taking the bus two hours to get to home.  A mother and her mentally challenged teenage son came on board and she sat him down next to me.  I spent the next two hours having the same question posed to me every 5 minutes: “Can I squeeze your booby?”  Um, NO!  That was a long ride home my friends, a very long ride!

Things didn’t get any better when I moved to my latest town of choice.  Without getting into too many specifics, I can tell you that I have had in my office an escapee from the 4th floor mental health ward of our local hospital, a homicidal maniac asking how he could off his wife without being caught (uh huh, sure buddy), a recently paroled bank robber wondering how he could get his ID back from the Government so he could claim some money that he had “stashed” away, a seriously drunk woman looking for a dentist who fell into the wall and passed out across my feet, and then proceeded to come back the next day and repeat the whole process again. 

Yup, there are days that I wonder what I have done in a previous life to warrant such bizarreness!  I am the human equivalent of velcro, everything that you don’t want to stick to it, sticks to it!

These days, I try and not even make eye contact, but it doesn’t help.  I have become the Pied Piper of weirdos.  I suppose that I shouldn’t complain too much as it has made my life a little more interesting.  Maybe I am a weirdo myself.  Come to think of it, my better half’s term of endearment for me is “little weirdo”.  A coincidence, perhaps not. Hmmmm, that gets me to thinking, I suppose if I can’t beat them, I might as well join them. 

Until Next Time.
Smooches Pooches

THE CASE OF THE MISSING MANNERS

I got to thinking the other day about general etiquette which I believe is a topic that should not be lightly dismissed.

Take for example when I first started dating my better half.  His manners were impeccable.  So gentlemanly was he that I was overwhelmed by his respectfulness towards me.  Now don’t get me wrong, he is without a doubt a complete gentleman in most aspects of our life.  He would be the first to hold a door open for you, pull out a chair, serve you food first, open a car door etc. I really admire and adore that part of his persona.  Unfortunately, there is a grey area, or better yet a stenchy area, that he is lacking some serious manner-tudes in and I remember exactly when and where this particular manner went astray.

It was about eight months into dating and we were going for a walk thru the town I grew up.  I had taken him to my old elementary school and as we were walking down the grassy hill towards my high school, he just let one rip.  And this was just not any old flatulence.  It was the exact moment the flood gates opened. I stood there in complete shock as he giggled like a ten year old boy!  I actually blame myself because I started to laugh at him giggling.  Well that just seemed to be an open invitation for my butt burner of a better half, because the next hour ended up being a series of nose penetrating, objectionable patoot thunder that left an unfortunate imprint on me for these last 7 years.

When you think about it, his minor gaseous offences, are nothing but a blip compared to other people. I have run into so many people in the last 10 years that are seriously lacking in socially correct behaviour and I often wonder what happened to general every day manners?  I personally still hold doors open for seniors to go before me.  I always stop and let people pass on crosswalks.  I would be the first to let you stand in front of me at the grocery aisle if you only had a few items and I had several.  But I am starting to lose my own proprieties of conduct.  Seniors, as well as other individuals, no longer say thank you when you hold the door open, people step right out in front of you when you are driving, and if you don’t let that person behind you with a few items go first, then you are stuck listening to them deep sigh for the entire time you are purchasing your items.

I am coming to believe that this must be a North American thing.  I have a few people on my facebook that are from some European countries and their politeness astounds me.  So I wonder to myself: when did we come to the conclusion that rudeness was an acceptable part of our society?

There are days now, specifically when I am cranky, when I open doors for someone elderly and as they walk thru I say quite loudly “YOU’RE WELCOME.”  It usually startles them and they get flustered and embarrassed and I feel thoroughly satisfied with the fact that I exacted a little revenge on them for their deplorable manners.  Although the fact that I exacted a little revenge says to me that my manners maybe deplorable as well.  However, I did have some 80 year old once turn around and look me in the eye and say “nobody asked you to hold it open for me dear.” She was right you know.  Nobody did.  I suppose if I am expecting something for being thoughtful, I should maybe change careers and open doors for living, then at least I would be paid for it.

I should of course mention that within my own household I am no angel and that I take it for granted that I can be free and easy with my own personal etiquette, per se.  And I probably could do with a lesson or two on the fact that “flatulent humour” is not the only thing worth laughing about. 

In the meantime and while I am out and about in public, I am still going to hold on tightly to my own manners.  I have to believe that I will hopefully rub off on someone, of course, it will be highly doubtful that it will be that person who flipped me the bird in the crosswalk the other day, but I can hope!

Until Next Time.
Smooches Pooches.

GOODBYE SUNDAY!!

Hello Monday..... and so begins another work week for those of us who do the Monday thru Friday, 9 to 5 daily grind!  I'm certainly not knocking my job, but I often wonder how the work week can drag on and on but when Friday comes, watch out, you blink once and the weekend is over and you are back to the beginning of another tedious work week.

When I was a kidlet, I use to love Sunday evenings.  It was pretty much the only night of the week where I actually got to watch what I wanted.  Which in most cases was the The Wonderful World of Disney.  I, however, dreaded when hockey season came because Hockey Night in Canada would unfortunately trump Disney.  Those were in the good old days when you had one tv room, namely your living room (there was no such thing as a family room) and your father had the dubious distinction of being the boss over the tv channels.  Remember when you actually had to get up and walk over to your tv and change the channel manually?

I have to say that to this day, I absolutely dread Hockey Night in Canada, and I have probably offended at least 9 of my 10 followers with that statement.  But as a little girl, there was nothing worse than watching hockey ever freaking night on tv and then being dragged to every practice and game of your brother's.  As soon as I was on my own, I never watched it again!  It was the most liberated I had ever felt.  My own tv and my own choice in channels.  It didn't seem to matter to me that the first 3 years I was on my own, I couldn't afford cable.  So I used my tv as a beautiful plant stand.  It was just the fact that it was my tv and my decision.

As I have gotten older, I have to admit that I have become a bit of a remote control hog.  I often sit my patooty down beside my better half and just instinctively grab the remote out of his hand and start flipping channels until I find something that piques my interest.  Thank gawd he is so good natured, because if he did that to me, most likely I would smack him in the back of the head and take the remote back from him.  Don't feel too bad for him though.  He has that annoying habit of surfing between the commercials and by the time he gets back to the original channel, we have usually missed an important part of the show.  I suppose that is his revenge with me.  Tic for Tac, as my mother would say!

