Where I hope be that day

THEATRE IN THE PARKS
MOLIÈRE: The Schemer
Saturday, August 4th @ 7pm in English

I like the French title better. As usual, it's twice as long as the English version, but it really gives you more of a sense of the mischievous nature of the play.

Les Fourberies de Scapin.

I have never read any Molière. I have read Dumas and many other French writers, but never Molière. Hell, while I'm at it, I might as well admit I've never even read a whole lot of Shakespeare.

I noticed that the paper advertising the play made a spelling mistake. My friend and client M. tells me I could call them out on this and get free tickets.

This is not something that ever occurred to me.

This is so cool

Made by Andrea Micheloni

via ThatGrrl

He's baaaack!

My son is back and I have no idea why I missed him for even a minute.

Teenagers.

He got up in the middle of the night to raid the fridge. Good thing I was expecting him back any time -- for an entire week -- so the pantry was well-stocked! (tiny update: silly boy took out a package of very ancient pita bread and only noticed the spots of blue mold after he'd bitten into a slice. One wonders why he reached right past the perfectly fresh, new loaf of multigrain bread on his way to getting the stiff-as-cardboard pita? Teens R blind?)

I am the animal kingdom

(alternative title: "Pimping for Spider")

If I open my door but a minute, many ugly, dirty shitflies zoom in.

So, as of last night, I've enacted a cunning plan.

I semi-stun the flies with the flyswatter, then drop them gently into the very small web of the resident spidette (fairly modest specimen, but ugly as sin) who lives there.

It is quite gratifying to see how quickly she runs out, stuns them, and drags them into her teeny lair. It is also fairly horrifying to see how ruthless she is.

If all spiders were proportionately sized to us as we are to them now. Well, humanity would be long dead, wouldn't it.

That spider above is one I captured on "film" in summer 2005.

A respite

After many, many days of relentless Florida-style 37C +weather (not that I mind) we finally have an overcast, relatively cool day. While I feel bad for the cube farmers who have the weekend off, I personally don't mind having a bit of a break.

So I went to my first-ever duck race. I thought they were real ducks, but then I was told they'd be rubber ducks.

NOT EVEN!

They were pucks!

They were hockey puck-sized rondelles hand-cut from cedar, painted with biodegradeable paint, and hand-numbered. There were 1,000 pucks in all.

We got there 4 minutes after official puck-buying time had elapsed, but managed to snag two from an Ontario lady who'd bought $100 worth.

They dumped the pucks off a covered bridge. About one-quarter of them promptly got stuck in the shallowest or rockiest parts of the river. I know for sure one of mine was up there, a sitting puck (haha!) because I saw it. #897! Dead in the water!

The rest of the pucks floated downstream and jammed up at the end, where only the first three would be winners. But those first had to get through a narrow hand-made wooden channel. After two hours and a steady rain falling, with a good 2 dozen pucks just floating there and nobody winning, I left. Also, somebody had plugged in a country music tape and the thing kept getting jammed and replaying the same 3/4 of a song until I was ready to scream.

I was so hungry when I got there (musta been the fresh mountain air, several hundred feet higher in altitude than here) I ate a hot dog, 2 corn on the cob, and two (two!!) slices of pizza.

That was breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And all proceeds from the ducks/pucks, drinks, and food go to building a skating rink for local kids.

At 8:30 that night I was totally ready to pass out, although I wanted to watch episodes I'd missed of Canada's Next Top Model.

In the end, I didn't care enough to stay awake.

Scavengers

Last night my cats refused to come inside so I left the window open (with screen) on the front door and decided to camp out on the couch so I would hear the kitties if and when they decided to return.

From outside I heard sounds from the dumpster area. I thought it was just a neighour putting some trash away, but the sounds kept going. Rummaging, rustling sounds. The clear "ting" of tin cans hitting pavement. After five minutes of this, I popped my head out to see if it was a raccoon or two.

But no, it was a person, and he was climbing right into the dumpster and tossing out five-cent returnable soft drink cans, which were all over the ground.

I admire resourcefulness in most forms, but dude. That dumpster is just NASTY DIRTY.

I considered calling the landlord, but I knew it was too late in the evening. I thought of dialing 911, but didn't relish the thought.

As it turns out, the guy finished up, cleared up the mess, and left. No harm done (although he left the lids up, which could easily have resulted in mess left by real coons).

Such excitement where I live!

