Rogers Wireless wants you to stalk Joshua Jackson

And you totally won't get arrested for it this time, either.

If you're in the Toronto area, (or can get there by Monday), on Monday Joshua will be doing a one-day tour of Toronto, to celebrate the launch of Canada’s first Android-powered smartphones from Rogers Wireless (I'll be honest, "android-powered" kind of freaks me out. It's just another indicator of the eventual robot takeover. But I'm distracted enough by hawtness to not make a big deal out of it). He'll make several secret stops around the city.

He may or may not be dressed as a ninja.

Stalkers Fans who spot Joshua (Mr. Jackson if you're nasty - and I bet he wants you to be) around Toronto will have an opportunity to win prizes including Rogers phones and Rogers gift cards, plus a chance to win a grand prize high-seas Caribbean adventure for two valued at $4,000.

(If you win it, you HAVE to take me. And Joshua. Actually, you're expendable)

He's going to blog clues & pics as to where you can track him down and force him to father your unbearably cute children meet him. Check Rogers Revolution for more info.

Go. Hunt.

I have to go check on cheap flights to Toronto now.

Ferengi in Training

Just when you think you don't have anything to blog about the next day, something shows up and smacks you right between the eyes.

Like a squash racquet.

Feel free to skip this one, really

A dream:

I am, secretly, part-owner of a spa salon. Keeping it a secret makes me feel like a super hero, but it's hard to make the staff listen to you.

I am trying to book a manicure, but the receptionist doesn't feel I should get it for free if SHE doesn't. I tell her she can have one free one a month. She turns up her nose.

Two, I say, two. And a waxing. I'm conscious that she's good at her job and we should probably keep her around.

Who ARE you, anyway? she demands.

The spa is decorated in an 'aquatic' theme. I rearrange the crabs that are part of the decor, but they are still alive and won't stay put. I feel like they are ungrateful - I brought them from my old job at Red Lobster.

(I've never worked at Red Lobster).

My manicure peels. It is too hot in the aquatic-themed spa, the boiler is working too hard. I try to take it up with the maintenance man, but he is hiding in the basement playing with dolls.

Quickly! He shouts. Don't let them in!

I throw myself at the front door just in time to stop them from entering. It's the What Not to Wear crew. I actually really want them to accost me, but in the dream I'm painfully fashionable and it would be admitting defeat.

It doesn't matter, because they're here for the ugly girls next door anyway.



Yeah, I don't get me, either. Interpret. Discuss amongst yourselves.

Another juicy itchy collection of Random Tuesday Thoughts

It's that time again! I know half of you are still walking off the hotdogs and beer you drank, and half of you are wondering why the internet went out to lunch without telling you, and the other half of you are thinking "this girl really sucks at math", but what better way to get back at 'er than with some random thoughts? I'll even be happy if they're about hotdogs and beer.

No, really.

So you know what to do - grab that button, blurt out whatever's on your mind, and link up with Mr. Linky! Let's begin!

I know I said I'd never post about my uterus again, but this isn't a WHOLE post about it so it doesn't count. Anyway, my bloodwork came back and it "indicates that I am heading into early menopause". Oh. My doctor wants to do an ultrasound to rule out any other causes like (fun!) a cyst, because, as she told me repeatedly, "you're very young for this".

I think that's where the "early" part comes in, doc.

I'm trying not to let it get me down, I could still get pregnant. FoN told me that there's apparently a test they can do to see how many eggs I have left. At least...according to Grey's Anatomy, there is. I'm pretty sure that's sound medical advice, right there.

On a totally unrelated note, I bet this organic veggie-fruit juice that hubby bought for the detox/cleanse would taste REALLY good with vodka.

Why, why do people insist on sending me multiple faxes encouraging me to 'go green' with refillable toners & inks? Am I allowed to spam-fax them back telling them how many trees they just murdered in their 'green' ambition?

I didn't notice that we were out of formula until it was time to put my son to bed, and therefore too late to drag him to the store to buy more. So he got a bottle of (watered down) juice instead. Parenting FAIL. But hey, it was an organic veggie-fruit blend.