I guess its about that time now..... Gotta go downstairs and yank the remote from his hand!  Oh don't roll your eyes, it's Amazing Race night!  In the meantime, I hope this week goes smoothly for everyone!  I certainly will be doing my great big Monday morning sigh tomorrow and blinking as much as possible in the hopes I will land on Friday fairly quickly!

Until Next time

Smooches Pooches

WHAT A LITTLE WHITE HAIR CAN DO

This week has been draining.  I am tired and uninspired and reaching deep into myself for something to blog about has been next to impossible.

Not too mention that I found a stinking white hair in my eyebrow.  Really, a white hair people, in my eyebrow!  And you know what happens next, with one comes fifty more and before you know it, I am going to be in a rocking chair, sporting a foo man chu moustache, wearing some gawd awful printed little house on the prairies dress, with support stockings while wearing depends on my head instead of my bottom, in an old folks home, playing with my dentures......

That little white hair got me to thinking that maybe it was time to re-evaluate what it is that I want to accomplish in life. So I have decided to make a life list of the things that I wish to do before they open those pearly gates to let me in and I am sharing them with you in the hopes that you will help kick my rooty toot butt into gear and get me going on it.

Here they are in no particular order:

• Go to Italy (okay I lied, this is my number 1 thing to do!)
• Learn to play the acoustic guitar (I was subjected to five painful years of playing the Organ with a teacher who did not believe in using deodorant and let me tell you something, no child should EVER be subjected to that!  So I am ever so slightly scarred when it comes musical instruments)
• Get my motorcycle licence (hey!!! I can do that, my mother did it at 50... she's such a rockstar!)
• Speak another language (specifically a language that doesn’t involve rolling your “R’s”... hard as I try, I cannot get my tongue to roll that way)
• Star in a made for tv movie (even if I only play the corpse!)  Yes I realize that this maybe a delusional wish, but its my wish damn it! 
• Learn to sing.  (It doesn’t do much for your confidence when people constantly plug their ears every time you bark out a tune).
• Design and have made a very cool piece of jewelry (I think I could be very good at this one.  I have lots of retail therapy to back me up.).
• Become a mixed media artist (yup, just give me a canvass, some paint and some paper and I will chuck it all on and voila, I will be done);
• Really learn the ins and outs of gardening (I tend to wing it with sad pathetic results).
• Go to France, Spain, PEI and Belize (okay I would like to travel more than I have in the last 10 years.  It doesn’t help that I suck at planning).
• Drive a speed boat (I have a serious need for speed issue).
• Try pottery (I want my experience to be just like Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze in Ghost....... I can see it now and I am liking it!).
• Write a children’s book (a short, rhyming one based on my adorable loveable little pooch).
• Go for a session of past life regression therapy (yes bizarre, I know, but what the heck).

The last couple I can’t share because they are just too personal to throw out into cyber space and best locked away in confines of my crazy mind.  But they have to do with some personal growth and I can say, that I pretty much work at those daily, so they are well on their way to being accomplished.

In the meantime, for those of you hitting this blog via facebook, I would love it if you would share one of your things to do on your life list with me and for those of you coming from wherever, please feel free to leave a comment because hey, your life list will most likely inspire me and maybe someone else.

In the meantime, I am going to set up a wooden table, slap some mud on it, whip my better half’s shirt off and role play us some Demi and Patrick tonight!  Here’s hoping that you get to check something off your life list this weekend too!

Until Next Time.
Smooches Pooches.

MY DIRTY LITTLE SECRET....

By now you have figured out my dark and dirty little secret....... why yes, I love to shop!  Shop, shop, shop, just the mere mention of the word and I go into a whirlwind of tizzy whizzy happiness.  I can’t help myself you know, I’m addicted! 

In my 20's, my addiction lead me down a very bad financial path.  Now, now, it wasn’t like I was bankrupt.  Quite the opposite in fact, I have a credit rating so high that I just have to smile at  financial institutions and they willingly chuck money at me.  Nope, it was more like I didn’t have a penny extra in case of emergencies and you could say that my priorities were a little twisted, okay a lot twisted. But in my defence, I have to say: come on I was in my 20's, single, free and ever so slightly misguided.

I use to spend my time trying to decide what was more important:  toilet paper or that new scarf.  Of course, my decision was that I would have to develop some very strong bladder control and figure out a marked course to all the public washrooms close to my apartment!  It was, in my opinion, a small sacrifice considering how great that scarf was and ohhhhh look how well it went with my new coat!

These days, when it comes to my immediate retail therapy needs, my choice of poison is jewelry and purses and watch out to anyone who gets in my way.  Although I am not proud to admit it, I have unfortunately wrestled a woman over a purse before.  Of course, I won and she was lucky enough to walk away with only a few minor abrasions.  I maybe short you know but I have no problem opening a can of wup ass now and then!       

I don’t know what it is about shopping.  I suppose it is the female version of the thrill of the hunt.  Looking for that elusive item so that when you put it on, all your friends ooohh and ahhhh and gaze green with envy at it.  It’s a woman thing.  I hate to be so stereotypical but I have yet to meet a man who has felt the same way as me.  It’s like being on the greatest roller coaster of your life, you go up and up and up and as you buy it, you get those amazing butterflies, and then woooosshhhhh, you of course plunge downwards, and the rush is gone, but if you are lucky, you will still be sporting the afterglow.

I have to say that as I have gotten older I have changed my priorities ever so slightly.  I do pay for all the “necessities” first and then give myself an allowance to go crazy with.  The funny thing is that my necessities don’t seem to always coincide with my better half’s version of necessities and I can easily blow my allowance in one day.

I often fear that I will come home one day and see all my family sitting around in our living room with some stranger sitting in a chair who stands up and says “welcome to your intervention”, and then I am dragged out against my will to places like Wal-Mart and shown how to bargain shop.  Good gawd that freaks me out just thinking about it!

In the meantime, i’ll let you in on a little secret.... I actually don’t believe in that saying “you can’t take it with you” because when I finally kick the can and they go to roast me on that big marshmellow, weinee pit, you can bet your bottom that I will be covered from head to toe in pendants and purses.  Got to be stylin when I hit those pearly gates!

Until Next Time.
Smooches Pooches

CONFESSIONS OF A.....

Ahhhhh, for those of you who know me, I bet you were assuming that I was confessing to being a shopaholic... Nope, today I am confessing my sins to being the worst-bride-to-be you have ever met!