Blogs blogs blogs

I have a few new blogs to add to the roll over at the main site, but I will get to that tomorrow... or more likely on the weekend. I find I tend to prefer the blogs written by women. Some of my newest commenters have intrigued me with their stories. I always wonder how the new peeps find my blog -- through the usual "next blog" feature on Blogspot? I imagine so.

Anyhoo. It's time for me to do some housekeeping and add the new names. It is always my hope that a reader here will actually scroll down the blogroll and hit a page that becomes a favourite.

The original Night of the Living Dead is on TV, and it's pretty bad, although it's probably much better than I give it credit for, compared with the remakes.

Image courtesy of this site.

Two peas

That's what they told me.

We were sitting around a table on Sunday, me and my ride and our hosts. And then a neighbour showed up with a five-pound chocolate/ice cream cake his wife had made at 5 o'clock that morning. And that was just half the cake she'd made.

And over dinner the neighbour, Tony, (not his real name, but if you throw in Soprano after it, and use the TV wife's name for the RL wife, you might get the idea) told me, since we were talking about health and jogging and hearts and stuff, that two dried green peas per day, swallowed with water as you would regular pills, are amazing for lowering cholesterol.

Anybody else heard about this? I did a tiny bit of research and found a site or two, but those mostly mention green peas (not sure if they mean the dried legumes or fresh/frozen peas) as part of a good diet low in calories/fat/cholesterol.

"Tony" swears he heard this from a series of friends who all swore their cholesterol levels went down, and therefore cut their Lipitor costs. Holy knows Lipitor is freakin expensive.

So I bought a bag of split peas today.

I'll be downing a quartet (the actual remedy is two peas a day, and mine are split, so I figure I should take 4 halves, right?) daily and then take a test in a month or so. (Well - a test real soon, like this week, then a month from now for comparison's sake.)

As for Tony... whooboy. I felt nervous just sitting at the same picnic table in the middle of the countryside with him. Nice guy, though, and as they say, once you're in, you never get out, know what I meanwhatdafuckyougonnado, right?

Right.

A title is required for spacing purposes

It was a feast-or-famine type of weekend. On Friday morning, the Teen left to spend a few days in the Big City (or the Big Suburb of same). I mostly worked that day, napped a bit, watched some tube.

Saturday – no money, no coffee except decaf (egads!!). I had a cup, and although it tasted right, it didn’t do the trick, so I had to take another nap in the p.m. Spent the rest of the day mostly reading, eating, watching the tube.

Sunday – weeding a friend’s fairly substantial flagstone walkway. I knew unaccustomed muscles would protest the next day… and they did. Today, too; simple motions like sitting and standing make me go ow. I need more exercise.

Then, the friend paid me for my gardening work - which was unexpected, and she did it in a sneaky way so that I only realized it later - and I was able to buy real coffee and some milk.

Meanwhile, off-topic:

Something just bit me in the arm. I ask you, how can you have a perfectly good, unmarred arm one minute and a massive, itchy welt the next? How sneaky are bugs?!

(late pm update: Oh, they are sneaks. I found a fat nasty spider hiding behind the box that holds my wireless modem, the box that also holds all our precious ID papers, the box I had not moved from its spot in a corner for, oh, a month. Fortunately, I have two real plastic fly swatters now, which reside in strategic spots in this small apartment, and I grabbed the purple swatter and spent a very long 20 seconds chasing the large, clearly panicky spider around the box, until I flattened it nicely.

Still, I felt bad. I don't really like killing anything.)

And now we are validated

Anyone who ever called me a CRAZY CAT LADY now has my blessing.

I sort of knew about the "collector" mentality before, but I see it's officially called "hoarding."

Who would hoard animals? That's just weird. I don't hoard.

I begin to define myself as a "crazy cat lady" when I purchase things specifically for a stray animal.

e.g. last night I bought spray shampoo, calcium, and a soft brush for the stray boy (I thought he was a girl? But upon closer inspection, he has balls?! Ergo, he is a he. Well, I suppose that is a good thing. He won't be bringing his litters home.).

I figured he needs the help, and my kittehs will benefit, too.

He, by the way, is now very comfortable walking right through the door and washing hisself in that lazy way happy cats have. Which means I am doomed.

I do admit to having a crazy animal personality, on the whole. I went into the pet shop to buy the above-mentioned items and spent half an hour talking to all the kids in teh store. The bird, up top there, he is a special dude ($300 worth of special.) I am not afraid of birds with beaks that could crunch a finger off at the first joint. He tried, though, and for about one second I did fear for the third finger of my left hand. He bit down hard.