(There may or may not have been vodka in it).

Today the 'call-in' topic on the radio on my way home from work was "Do you have a problem with the man in a relationship making more than the woman?".

Um - seriously? I almost slammed on the brakes because clearly the DeLorean was approaching 88 miles an hour. This is still 2009, right?

Then I put my own head through the windshield and gouged my eyes out in anguish because some squeaky-voiced prepubescent girl phoned in to offer her sage opinion: "Um, I guess I'm old-fashioned but, um, I think it's like, okay if the girl makes some money but she shouldn't make as much as the man".

Fuck me. REALLY? Have fun slinging burgers for the rest of YOUR life, sweetie. Jeebus.

Although yesterday, the call-in topic was "Who do you think Archie will ask to marry him, Betty or Veronica?". Obviously I need a different radio station.

Or a strategically placed bomb.

You know how sometimes it's too soon to shave your pits again but they feel kind of furry so you want to, but you know if you do you'll get razor burn and they'll be itchy?

Yes, I have angst about shaving my armpits. Shut up.

Anyway, I chose the wrong path. Itchy.

Saw the new Star Trek on a date (!) with hubby last week. It was awesome. Why do all the best ones seem to involve time travel somehow?

Oh, no, wait. There was the one with the whales. Never mind.

And that's a wrap, people! Good job, sleep well, I'll most likely kill you in the morning!

Okay, I won't. I'd make a terrible Dread Pirate Roberts. But I'm an excellent host...so let's get this party started!

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EDIT - Frikkin Frakkin grumble grumble RAAAWWWWWRRRRRRR FUCKING MR. LINKEEEEEEEE! So sorry, folks. Hopefully he comes back, but til then do what you resourceful others have been doing and leave your link in the comments.

Bah.

I'm a marketing genius. Seriously, Febreze, call me.

A while back I agreed to review some products for Febreze's new 'Destinations' line. And they sent me, literally, a duffel bag full of Febreze goodies.

I thought, hm. I wonder if they're trying to tell me something.

But the sheer quantity was too much to just be telling me that I stink. Obviously, there was a different message implied. It was almost as if...almost...they wanted someone to take it upon themselves to neutralize odours wherever they are found. Someone to dispense lovely-smelling justice, in all the stinky back alleys and rancid gutters. Someone like...

The Febreze Ninja!



The Febreze Ninja is caught on film exiting a bathroom


The Febreze Ninja's known aresenal includes:

- Hawaiian Aloha: kind of heavy floral (hibiscus)
- Brazilian Carnaval: kinda light & fruity
- Moroccan Bazaar: slightly spicy, a whiff of ginger

The Febreze Ninja has recently been assumed to have ninja'd the following locations:

- A local resident's home, after a bout of stomach flu, was cleared out thanks to the Febreze Candle in Brazilian Carnaval.

- The stench of a local employer's washroom (for the male employees) was subdued by the Febreze Air Effects in Moroccan Bazaar.

- The stinkiest diaper pail on the block suddenly found itself next to a Febreze NOTICEables plug-in that was dispensing Hawaiian Aloha. The process of adding or subtracting poopy diapers to said pail is now much more pleasant.

- The Febreze Ninja also launched on offensive on the public washroom at the local park, using Air Effects in both Brazilian Carnaval and Hawaiian Aloha. While the scents work well together, the Ninja admitted defeat, and left an uncharacteristic note stating that if she was expected to take on the smell of corpses and crackhead urine, she was going to need a bigger duffel bag.

Where will the Febreze Ninja strike next? Only time - and smell - will tell!

(In addition to telling you that you stink, Febreze also wants to tell you to go away! Enter the Febreze Staycation to Vacation Sweepstakes!)

Though I may be feeling a bit lightheaded

HASAY and detox/cleanse update: Okay, I'm cleansed. I'm good. Can I stop now?

Actually, up until Thursday I was feeling great. But I think I may have caught a bit of my son's stomach flu, so I'm feeling a bit rumbly and adding extra fibre and herbs to that seems unnecessarily masochistic, y'know? So I'm still eating the diet (organic fruits & veg, raw nuts, eggs, small portions of chicken & fish) but not taking the supplements. Hubby looks like he'll actually finish out the 2 weeks, I'm really proud of him.