My better half and I have been engaged for almost 4 years.  We met thru some mutual friends who had set us up on blind date, and we had our first date playing mini golf over top of a very stenchy septic field while our friends looked on.  Not the most romantic of dates and incredibly difficult  to get to know each other when you have an audience. To be honest, I wasn’t too sure about my better half when I met him.  Ultimately, he was very handsome (I like that dark and brooding thing he has going on), clean cut, impeccable manners and definitely what you would consider a complete Mr. Nice Guy.  And let me say that there is absolutely nothing wrong with a nice guy.  They are dependable, reliable, responsible and you know where you stand with one, but I have always been ever so slightly attracted to those wickedly bad boys (and what girl hasn’t?). However, after a couple of holes on the mini golf course and what I perceived as a gentleman thing to do by always letting me go first, was nothing short of his own pervy maneuver to constantly look down my top each time I bent down to get my ball.  What popped in my head was, “wow what a pervert” and then the second thing that popped in my head was “cool he’s twisted... yup, I’ll go on a second date with him!”.  Three years later and we were settled together in our recently built little home where we were living in average couple bliss.

We had occasionally talked about getting married and we had even looked at a specific ring a few times, but I have to tell you that I have never been one of those girls who wanted to lasso a man and get him down the aisle before he changes his mind.  In fact, I don’t ever recall even dreaming of my wedding.  As a little girl, I dreamt about accepting my award for best actress at the Oscars and signing autographs while living in a mansion surrounded by 200 of my favourite dogs and a string of boy toys at my disposal. Nothing much has changed in my dreams, I still fantasize about people ooohing and aahhing over me.  Yup, my dreams are nothing short of delusional thoughts of grandeur.  But that topic is for another day!

Anywhoooo, one Saturday I had spent the whole day looking for an outfit to wear to a wedding.  This is no small feat I tell you.  While I adore shopping, I do absolutely abhor clothes shopping. Especially for this lumpy bumpy frumpy body I have been cursed with.  By the time I had gotten home, I was the Queen of Misery.  I was your worst nightmare come true.  My better half had come home after a hard day of work and he had seemed completely agitated which irritated my already cranky mood.  He asked me if I wanted to go to a favourite beach of ours for a nice Sunday stroll.  In one of my less than stellar moments in life, I nearly tore a strip off him and regaled all of my horrible shopping moments, never once thinking about what his day was or what was agitating his mind.  Needless to say, I was incredibly surprised when all of a sudden he dropped down on one knee and said “I can’t wait any longer, will you marry me” and then proceeded to produce the ring that I saw and loved a year earlier.  My first thoughts were: Are you kidding me? You want to marry me after my rant and rave?  I actually said to him “you are asking me now?” because I certainly would not have! I could not believe that this poor romantic bugger was asking this bitchy broad to marry him!  Of course I said Yes!  I mean who else would take me after that.  I certainly wouldn’t have.  And I was this close to kicking my own ass to the curb!

Well in these past 4 years, I have bought exactly one bridal magazine which did not inspire me with all those gorgeous stick woman sashaying around in their designer gowns, like that is reality.. Hello?  Then I bought an bridal organizer 3 years ago, which I still have not even opened or looked at, it has too many pages and makes my head spin!  I even succumbed to the pressure and went to an actual bridal fair last fall.  My head was swimming from all the people throwing brochures at me, some cutesy 20 something year old with her perky boobs hijacked me and painted a red heart on my cheek, girls were giggling and running from one booth to another all the while oohing and ahhing over this and that.  And then there was me, I was sweating profusely, my eyes were darting here, there and everywhere looking for the next possible exit sign and I was sure that at any moment I would need a paper bag to blow into before I passed out. 

Sadly I can confirm that we have set three dates now in total, all of which have come and gone and we are no closer to getting married than the day he proposed.  Its not that I don’t want to marry him, he is one of the best things that has ever happened in my life.  I suppose you could say that I am lazy and not much of a planner which is partially true, or you could say that I am cheap and I would rather buy artwork than put money into a wedding, again that could be true, or you could say that I just am too tired to figure it out, but I guess the real truth of the matter is that I want him to have an “out”.  I have never told him that but the fact remains that my personal limitations impede greatly on his enjoyment of life and I don’t want him to wake up with regrets.  I am seriously a really cranky woman!  And in my own way I am keeping that door open for him should he wish to bolt.

Thankfully, the majority of our friends and family have long since quit asking us when the big day will be.  They have finally become sick of my standard answer of “I don’t know, maybe in a year”. I am also thankful of the fact that my better half does not actually read my blog, or he would probably have a Justice of the Peace at our door tomorrow morning making sure that we were married.  In any event, who knows, maybe one day i'll actually decide it is time and we will tie the knot.  Until then, I think we are both okay with living in sin and besides, I could use the money for another really nice piece of artwork, which reminds me, I gotta go because there are so many art galleries and only so much time!

Until Next Time.
Smooches Pooches.

BLOG PONDERING....

The other day I was pondering away.  I often do that, ponder away on the things that make me happy and the things that drive me nuts and the things that make me look crazy.  So it stands to reason that I got to pondering about blogging.  I never once thought that blogging would be that difficult.  Simply because I always seem to be rambling at the mouth, so rambling on a computer just seemed like the perfect next step in my life.  Ironically, it’s much more harder than I ever thought!  Not when it comes to finding things to write about, but the fact that you are sharing so many unusual, intimate details about yourself or the crazy perceptions that float around in your head.

My poor mother is my test on what to blog and what not to blog about.  If she is speechless, than I post it.  If she says, “that’s a nice one”, it will never see the light of day.  I get a tremendous kick out of what her expressions are going to be, and not because of the shock factor, but because my mother believes in being a lady, and she is one.  I wish I could record her comments for all your ears to hear.  She says things in her sweet little high peaked voice like “oh my gawd, you aren’t seriously going to tell people what a gross little girl you were by placing boogers on your wall, please don’t post that!” or “don’t tell people that you thought your vagina was a regina, they’ll think that I never taught you anything” and my favourite one “you got to be kidding, you are going to tell people that your dog and your fiancé pass gas on you while you are trying to sleep!”  Her expressions crack me up.  She is horrified at the fact that I am laying it out for all of you to read, and I wonder if she has a point, should I be horrified that I am sharing this with you?  She often points out the fact that she tried to raise me as a lady and good lord what happened there! However, I am who I am and I make no apologies for my openness. I can’t imagine myself any other way.  There are times I wonder if I could pull off sophistication, but sadly, it just would not fit my persona.  I would be the first to admit that I am ever so slightly eccentric and that I love love love to laugh, but most importantly I really do love to laugh at myself first.  In fact, my better half’s term of endearment for me is  “weirdo”.  Ironically, he is a bit of a weirdo himself.