But just look at the intelligence in that eye! This is one smart bird. He said HELLO! to me. I love talking birds!

I would so have one, if I could claim a better track record with birds/cats.

Last night I also espied rats of different colours: a dark grey one I would love to have.

Don't let the bedbugs bite

A friend of a friend was recently bitten by a spider.

Normally, this is not a huge deal. Most of us get allergic reactions to bug bites, in the form of a painful red bump. Many common spiders are said to be "harmless to humans."

This poor guy, however, got bitten right in the neck as he slept on his couch, and the toxins went straight into an artery.

His face swelled up to astonishing proportions and he had to go to the nearest ER. Then he spent five days on major antibiotics and had to present himself at the hospital three times a day for his treatments.

ACK! That is all... but to quote someone, anything with eight legs is bad.

HELL, here I come

I made my very first foray into the sucking vortex of inefficiency that is HELL CANADA TELEPHONE SERVICE.

It really takes all of my physical being to engage in any discussion with Hell, but I pretty much girded my (loins?) to tackle them head-on today.

I was in Fighting Mode. I was in Pissed-Off Majorly Mode.

I managed to shout at one person and remain calm with the next one. Then I walked down the road and faxed them a photocopy of a bill I paid to Hell Mobility (which they dispute. They say it got paid to Hell Landline. I don't care who got paid; all I care about is that I paid almost $200 in "good faith" and now it's up to them to sort it out with the bank that messed up the payment.)

The lawyer I said I'd contact? He's in the wings. He's humming in anticipation of his fee, but I've got him on hold for now.

(What do you call those things where the salt trickles down? No, it's an hourglass. Or egg timer. Or meter. The thing lawyers use to count the minutes they have worked for you...)

I hate when I can't remember proper English terms for stuff.

UPDATE: So far so bad. Bell Mobility agents have called me and are unable to see the light. I think this particular giant might take some wrassling. (Thx to Laura for the imagery.)

Image above: Hell House, maybe. Or Amityville Horror.

When coffee makers go bad

A lovely blogger in Montreal, Eric, posted pictures of a coffee maker blowup.

Go see the damage done by that explosion. I'm sure it's funnier in retrospect.

I have no idea if this picture is Eric himself. I never imagined him with a beard.

2007 Blogathon

I meant to blog for 24 hours for a good cause this year, but I think I am too old and tired.

Instead, I will promote the 'thons of my favourite bloggers.

First up is a sponsor for muy caliente friend Kat in Florida, Kat, who is blogging for Montel's MS foundation.

My friends at Regalo Boutique are the bestest of the best when it comes to shopping online for beee-oo-ti-ful things for the home and they are personal friends of my leetl Florida buddy with the big curly blonde locks. I beg you to support either one of them in the Blogathon.

More to come. I am still catching up with the 'sphere, post-hols, as they might say in England.

Very large bug

We thought it might be a mouse or a bat, but it turned out to be the Biggest Moth in the Universe.

I know this picture is not the best but I was holding the BMitU in my regular-sized female hand and someone else was trying to stay calm whilst taking a picture of the BMitU so we are all forgiven.

Lookit the size of that thing.

This is why it's an Overflow Blog

Growing back



"They" cut down these trees but they never bet on them growing back.

You have no idea

My brother, bless his soul, made me laugh so much just when i needed it.

I remember when the unmarried flight attendants of that particular airline would have dropped their panties at the very thought.

I am giving my bro a break for now. Hed better be appreciative.

What ravages of spirit

Conjured this tempestuous rage

Created you a monster

Broken by the rule of love?

And fate has led you through it

You do what you have to do

And fate has led you through it

You do what you have to do

Can you see the calendar ticking toward the 5th?

Do you have any idea how it feels to be me, happy one minute, crying the next? Fuck I hate PMS!!1~!~!11

But I forge ahead anyway. The Teen needed to eat and food for his night shift. So I made that, with moments to spare, as it turned out. His ride showed up early. He went to hang chickens. Actually, I think he is packaging tonight, which means more money per hour.

Only a couple of sleeps till my vacation!

Ch5iey6in4 eaye

In commonspeak, that would read CHRISTINE SAYS. Do you see how I type with my ADD? Which I never mentioned before? Yes, I have it. So sometime when you wonder what the hell planet I'm on, now you know. I'm on the ADD planet, which could also be the Dyselopcof or Dyslecick Mars planet. I try my best to spell that word, but I can't. See? And I work at words for a living? Kill me now.