And I'm now going to start logging my weight on more professional equipment. I found this at the mall. It says I've lost 11 lbs, so it's clearly a finely-tuned instrument.

Plus, it gives you winning lottery numbers and super helpful advice for the day like, "Want to get rich quick? Invest in vending machines to rob suckers of their quarters!".

Obviously worth the trip to the mall and 25 cents!

My back aches a little, Friday Fill-Ins

1. Moving heaven and earth sounds like a lot of work. Maybe I could just move a piano for you or something.

2. If you need a piano moved, I'm free.

3. My best quality is sadly, not my ability to move pianos.

4. The planning of pranks is in the details. For instance, is that piano you're going to drop on them a baby grand or upright?

5. In nearly 10 years, I have yet to pull off a prank without maiming someone.

6. An Advil-vodka cocktail is what I need right now!

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to drawing up blueprints, tomorrow my plans include a series of ropes and pulleys and Sunday, I want to perform my opus!


Want more Fill-Ins? Head over here!

Victory is mine!

DISCLAIMER: This photo was heavily edited (poorly, in Photobucket) in order to spare you the grossness that is the area under my sink. Don't judge me.

It was almost too easy, little Maus. I bet you have friends somewhere.

Dreamy suburban warfare: Random Tuesday Thoughts

I thought I'd center the button today. It feels weird and slightly dirty.

So, how's it going? Come here often? Yeah? Well everything you heard about me is a lie and you already know how this works.

New here? Really. Well how YOU doin'? Want to play some games?

Blog games! Blog games! Not any of that other weird shit. Here's how it works: You write a totally rambling and potentially incoherent post, you take that shiny purple button up there, and you use it to justify what would normally make your followers wander off in confusion. Then you leave your link with Mr. Linky and the rest of us can TRY to follow along! Bonus points if you manage to offend people!

No, not really. I made that last part up. Let's begin:

So I know I blog-threatened our house mouse last week, but then with the whole detox/cleanse thing and my son getting sick, I didn't really have time to wage full-out war. I put out a couple of token traps, just to let him know that I knew he was there. Which he promptly mocked by eating the peanut butter from without setting them off. And then, to add insult to injury, the little fucker waltzed across my living room Friday night while I was sitting on the couch, trapped under a sleeping toddler.

The next day, in between doing vomit laundry and providing a cushy surface on which my son could nap, I sealed up the hole under the sink that I suspected he was using to access the garbage. He got in anyway, and as if the chewed-up garbage bag weren't enough evidence, he left his fecal calling card on top of the garbage catcher. Oooohhhhh, he's got tiny steel ones, this boy.

So today, because it was a holiday and my son was feeling well enough to shoo out into the backyard with his father, I launched an assault. That mousey bastard screwed up by running in front of me - now I know his paths. I put traps in likely spots, baited with scant amounts of peanut butter, and removed every other food source I could find, including the garbage.

Good way to spend the long weekend, no? That one's for you, Queen Victrola - don't say Canadians never went to war on your behalf.

What? It's Queen Victoria?

Whatever. I had the day off.

I know a great big bunch of you are going to leave another comment about, "Cat! Get a fucking cat already!". I know, internets, I know. If you can explain to me how to do that without making my dog's head explode, that would be helpful. Dog brains are messy.

While I had the house a boy-free zone, I also broke out the cordless drill and put up some drapes that have been sitting there, mocking me, for months. Yesterday I hauled two dead trees out to the dumpster and did other yardwork. I feel all manly now. Like I should pop a woody and crack a cold one.

Um, no, okay. They were just fucking drapes.

This detox/cleanse thing has revived my bizarre dream life. I haven't had my good weird dreams (ie, no zombies) since pregnancy, and I missed them. They're a little more disjointed now, but last night I was doing shooters in a nightclub while buying teapots and Mexican dresses.

In my dream, I mean. Ahem. Really.