I will tell you that I have no time for people who try to retain that cool facade of mystery about themselves.  I find it completely boorish.  I am much more attracted to people who are at ease with both their positive and negatives aspects within themselves. I actually don’t have any skeletons in my closet because I would be the first person to open the closet door and let them all out.  Besides, is anything really that bad that you can’t share?   I mean who cares if everyone knows that my dog and better half assault me with their machine gun loaded butts everyday.  Everyone knows that men fart.  Its no surprise that my fiancé farts.  He is quite proud of that accomplishment in his life.  In fact, he is even quite proud of the fact that he does velcro farts (ones that follow him wherever he goes!).  He loves it when he lets a bunch go into the couch and then I go to sit down and I get that horrible mushroom effect that surrounds me with his stench.  Believe me people, when I have had enough of his gassy ass, I purposely consume a whole can of chick peas just to exact my revenge!  And a whole can of chick peas can last you days and days of sweet revenge!  So there, now you know, I pass gas too!

The only downside to a blog is wondering whether you have just grossed out your only ten followers and you fear you might lose one of them in the process. Of course, there are other fears too, like whether you have just bored the crap out of them and whether they think after they have read it “well, there’s 5 minutes of my life I can’t get back”, or whether you aren’t articulate enough that you actually hold their interest while they read your blog.  I have had some pretty nice feedback from some pretty nice people.  And while I am completely honoured by their comments, I often wonder if they are just saying that so that I won’t feel like a complete moron.  It is after all just an expose of my very average life.  How interesting can that be?

Of course in the meantime, I have a zillion more things that are floating around in my head and I have this scary feeling that by the end of my blogging career, you will all have come to know me way more than you had ever wanted too.  In the meantime, I will continue to pay my 10 followers so that they won’t leave me.  And who knows what will pop out of my mind next, maybe I will talk about my breast reduction or the time I got caught passing gas around a city worker and his jackhammer.  Boy, I can’t wait to get my mother’s reaction on those two topics, not only will she be speechless but she will probably pass out from pure embarrassment.

Until Next Time.
Smooches Pooches.

THE BEAUTY OF MY NEIGHBOURHOOD

I love my little neighbourhood I live in.... full of the most wonderful people you will ever meet and I am sorry to say that our home is up for sale while we look for greener pastures, if that is even possible.... Today I watched a lady spend over an hour in my home (of course I was spying from my car down was spying from my car down the road) and all I could think of was to yell "GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT". Although that could have been related to the fact that I seriously had to go the bathroom and good gawd why was she standing there looking at my heat pump for over 15 minutes! It's just a bloody heat pump! Anyway,  a little bit later on in the day, my door bell rang, and it was a retired police officer who really loved our little home and was quite interested.  I got into my spiel about all the cool things, like our front door and our wrap around porch and our hardwood floors all coming from the property.  I saw the glint in his eye and I instantly regretted saying anything!   To top it off, he started telling me where he would like to put his hot tub and what he would move around in our yard.... I smiled at him, but in all honestly, I was visualizing booting his ass out of my yard...!  A half hour later and another car drove up and sat out front and looked over my home from top to bottom.  I thought about standing on my coffee table by the window and mooning them, but I might have freaked out my neighbours across the street, so I refrained.  Why is it that a house becomes more than just a house.... I love that it is the first home that we built together.... I love the fact that we were only together just a year and half when we took on this monumental stressful task of building a home, I love that our relationship survived the build, I love that it was in this neighbourhood that we found our pooch, I love that when there was only 4 homes in the entire subdivision, we all looked after each other, I love that I can sit outside any time of the day and my neighbours will mosey over and sit down beside me and we will chat for hours, I love that my neighbour's cat thinks that our house is her second home, I love that I know everybody's first name and I love that I know every pet by name in the entire neighbourhood and that they all come to me when I call them... *insert deep sigh here*...  I know, its just a house but it is really like your first love so very hard to let go of... and your neighbours really do become an extension of your family.  Oh well, such is life... Don't mind me tonight, i'm just a tad sentimental...

Until Next Time.
Good night and Sweet Dreams  xxoo

ITS CALLED WHAT.....?

When I was a small girl, I use to be mystified by the human body. I could not understand how girls ended up with things called boobies and why everyone giggled when they said boobies. Even to this day, I think the word boobies is just plain weird. I am sure that some man came up with that name, because a woman would have been more profound and used something like the juice of life or bountiful beauties or enveloping face snuggler, anything but boobies. What made this worse for me was when someone would call you a boob, I would continually conjure up the image of a head shaped like a great big boob, with two eye balls and a nipple for your hair! It was an image that took years to get out of my head.

Of course, when you are 7 years old and someone tells you something, you believe it. So it stands to reason that when a couple of boys told me that my “down there” was called a Regina, I believed them wholeheartedly. I never questioned it for one moment and I never once thought to ask my mother. So at the ripe old age of 7, I now knew I had Boobies and a Regina. Wow, lucky me!

Later on in the year, we were studying capital cities of Canada. I was horrified to find out that there was a city named after my who-who! Did they really call it Regina? Surely people must be traumatized to say that they live in Regina? I was just traumatized in saying the word Regina! I went home later that day completely confused. I grabbed our Atlas in a desperate search for a City called “Do-in’s Piece”. Obviously if they were going to name a City after my Regina, than it stands to reason that a City would be named after a boy’s Do-in’s Piece. Yup, that what my parents use to call my dog’s penis... the “Do-in’s Piece”. I scoured that Atlas for hours and could not find a city, town, village or even a street named Do-in’s Piece in the entire world.

I have to tell you I was not sure what to make of this revelation. Were women’s Reginas more popular than men’s Do-in Pieces? Things popped in my mind like, were all girls from Regina, when you became older and you were a woman did you have to move to Regina. What if you went to talk to the doctor and said I need to speak to you about my Regina, would the doctor say the City or your who-who. I was as close to a nervous breakdown that a little 7 year old could be, and looking back on it now, I would venture to say that I was almost in need of some serious psychological counseling!