Christine had a great list of tunes, and one of them was Bryan Adams's Summer of 69.

It has always been one of my favourite tunes. It makes me dance in my chair. As soon as I can figure out how to link her download, I will.

Because it will make you feel good, no matter what you are doing.

Oh damn this is a big picture.

Sorry about that! I just wanted to show off my fab straight hair, courtesy of Liv my stylist.

I need a flat iron to keep my hair this way. I don't even own a hair dryer, let alone a flat iron.

But it goes all stupid curly if I don't use a flat iron as Liv does so easily, expertly, effortlessly.

With thanks to Kat and Belle for telling me how to take my own picture. ("Arm's length! Tilt head! Crop!")

Well, I didn't crop but I did the rest and I smiled. I look really mean when I don't smile. I scare me.

New baby...

I can see it coming. The little female I've been feeding for the past few days? She will be mine.

She made me hers, really. This picture to the left is one I found online. If my sight serves me well, she is a young Maine Coone.

I have managed to capture her once, this afternoon, and then my camera batteries died. Let me see if I got her properly...

Oh, no! I snapped her without my memory card! That means I have to root around in boxes to find the cable!

You will simply have to take my word 4 it.

She is cute... and worse yet, she doesn't run away from me anymore. In fact, she let me stroke her tonight. It was justfingers at first. Then it was full-on belly rubs.

Uno, duo, tre, and all the rest of you... you know what this means, don't you?

I once had sixteen kittens. I once had nine. One time, I had just five.

With a little luck and love and care, I might have four... but rest easy. She is already spoken for. One of my x-neighbours up in the country would like to take her home.

I'll just do the training and taming. That's not too bad, eh?

There is one other aspect to this. An animal fanatic (usually, a fanatic is a collector, and has many more animals than he/she can handle) is one who can't resist and falls in love and wants to help. I am already in love with the little lady, but I know I can't cross the line into fanaticism. Unless your name is Eduardo. Between me and the friend, we can get her vaccinated and spayed, and then she can live a nice life up in farm country. Yay!

I'll swat ya

Much as I love leaving doors and windows open in the summer, I can't. The flies get in. Four per hour, I figure.

And then they swoosh around your head and land on your stove and stuff for a few days, and you get really mad at them. Right?

I have one of these <--- 9 volt bug racquets and it is very satisfying to fry a wasp with it, believe me. But it is not as flexible as the old-fashioned fly swatter we all know.

So I've been using the local Laurentians Vacations booklet to kill flies. The booklet is prolly full of dried vestiges of fly guts. Rather disgusting.

Sorry if you were eating breakfast as you read that.

You should see the big mirror in my LR. I hit a fly there last week -- he had been buzzing me for like THREE DAYS - so when I finally got him, he left a really bad splat on the mirror.

It's just so good to finally nail them.

Easy breezin

This Canadian holiday weekend has been quite nice. Four annoying people moved out of the "motel" and half of the rest have been away.

That leaves 1/4 of us to hold down the fort and make sure nobody gets robbed. And we also get the use of the swingset.

Yesterday I went for a long drive with a friend through the countryside, checking out houses and land and gardens. This is how I rate country homes: "Boring!" "Suburban! Boring!" "Cute!" "Really cute!" and "OMFG." (Sub-categories of 'cute' and 'OMFG' include "Victorian!" "French Canadian!")

"Cute" and "really cute" are usually Victorian, with pillars and big old porches.

But "cute" can also mean French-Canadian stone farmhouses with dormer windows.

My driver friend was laughing, because he couldn't actually crane his neck to look at the houses I was rating.

There were a couple houses were of the "Just kill me now" variety.

Earlier in the day, we'd also done some window-shopping on Main Street. We stopped at the pawn shop because I wanted to see if I could get some nice electronics from some poor sucker who'd been obliged to sell goods for fast cash.

I didn't see anything affordable.

Then we went to the local big hotel on Main Street. Massive working fireplace, big damned moosehead over it (not that I approve of dead heads on walls), nice brick walls... but crappy, fugly orange plastic chairs. Give me ownership, let me put in some nice couches and loveseats and armchairs, turn the place around a bit, kick out the riff-raff.

I need to own this town. I would, by the way, fire the unsmiling bitch in the tart-pants from the bar-terrace.

Then we came back to my house, I made some dinner, and that's when I discovered Keith Urban on the cowboy channel of Sirius.

All in all, a good day.