I had a salad, a couple of slivers of chicken, and some juice for dinner and I'm not hungry. That seems....just so fucking wrong.

Okay, now that I've thought about it I'm hungry. Whoops. I'm off to rustle up some celery sticks or something equally enticing. I bet you have some babbling to do - grab the button and make it happen!

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Want an appetite suppressant? Try this (HASAY update)

We're on week 30 of HASAY. HASAY, in case you're just tuning in, is a bloggers weight-loss support group, masterminded by Casey. She runs the place with an iron fist. Nevermind that the iron fist is occasionally full of Cheetos.

So hubby and I are still doing our detox/cleanse, and amazingly sticking to it. He's regarding it as more of a temporary diet, I think, but is enormously supportive. It wouldn't do, as he says, to be eating Doritos and slugging back a Pepsi while your significant other is trying to subsist on organic salads and powdered fibre. It's just rude.

Plus, it might come back to bite you in the ass at some point. Ahem.

Anyway, my focus on my growling tummy sort of took back burner this weekend to my sick toddler. There is nothing quite like being repeatedly vomited on, worrying about whether you're going to have to pack the whole show off to the hospital for the love of Blog don't make me have to take him to the hospital, and then after you've just managed to do some vomit-covered laundry, you get hit with the second wave: diahrrea.

GOOD TIMES, people. Good times.

In addition to all the standing-and-rocking I've been doing, I managed to get in some yard work yesterday and some yoga prior to the Linda Blair impersonation. Not exactly aerobic, but I'm not providing my body a metric tonne of fuel right now, either.

The Wii Fit (after berating me) informed me that I'm down 3 lbs from my, um, fluffiest. I'm willing to bet that was just the contents of my colon. Hopefully I can flush a few more pounds out before I'm done.

Flush. Heh.

It's GRADapalooza, if you're Canadian

So I challenged everyone yesterday to ante up with their prom pics, as requested by Blissfully Caffeinated and the Stiletto Mom. And apparently Jen over at Sprite's Keeper also made it the Spin this week, so hey! you can't lose!

Other than the rest of us snickering at you, that is. We're snickering out of love, though, I swear.

As it turns out I don't have a lot of my prom pics floating around. I know I've seen better ones, but other people must have them. FoN?

This first pic is actually not from MY grad. Pretty much all my friends graduated the year before me.

It's because I am YOUNGER, you guys. Not dumber. Although the pics may say differently.

Anyway, I was my friend J's date to go to their grad, because that was the "real" party. I was a real prom slut that year, too, I went to THREE in total (and wore the same hideous dress each time. It may have been rather ripe by the end).


(I was showing off my black Lee press-on nails. Rawr!)


The next year (my lonely, lonely senior year), my actual grad, I pretty much just went to the ceremony and then wandered off. It was the first year the school did a 'dry' grad, and much to my chagrin, everybody went. Sheep.

My friend J accompanied me again, and as you can see I was rockin' the goth look (with a dress I found at a second-hand store):

(What you can't see is that I had to wear flat sandals instead of heels, because a couple of weeks earlier I'd broken my baby toe in the most spectacular fashion. So I was like...hippy goth. Or something. It bothered me more than it should have, considering I didn't have many friends in my own graduating class)

(Also what you can't really see is J's super long hair that he pulled back into a half-ponytail. We pretty much had the same hair there. He held on to that hair for WAY longer than he should have)

I know, my pics turned out to be kind of lame. I know you guys came here looking for some big hair, so here's a parting shot:


Oh yeah, baby.

In lieu of a real post, a challenge. En garde!

Often, on Thursdays, I post a retro pic for ya'll in conjunction with Bex's fun new meme, Funky Foto Flashback. But this week I'm saving the painful memories til tomorrow because Jen at Blissfully Caffeinated and Mary Anne, the Stiletto Mom, have put their twisted brains together and challenged us all to celebrate prom season by posting our own prom photos.

(Up here we don't call it 'prom' much. We usually just say 'grad'. But it's the same concept: the hair! the satin! the underage drinking!)