Later that week at school, our teacher gave an oral testing on the cities. You know that moment in history where time stands still, well it happened to me during that test. It’s almost like I knew what was coming next, and before I could say “Bob’s your Uncle”, that damn teacher pointed her bony finger at me and said “what is the capital of Saskatchewan”. YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME, I had to say this out loud? Oh my lord......! I was the complete colour of the inside of a cherry. I looked down at my feet, I shifted uncomfortably, I pulled at my collar and said in the most softest, quietest voice that I could possibly muster “Regina”. “What’s that?” my teacher said. OH MY GAWD, is she asking me again? All I could think of was to just spit it out and get it over with. So as loud as I possibly could I shouted “REGINA”! I sat back down horrified, embarrassed and humiliated and buried my face into my desk and counted the minutes till the end of the day. Of course, the two boys behind me were in a fit of giggles and teased me relentlessly for months. I am happy to report that it was only half a year later that I discovered the truth about my Regina. I was kind of sad that there was no longer a city named after a part of my body, but in the same time relieved as well.

There are still moments in my life when someone tells me they are from Regina and it takes all my self control to not break out into laughter. I often think of those two boys from my childhood, they both have long since passed away in unfortunate tragic circumstances. But the memory of them lives on in a funny moment of my life. Besides, my who-who could have been called a Regina and you could have been born in Vagina, Saskatchewan!

Until Next Time.
Smooches Pooches

SLEEPING BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

If you know me by now, you will have figured out that I absolutely adore my better half. He is every girl’s version of a Prince Charming. Kind, thoughtful and funny, he always puts my needs first and makes me top priority in his life. He spoils me and loves me and protects me like no other man I have met and I would be the first to tell you how fortunate and blessed I am. But like every Prince Charming, he does have his few flaws and one which almost drives me to the brink of madness.

Bar none, his sleeping habits are some of the worst I have ever encountered. We, like every normal couple, go to bed happy, but around the early morning of every night, Sleeping Beauty almost drives me to hysteria. And in mere seconds, his sleeping habits will transform me from being the sweet girl he knows to becoming the Beast of the Kingdom!

Restless by nature, his tossing, turning and snoring could send any potentially normal person over the edge, but combine all of that with talking and walking in his sleep and this poor girl is close to being committed to an insane asylum! You may not think that this is bad, but trust me, at least several time a week, he taps me on my shoulder while sitting on the edge of the bed to have full out conversations with me. Eventually, he lays back down and goes back into a deep snoring pattern. Of course, when morning comes, he has absolutely no idea what I am talking about and thinks that I am telling him this to drive him nuts.

And then there is another problem, our four legged pooch and the little love of my life, often claims his fair share of the bed too. On those nights, I usually sleep with my back to both of them and I am assaulted with an onslaught of butt rumblings that would make a helicopter sound quiet. I am literally dying for the need of fresh air and I whip out of bed and angrily fan those sheets all the while trying not to pass out from the sheer stench. And if you think that it can’t get any worse, I am here to tell you it can. Eventually, they will both start trumpeting their own musical tunes from their noses and I will spend the next several hours moaning and groaning from the assault to my poor ears!

I seriously believe that I have only slept 24 hours in 7 years. Those days of when I use to crawl into my lovely bed and cocoon deep into my duvet and fall into a restful slumber have sadly passed. I have come to compassionately understand why in the 50's it was common practice for couples to have their own beds or different rooms. I once suggested to my better half that we should have separate bedrooms and a third bedroom for conjugal visits. He was beyond shocked and horrified and well let’s just say that particular suggestion was never brought up again.

There are nights when I look down at his handsome rugged face, and watch his eyelashes flutter on his cheeks and all I can think of is “SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP”! It literally takes all my control not to take my pillow and beat him senseless, and if that is not bad enough, I often fantasize about cramming my fingers up his nostrils!

However, come the morning light, my evil bed nemesis once again becomes my Prince Charming and I suppose that my sleep deprivation is a small price to pay when you live with someone so wonderful. The fact that I am now an unwillingly participant in the game of insomnia, has just become a part of life. Besides, I heard that sleep is over-rated!

Until Next Time.
Smooches Pooches

BLUE SKIES AND BOOKSTORES

I love a bright blue sky and when one comes out, I have this irresistible hankering to head to a bookstore... Of course, not any type of bookstore. I am not particularly into those large generic box stores. But the little one down the street with not much of a selection but enough that there is always something that will peak my interest.

I love being a bookworm... although I prefer to be called a book butterfly. And on any given day, you can find my pudgy nose lodge between the pages of something good. So much of a love affair that I have for books, I remember once working down town in a very busy city and every lunch hour I would grab my book and run off to one of the city squares and park my rather large bottom in the shade and read until my eyes were blurry. On this particular day, I was coming back from lunch and was trying to get a quick chapter in on the elevator riding up to my office and when the elevator doors opened, a man who was riding the elevator with me stepped out and turned to me and said “maybe you should try living in the real world and then you will notice when a guy is trying to get your attention”. Of course, being me with the need to get the last word in, I said “why bother, my book satisfies my needs better than most men I have met.” As the elevator doors closed, he was able to quickly provide me with a not too nice of a hand gesture. Of course, other things have happened to me while my face has been firmly planted between the pages like the time I missed my bus stop because I just had to know the ending (I ended up sitting on that bus for another hour before it circled back to my stop with my legs tightly crossed in order to save me from a potential disaster), or the time I was sitting in a ferry line up and I was so engrossed in my book that I didn’t even realize that people were moving a head of me to get on the ferry (and yes I suffered an onslaught of hand gestures that day too!), and lets not forget the time I actually walked right into a telephone pole when I was reading and walking at the same time, yup that left an imprint on my face. But with that said, my love of books knows no bounds!

There is something amazing and extraordinary about a book that you could never garner from a movie or tv or video games. Your imagination is lit on fire and those ordinary words on paper transports you to destinations you never thought you’d ever see. I have been a pilgrim walking the Camino de Santiago de Compostela, I have been on the Continent with the Incontinent, I have eaten, loved and prayed in three different countries, I have been a rug maker in Afghanistan, I have harvested my fair share of Olives in Italy, I have belly danced my way thru India and I remodeled a house in Fez all without leaving the comforts of my home. My mind is this fabulous sponge that soaks up and sees every little detail that the writer is trying to evoke. Glorious, colourful details that set my heart aflutter... Oh how I love being transported into the imagination of another. By the time I am done with a book, I feel like I have personally lived that life. And if the book is really good, I even ever so slightly mourn when the ending comes... It feels much like the ending of a good friendship where it has run its course and now you must both venture off to new directions. I’m sad, if not just for a moment, until I open the pages of my next conquest.