If you want to play - and you know you therapist will say it's probably a good idea - just post your own pic tomorrow and make sure you give those two ladies credit. We have to blame SOMEONE for those mental scars, right? Then leave them a comment telling them where to find your shame, and they'll direct the entire internet your way.

Well, maybe half.

This is where I would normally make a joke about salads and the potential for tossing them, but I don't want THOSE google searches

Today is Day One of the detox/cleanse that hubby and I are doing. I'm officially fucking starving. Interestingly, celery and organic spinach didn't make me feel sated BEFORE I started this cleanse, so I'm not sure why I thought this would be any different.

Hubby has a standing Wednesday lunch manager meeting at his restaurant. He wanted to know what he'd be 'allowed' to eat. The answer is pretty much nothing - it's a pizza joint, after all - but I told him his best bet would be a salad.

He texted me: "Mmm, salad"

I texted back jealously peevishly jokingly accusing him of actually ordering a calzone.

Wordlessly, he replied:

Seriously, how in the hell did we ever entertain ourselves before camera cel phones?

Maybe the new neighbours are interested in a house mouse AND a MIL: Random Tuesday Thoughts

The new neighbours are here! The new neighbours are here! I saw the man pull up, and then take a kitchen chair out of his car and let himself into his new house. I was like - that's IT? A chair? You moved just a chair? In a Honda Acura? Who DOES that? Omigod these people are weirdos! And then I realized that, ahem, I'M the one standing on my own couch to stick my nose over the sill of the piano window to spy on him, because it's the only window on that side of the building, and I don't want to gawk out the front window. Who exactly is the whackjob here?

My suspicions were confirmed later when I texted Fashionista about their arrival and her response was, "So are you going to take them over a casserole or a loaf of fresh baked bread or something?"

Oh, right, THAT'S what normal neighbours do.

I may or may not have posted a while ago about how we have a mouse in the house. I can't remember. It really seemed kind of trivial to me - I saw it once, but it doesn't seem to poop anywhere important or eat the last handful of Goldfish crackers or anything. Unlike hubby, who seems to think it's the fourth horseman of the fucking apocalypse, I was pretty content to let it clean up after the toddler and scare the shit out of him us every once in a while.

Until today, when I was contentedly seated on the throne having a morning pee and heard this weird ticking noise. I looked down and saw a tiny pink nose poking out of a gap in the baseboards, gnawing away on the wood.

"You cocky little fucker!" I exclaimed, and the nose disappeared, like: crap, she saw me.

(Or more likely, Merde! I have been sighted! I must alert zee Resistahnce! Because I totally imagine mice all having this outRAYggggeous Franch accent.)

So now it's all-out war, mouse. My apologies in advance to your extended family, but you should have thought of that before you interrupted my morning constitutional with your arrogant display of teeny cojones.

My MIL apparently thinks I'm opening up my own mess hall. Or something. We have limited drawer space in our tiny kitchen, so since we moved in to this house I have been keeping my cutlery on the counter in mason jars. I don't know, I kind of thought it went with the 50s decor. But apparently this year it became too much for her, because she keeps buying me cutlery caddies to replace the jars.

The first time it was the (used!) plastic cutlery basket out of a dishwasher. Because yeah - THAT says 'classy' way more than canning jars.

This last time she was here she brought a new cutlery caddy, that came with it's own place setting for 4. In case that wasn't enough, she threw in an entire extra box of utensils. That's in addition to my original cutlery, which was complete and matching for 6 people.

When I queried hubby as to the motivation, he said she thought I might want cutlery that matched. But my cutlery DOES match. And I fail to see how giving me more cutlery THAT DOESN'T MATCH is going to help the situation at all.

I swear, it's enough to make me want to drill tiny holes in the end of each and every one of them and hang them from the ceiling.

I don't think I'm ready to start this cleanse tomorrow. I need to detox, before I can detox. I am going to have problems with the lack of caffeination. More than likely, other people are going to have problems with my lack of caffeination too.

I was going to post a Mother's Day thing yesterday about how you other moms should celebrate the things about yourself that aren't necessarily nurturing or maternal, the things that make you YOU that aren't making snacks or kissing booboos. Because those things make you a better parent, too. But then my kid threw things at my head all day and refused to nap and bit me and peed on some comics and screamed a lot, and I didn't feel like a good parent no matter what.

But, yeah, you should celebrate those things.

Never mind, I'll just post it next year.

I was also going to to post something to my own mother, along those same lines, about how much I appreciate her as a FRIEND and how intriguing and entertaining she is because she has so many aspects and interests that aren't directly related to motherhood. Plus because I didn't get her a card. But I felt like murdering instead of writing and she'd never read it anyway because she's on fucking dialup.

I'll just post it next year.

Okay, who thinks the people at MIT have waaaaay too much time on their hands?

(I still want one, though. I'd set it up in a corner of the living room and put a sign on it that says NO BOYZ ALOWD)

Aaaannnd on that note, I'm off to my Hut of Solitude. Want to play Random Tuesday Thoughts? Grab the button, make a random post, and link up with Mr. Linky! I had a little talk with him after the issue he had last week with commitment, and I think we're all on the same page. Nevertheless, he's on notice, so he gets one week to shape up or I'm demanding we go to counselling.

Happy Tuesday!

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Are you Canadian? Do you like meat?

I mean, I'm totally not going to judge you if you're a veg-head, because we're all about tolerance up here in igloo world. But, if you're down with the slabs of cow (or pig or chicken), listen up: On Wednesday the 13th, President's Choice will be promoting their new product lines of meat products by handing out coupons to commuters in Toronto, Vancouver, Montreal, Halifax, and Calgary between 4 & 6 pm.

Just look for the people dressed up as butchers (no, not that guy - he's actually auditioning for Sweeney Todd. Over there, the less-bloody looking ones) at transit hubs for your coupon.

But remember, meat is murder.

Tasty, tasty murder.

HASAY update: I've been rock rolled, which is not as cool as rick rolled

Ah, yes, HASAY. I was doing so well. Then, I hit an invisible wall of some sort, and now I'm a pathetic mime trying to find my way out. Or I'm whats-his-name, pushing the boulder up the hill in Hades, only now I've decided to just get it over with and let the damn rock squash me, because it's not THAT bad here in Hell, I can probably tune out the thirst and the country music, and at least I'll get to lay down for a little while.

I haven't started the cleanse yet, because the lady at the health food store said it was best to spend a week taking acidophilus (which I've totally been pronouncing wrong the whole time, THANKS FOR TELLING ME, guys) first. I'm doing that, and hubby volunteered himself to do the cleanse at the same time. We'll start Wednesday. It's nice that I'll have emotional backup, but you just know he's going to lose like, 20 lbs and look and feel great and I'll be lucky if I don't murder someone for their Skittles.

I need new running shoes in the worst way and I've been getting really painful shin splints any time I try to run or jump, so I haven't exactly been working out to the max, pushing the envelope, feeling the burn or any of those other good cliches. I'm hoping to remedy that this week too so I can get back on the gym track.

FoN said yesterday that her Trainer Lady is putting together a relay team for the city marathon, which is in September, and she needs one more person. Running a marathon is not something I expect or aim to achieve in my lifetime. Even a half marathon seems presumptuous on my part. But a piece of a marathon? That seems like an attainable goal, and Trainer Lady reassured FoN that we're not going to be the weak links on a team of lithe supermodels, it's just for the challenge and fun* of it. So, hopefully, once I get my shit back together, I can spend the summer working towards that. I think part of my problem was that once I 'gave up' on my weight goal, I kind of lost my motivation, so even if this particular relay team falls through I might seek out another or put one together myself.

I never used to trust people who ran; what the hell happened to me?

So the mind is willing, but the flesh is still weak. We'll see how it feels after two weeks of pooping out toxins.



*Isn't the English language fascinating? I mean, how one person can put the words 'marathon' and 'fun' together in a sentence without batting an eye and how another person would rather have their eyelids removed than equate the two? Yeah, enthralling.