Ah, yes the beauty of a book, not to be overlooked my friends. No matter how many times you are flipped the bird or suffer a head dent from a telephone pole, I would never give up the hours I have spent between their lovely pages. And to me, that's a love affair worth having!

Until Next Time.
Smooches Pooches

NOT ALWAYS A HAPPY GIRL

Contrary to popular belief, I am not always the happiest of people. In fact, I would rate my life as 90% miserable and 10% happy. It's true, I am not pulling your leg. I live with some serious chronic pain that dictates when I can be happy, when I can be active and basically, when I can do things... This last year, without a doubt, is probably one of the worst of my life. Little things like getting out of bed and getting ready for work can take me almost 3 hours. I move in slow motion, breathing in and breathing out and hoping that the meds will take affect before I hit work. There are times without a doubt that I live in Pity City and its a place I hate to reside. I watch people walk, ride their bikes, jog etc. and I become one of the most envious of individuals. A Characteristic I am despising in myself. I often feel incredibly sorry for my better half, his life has been dictated by mine. He is this active individual with enough energy for 10 people and yet, he would rather sit by my side, then go enjoy what is out there. I have in the past tried to let him go, but as I have said before, he loves me for some crazy reason and seems to want to hang around this old decrepit, creaking, crabby individual... I am very lucky.

Yesterday was a terrible day, despite it being a wonderfully beautiful and warm day out, I was freezing to no end and I had so much inflammation that everything I was wearing was cutting into me. I spent most of the day, laying on the floor on an ice pack (undoubtedly the reason why I was freezing!!!)

I had made myself go out at one point to a Garden Nursery to take my my mind off how I was feeling, but as I was standing in one aisle, a very rude man rushed past me and pushed me into a wall. Now when my body feels like this, I can barely be touched. Needless to say, it took all my strength to not sit down on the floor and burst out into tears. Somedays, I wish I could hang a sign around my neck saying "Handle with Care".

I have come to think of my body as a prison and that I am being punished for some misdeed I have committed. Silly thought, I know, but I often curse myself and my flippant remarks I made years ago in a conversation with my mother on death and pain. She told me that she did not fear death (as she had already once clinically died when I was a child) but that she feared the pain leading into death. I made the huge mistake of saying that I DID NOT fear the pain, but I feared death. I think "The Fates" heard me that day and said "hey what the hell, let's see how much pain she can take!" I have regretted those words for years. It's a moment I wish I could rewind.

Although I am not religious, I am a spiritual person who does truly believe that you are only given what you are able to handle and that you are provided this path in life for a purpose. I am not sure what I am suppose to garner out of this learning exercise, but I am listening to my body and letting it guide me in the direction it wishes to go.

I suppose what I am trying to say is that even in my darkest of moments, those moments when I think "ahhh come on, find someone else to make miserable", I still realize that life is precious. I really do see small miracles every day and think wow did anyone else see that? And while I type this, I realize that I just had an epiphany. Maybe this is my lesson in life, maybe my lesson in life is to notice all the wonderful small things that happen! So, if that is the case, if pain made me slow down to notice little miracles, than I say thank you to the fates... I still think they could ease up on me now and then... but whatever, it is what it is.

Here's hoping that you get out and enjoy your day and that your Sunday is full of small miracles! I know I will be looking for mine.

Until Next Time.
Smooches Pooches

Cha Cha Cha CHIA!

Do you ever see those Pantene Models on TV.  Their glorious shiny locks of hair flowing straight down their back, with just the right amount of bounce... *sigh*......  The envy of my heart, women with great hair!  I have longed for those type of locks for as long as I can remember.  While I do have very long hair which I take incredible care, it does not seem to matter, as by the end of the day, I become the unofficial spokesperson for Chia Pet!

Whatever the weather: sun, rain, wind or snow, ultimately those golden locks grow out into an unmanageable fro.  A few years back, I went to Mexico and I had taken a whole two hours to straightened my hair for the trip.  Oh how beautiful it looked and oh how it made me feel.  As the plane landed, I was conceitedly flipping my hair from here to there and everywhere and hoping that someone would have some hair envy over my golden tresses.  Little did I know that as we walked along the tarmac, my four friends watched in amusement as my glorious locks grew about two feet of fuzz all the way around the circumference of my head.  Of course, what made this all the worse is the fact that I had sprayed my entire head in hair spray so that by the time my head was a complete helmet of uncontrollable frizz that I was desperately and frantically trying to smooth down, my poor hands kept sticking to my head like a fly on fly paper.  I felt like Chevy Chase in Christmas Vacation when his hands were covered in pitch and everything he touched stuck to them, but in this case, it was my hair that was catching anything and everything.  By the time we made it to our resort, I swear there was at least a few leaves, some branches, a couple Iguanas and a dozen or so fruit flies that died in my sticky tangled mane.  I spent the rest of the holiday with either a hat on or my hair pulled back in a bun.  My fantasies of running down the beach and tossing my golden locks in my Baywatch bathing suit were all but squashed!

I remember when my better half and I were first dating.  He loved and still loves to go for long walks. We would meet after work and go strolling hand in hand, laughing and giggling and talking about life. We would then get in his car and find a nice little bistro to have dinner at.  Everything seemed just perfect.  I would notice people staring at us with slight smiles on their face and I just chalked it up to that people were thinking “wow look how in love they are!”  I was however completely delusional per usual.  It was not us they were smiling at. In fact, they weren’t even smiling, they were snickering and the snickering was completely directed at my HEAD!  I was unaware of what my hair had done during our walks. Ultimately at one point, I would excuse myself and head to the bathroom to freshen up.  And what looked back at me from the mirror was nothing short of a complete horror film.  OH MY GAWD!!!!!!!!!  It was attack of the hairy blob!  My hair was so huge that I swear I could see birds nesting in it!  It took on a life of its own!  If you flipped me upside down, my hair would have been the best scouring pad you ever had!  And then another thought hit my brain:  GOOD LORD, he saw me this way!!  My bangs were no longer there, what remained was a series of huge cow licks that would have even made Nick from “What not to Wear” scratch his head on how to fix it. Sections of my hair were sprouting off my head like bamboo!  I press one of the sections down and another would pop up in its place.  I had no control of it whatsoever! If I could have, I would have slinked my way out of the restaurant.