My Secret Garden is not very secret

You know that saying, "Good fences make good neighbours"? I'd like to add a clause. Chain-link fences, despite their appeal for people like me (no maintenance! Can potentially be electrified in the event of the zombie apocalypse!), do not have the same effect.

Don't get me wrong. I really like our neighbours and their massive selection of tools that they lend freely chattiness. I really don't mind shooting the breeze when they're outside, except that they're the sort of leathery specimens who are outside all. the. fucking. time. Seriously. Unless there's hail or it's 40 below, they are outside from the asscrack of dawn until wee hours of the morning. And that chain link fence leaves me nowhere to hide.

"Oh, hey, how are ya? I mean, any different than when I saw you 20 minutes ago? No? Um, I'm just going to weed my garden here then and try not to provide you with any cleavage shots or blatant plumber butt, okay?"

"Oh, yeah, well, all those leaves...from last fall...I feel awkwardly obliged to comment on those, and how I swear I will be removing them soon, because normally you wouldn't see them at all but because of this fucking see-through fence they're providing a stark contrast to your immaculately manicured lawn. It must be nice to be retired, huh?"

Having said that, I'm really going to miss those people and their encyclopaedic knowledge of gardening friendly ways. Because as of next week, we get NEW neighbours. And I know practically nothing about them, except that they're a man and a woman who are just friends (this was relayed with a meaningful cough) and have some form of progeny (Age? Gender? Quantity? Potential to be hanging around the back alley with their thug friends? No idea). I hope they're not whackjobs.

I especially hope they're dog people, because my dog...is a dog. She doesn't "think she's people". She's well aware that she's a DOG, and that by definition she is obliged to bark at strangers, other dogs, the garbage truck, and stray scraps of paper. She enjoys her job. She also shits in the backyard, because I can't seem to get her to flush the toilet, and I get around to picking that up like, twice a year. Whether it needs it or not.

The existing neighbours are dog people, and have two dogs of their own. Theirs are better behaved (a rabid wolverine would be better behaved), but they're a lot more tolerant of her canine shenanigans than NON dog people would be. With the leaves and the dog poop and the generally dishevelled state of my yard, we're already perilously close to being those neighbours.

Think I can put up a new fence in a week?

Since ya'll asked

(and because I didn't get my poop in a group for a regular post)

(It's surprisingly difficult to take a picture of your own hand)

Overhaul your life in 264 easy steps! ...Random Tuesday Thoughts

Oh dear lord it's Tuesday again. Is it just me or did April have like, 7 Tuesdays? I swear it had at least that many. Possibly 8.

Hm. No, Google Analytics assures me there were only four. It also tells me that I still swear too much, because there are an inordinate amount of people arriving here by googling some combination of the word "fuck". Including the classic, "funky fuck fuck fuck".

(Was the third 'fuck' really necessary?)

(That's what SHE SAID)

Anyway, you know the deal! Grab the button, use it to duct-tape together your own rambling post, and leave your link with Mr. Linky! Think we can crack 100 participants this week?

Let us begin!

While we're on the Google Analytics topic, a few of my favorites lately:

What are some things that people just don't give a crap about?

and

What do people sometimes do in the summer

and

Too skinny to poop?

...do people think I have ALL the answers? Geez, I'm just one woman.

(A woman who is NOT too skinny to poop.)

I have a pretty ring on my finger. I keep watching it as I type. *girlish giggle*

(Okay, I can't pull off the girlish giggle. I'll just smirk.)

I haven't posted a HASAY update in a while. I was going to post one yesterday but...I'm ashamed. I never, ever should have written about how strong and confident and healthy I felt, because it immediately slid downhill. All month. I don't honestly know why, but I have had very little energy and no willpower. I've gained 3 lbs.

It's not a whole lot but those were VERY hard-won pounds, so I'm a little bitter.

I think I'm going to try to 'reboot' with a detox/cleanse, like the one Beth did. I'm trying to find one that's not going to hurt me or starve me too bad, but if next weeks Tuesday post is all, "Linoleum! It starts in the brain stem! Burn the heretic! Oh wait I'M the heretic. Burn the lions! Someone invent teleportation already, I want to cross my DNA with a ocelotl!", you'll know why.