I consoled myself with the fact that I had read somewhere that your hair changes every 7 years. I can tell you that is one of the biggest falsehoods I have ever heard!  Obviously who ever came up with that conclusion, has yet to meet my hair!  Years later and I can tell you that nothing has changed. I still fight the battle of my hair every day. I brush and brush trying to force it into submission.  I fill it with so much goop that if I fell overboard off a boat, undoubtedly my hair would sink first!  I refuse to get it cut short and I stand strong in my position that it is not going to beat me!  I dream of the day my hair and I become friends and work together in harmony.  But in the meantime, I spend my days armed against my hair with a purse full of hair products and a zillion pony tails.  Who knows, maybe one day I’ll just shave it all off and get a rather large tattoo on the back of my head that says “I once resided here!”.  Until then, I have a whole closet full of hats!

Until Next Time.
Smooches Pooches

SUNSHINE ON MY SHOULDER MAKES ME HAPPY..........

Did you know that I long to be a gypsy, with bare feet, long black-as-night hair, with a flowing skirt and funky fringed shawl dancing wildly around a fire casting magic potions.  Other times, I long to be Maria from the Sound of Music, on top of a mountain swinging around in a circle with arms open wide, except in my version I am naked and there is definitely no helicopter circling above me with a camera crew filming my body swinging to and fro.  It's just me, my bare naked butt, a few woodly creatures and the blue sky above.  Although, come to think about it, I think probably I would be sporting some running shoes, nothing worse than twirling in a circle while your naked and stepping on something sharp, falling on the ground and getting a rock size wedgie.......  Hmmmmm *Pause for thought*, awww yes what is today's blog about... Spring.  It's about Spring!  Fresh air, blue skies, white pillowy clouds, robins singing their songs and the blossoms bursting forth in beautiful bloom.  Corny as it may seem, these are the things that rock my world.  I would be utterly content living my life on a big beautiful veranda, sitting on my porch swing watching the comings and goings of Spring.  I feel renewed and alive and I long to do many many things.  I long to sit and observe, to pack my bags and take off to other lands, to stretch my face to the sun, to dance under the stars, but most of all, I long to retain the memories of how these moments make me feel... Fresh and happy, I have got to believe that I would have made an amazing artist as I have been blessed with the ability to see the beauty in so many things that most people take for granted.   I am a romantic at heart.  Luckily, the people closest to me indulge my romanticism.  I once dragged my better half outside where I made him dance with me for 15 minutes in the dark, in the middle of our yard under the stars.  This was no small feat as he absolutely detests dancing, and to do it in such a public place, was so against his grain.  But he loves me and therefore indulges me.

Yes I am blessed, I am crazy and I know it, and nobody I know who really loves me, tries to change me.  I hope that you are feeling a small part of what I am feeling today, and that your day is amazing and that the sunshine pouring down from the sky lands on your shoulder and makes you happy too!   That of course, will be me that you will see twirling in the middle of my yard, albeit not naked (I don't want to blind my neighbours), but nonetheless twirling like I have never twirled before.  Because life is to precious to not be appreciated.  Have a lovely day to my 9 followers and to anyone else who stumbles across my weird little blog.

Until Next Time
Smooches Pooches

DING DONG... IT'S UPS CALLING!

Yesterday I was nearly jumping out of my skin.  I could not wait to get to my mother’s where a nice little packaged had arrived by UPS from the shopping channel.  Now I know what you are thinking: does that girl do anything else but shop?  Contrary to popular believe, I actually rarely do any form of internet shopping.  In fact, I will take some out of the place little store that takes me over two hours to get there just to browse as oppose to watching some corny video on the computer trying to sell you something.

However *insert big sigh here*, I happened, and I use that term loosely, been perusing the shopping channel website when I came across something so spectacular that I could not help myself from vocally ooohing and awwwing for almost a half hour.  It was better than a glass of wine, a plate of chocolate and a bubble bath altogether

It combined my three loves: Italy, Intaglios and blue glass.  In fact with regards to my love of blue glass, I am sure that I have been diagnosed with A.D.O.S.B.O.  What is that you say, its Attention Deficit Oooooohhh Shiny Blue Object Disorder!

So it just happened a week and half ago, I came across this ring made in Italy, with the centre being Positano Venetian Blue Glass with an Intaglio of Venus carved into it!  I was in Heaven, floating and floating around in my ecstasy of happiness (or as my family would call it “my stupidity of madness”).  I just had to have it.  It was how you say in Italian: MOLTO COSTOSCO (very expensive).  I consoled myself with the fact that our Italy trip, once again, was put on the back burner for yet another year.  So if I could not go to Italy, then I was going to have a piece of it shipped back to me!  It was a sound argument at the time.

So, when I arrived at my mother’s, I was happy, exhilarated and bounded up her stairs with child-like enthusiasm... okay small exaggeration, let’s just say I was excited.

I ripped that package opened, and glanced at the small white box with funky blue plastics side and popped it open.  I drew my breath in and then, then, then........ I stood their speechless.  The beautiful ring was about the size of a small country!  Good Lord!  The glass was enormous, the gold was too gold, I could barely see the Intaglio and when I put it on, I was sure that I had been transported back to Sicily where I had became the female version of the Godfather, Don Vito Corleone, except I was known as the Godmother.  I was seriously expecting my family to fall to their knees and kiss allegiance to my ring!  In short, that ring was UGLY!

I turned around to show my better half and my mother.  The horror and shock on both their faces was obvious as they shaded their eyes from the glare of the ring.  All the time, saying “it’s different honey” which in my family translates to “that ring is gawd awful”!

I took the ring home with us last night and I was shocked that it actually fit into our vehicle and that we didn’t have to strap it down to the roof of the car!  Needless to say, its going back!  Thank gawd for 30 day return policies that include reimbursement of shipping and handling!

I guess it is a lesson learned.  I guess I will just have to wait until we hit Italy in person.  And it may be that I don’t bring back a tangible piece of Italy that I can wear but at least I will bring back my memories, and for that, I am pretty sure I won’t need a return policy!

Until next time.
Smooches Pooches

MY ENDEARING LITTLE TRAIT...

I’m am sure by now that you figured out that I am a bit of quirky girl.  It won’t be surprising to tell you that I have quirky eating habits.  Yup, that’s right, I make Sally, from when Harry met Sally, look completely normal.  I do things like flip my cake upside down and eat the cake first and icing last, I eat a lemon meringue pie in layers, first the meringue, followed by the lemon and lastly the crust, I only ever eat the toppings of the pizza always bypassing the crust, I have to have the thickest of the thickest yogurt, two percent or more, but lordly lordy do not give me two percent milk or I will gag everywhere.  In fact, it must be skim milk, ice cold with a couple of ice cubes plopped into it.  All of which my betterhalf has barely ever acknowledged and realizes that it is just part of my crazy persona.  But probably my most unusual eating habit has to do with ice cream.

I like to tunnel, you see.  Nothing gives me more joy or hours of entertainment then getting some type of ice cream that is vanilla based and digging out, or as my betterhalf calls it “tunneling” out, the swirls of chocolate, strawberry, butterscotch, peanut butter cups etc. You name it and I will tunnel it.  It’s like my own personal treasure hunt.  Searching for that elusive gold coin.  I get so excited when I find the next swirl and I dig it out with the utmost precision, leaving as much of the vanilla counterpart behind, as I possibly can.  Don’t get me wrong, I love vanilla ice cream, but it is easy to scoop, its part of almost every flavour of ice cream and does not require me to use the expertise that I have developed over the years of tunneling.  I am the surgeon of ice cream.  I have been like this for most of my grown up life and maybe longer. So I was slightly dismayed the other day when my better half went to get himself a bowl of ice cream.  I could hear him mumble something under his breath.  I said to him in my normally perky mode “is everything okay honey”, never once thinking there was something wrong with the ice cream.  Imagine my surprise when he turned around redder than a beat and said “if I wanted vanilla ice cream, I would BUY vanilla ice cream”.  Shocked, I retorted back “but honey, I thought you loved that little endearing quirk about me” for which he responded “that’s right, I sooooooo love buying a speciality ice cream and having you suck the good part right out of it!”  Instead of getting into an argument over it, I decided to retreat to my trusty bath tub where I could soak my troubles away into bubbles.  How could this be? I have been like this forever!  Do other people feel this way about my endearing little trait? After I had mulled over what happened over and over again, it did dawn on me that maybe I was being a tad selfish and maybe ever so slightly a tad self absorbed. Certainly, I could see where this could be classified as self indulgent.  But in all actuality, what I had believed to be a endearing little trait, was nothing more than a self centered behavioral trait in serious need of rectification.

So the other day, when my better half went to get himself a bowl of my favourite ice cream, Moose Tracks.  I saw an ever slight smile on his face.  It was a smile that I could not mistake.  It was a smile of slight amusement.  While the ice cream still had golf ball size tunneling thru it where I had found and ate all the peanut butter cups, I had left for him ALL the chocolate!  Granted, it’s a small step on my part...but at least a step in the right direction, I hope.  After all, Rome was not built in a day, and who knows, maybe in 10 years or so, I will leave behind at least a dozen peanut butter cups for him to find!  Now that’s progress!

Until next time.
Smooches Pooches

FINGERS OFF SUCKA.....THAT'S MY MAGAZINE

Everybody I know has some odd idiosyncrasies.  Mine is the fresh and never been handled magazine.  I love them, I love their smell, their feel, their glossiness, and the fact that I am the first to touch their clean pages is utterly exhilarating.  It's a love affair I have had for more years than I can count and it probably started when I was a kidlet... I use to have two subscriptions, one to the Annie Oakley Fan club and the other to Junior National Geographic...  I use to wait that long 30 days in between until the next magazine would come in, and when it arrived in brown paper packaging with my name on it, I would bolt to my bedroom to savour the excitement of opening it all to myself.  They were shiny, new and most of all clean.  Many years later and I still feel the same way.  It probably would come as no surprise to find out that I nearly burst a vein on the side of my forehead if someone else touches my virgin magazine before I do. Those who know me, know that I must be the first to flip thru it and I must be the first to read it... and if I am not, don't even bother giving it to me!

Of course, it should be also no shock that I absolutely cannot touch a magazine in any office setting... You know what I mean, when you are sitting at your doctor's or at your dentist's office and there are tons of magazines for you to view while you wait.  All I can see is a zillion little fingers that have flipped thru those pages.... eeew.  It blows my mind that most doctors offices require you to put a face mask on as to not spread germs, but leave out for everyone to touch, sneeze on, cough on, snot on, paper reading products... Like we aren't going to catch anything off those little germ collectors *shudder*. 

Ironically, I have been with my better half for seven years and he still does not understand this flaw in my personality and I nearly get frantic when I come home from a store and he starts to empty out the bags and grabs my magazine and does a quick flip thru those virgin pages.  It takes all my strength not too leap across our kitchen island and slap him silly!  He regularly looks at me as though I am a maniac, and perhaps I am.  But it is only when I have read the magazine thoroughly and I mean every page from top to bottom, from side to side, from article to article and advertisement to advertisement, that you may pick it up and view it.  It is only then I am done with it, and that my needs have been satisfied and it no longer holds any value to me that I will deem it possible for you to view it... It is sad but true.  What is sadder yet is that this is the only aspect of my life where I require complete cleanliness.

I think I can say with total assurance that at this point in my life, it is highly doubtful that I am going to change when it comes to the virgin magazine.  And if you are ever in a magazine aisle and you see this girl reaching for the magazine way way at the back of the pile, the likelihood is, is that is just crazy old me!  Harmless of course, unless you touch my virgin magazine and then I take no further responsibility for my future actions.

Until next time.
Smooches Pooches

AND IN THE BEGINNING.......

In the beginning, there was just me......

Sitting one day bored out of my mind and wondering what I could do for excitement? Why not blog, even if know one ever sees it... Besides I can only put 420 characters in my status lines on facebook and it seems to me that I have so much more to say, well at least I think I do... Although who knows if any of it is interesting. This blog is just about observations from my everyday average life.

But as I start this, I got to tell you that i'm not really sure what I am doing blogging, but I have to think that everyone who starts a blog really feels the same way...

To be honest, I really just get a kick out of things that happen to me because I live this incredible average life in a what seems to be a boring little town and yet almost every day something happens that makes me giggle...

If you are out there and you are reading this, I hope you enjoy this weird little journey I am going to take. I know my better half thinks I am nuts for even doing this, oh well I like to believe that he is with me because I am slightly nuts...

Well here's to many more entries or not, we will see what comes along...

Smooches Pooches