What do you mean you can't see a difference? Shut up.

I'm 35 now. That's like, a whole other box to tick. It's the default age on the ellipticals at the gym. It's the year your doctor starts prefacing things with, "Well, you're in your mid-30s now so...". Strangely, I don't really have a problem with it.

But I do anticipate having some issues with 36. It's a saucy age, given to backtalk, and MUCH closer to 40 than it is to 30. Gah.

Now that Paul has made the "we're assuming we're eventually going to get hitched" thing all official (and sparkly), apparently he feels his work is done. Buy a ring? Check. Ask? Check. Okay! Wedding should plan itself.

So, uh, how does summer of 2016 sound to ya'll?

(Have I mentioned how lazy I am?)

WHAT DID I TELL YOU???*

So, not to get all female on you, but I'm going to call it a night - I kind of have a headache. My kid kicked me in the eye socket earlier, and he has really big feet. Apparently these things hurt more when you're 35? Would have appreciated a memo, but anyway.

Belly up to the random bar, cowpokes (and, um...cowpokettes?)! Write your post, leave your link, and don't forget to visit the other randomizers!

Edit - Dammit! Mr. Linky appears to be down. If and when he reappears, I'll try to put everybody's link in. Till then, just put your link in the comments like the resourceful Sprite's Keeper.

<a href="http://www.theunmom.com"><img src="http://i206.photobucket.com/albums/bb9/superkeely/randomtuesday.jpg" width="200" alt="randomtuesday" /></a>

Birthdays

Five years ago today, all of my friends - even Politika, who lives on the coast - pulled up at my house in a limo. A "well stocked with booze" limo. I had spent the day shopping, I was sporting a new haircut, wearing new clothes. Nice, expensive clothes, without food or snot or tears on them.

(Clothes I no longer fit into)

The limo took us out for an expensive dinner, we dined and drank and laughed. Then it took us to every bar or lounge where we knew the bartender, which was...every bar or lounge. We celebrated and were celebrated, we charmed and acquired people in our limo and had shooters named in our honour. We were freaking rock stars.

We ended up at a club where we danced all night and closed the place down. At one point I pressed my face into the chest of the man who would one day become the father of my child, and moaned drunkenly and melodramatically, "I'm not going to make it!"

I spent the next day in bed, and didn't emerge until 4pm. That legendary evening was hailed thereafter as "The Day My Friends Tried To Kill Me With Alcohol".

Today, this year, I blissfully slept in until the unheard-of hour of 8am. I dozed and listened to the murmur of voices, tiny feet dancing, toddler giggles.

I got out of bed and the three-foot-tall light of my life ran up to me with a small box. He tripped away, laughing, as I opened it. And then the six-foot-tall light of my life, who had followed his son, asked me to marry him.

I said, y'know, I'd think about it.

We had breakfast and I went to the gym. I had a nap. I went out for lunch with my best friend and my favorite short person, then played in the garden for the afternoon. We had a great dinner, a glass of wine.

Birthdays.




(I'm just fucking with you. Of course I said YES. Duh.)

Brush your teeth and stay in school, kids

Some of you may have noticed that we dismantled the Connoisseur du Jour site. It was just too much for someone who already has 3 blogs, a woman in her first trimester and someone whose gall bladder recently attacked her. A good idea, but bad timing.

While I was posting over there I accepted the "4 Week Crest/Oral-B Challenge" to use Crest and Oral-B products in an attempt to reduce my plaque levels. I posted my final tally about 4 days before CduJ got taken down, so they asked me if I would re-post it over here. And I said of course I would, because I totally don't have a post for tomorrow I'm accommodating like that.

In my initial checkup with the dentist he determined that my overall oral health is good, but that I had moderate plaque on my upper back molars. Also, that I had a fucking CAVITY. OF COURSE.

Here are the two posts detailing my experience with the Crest & Oral-B stuff, and of course the Final Result (dun dun DUN!):


Brusha Brusha Brusha! Crest and Oral-B clean up my potty mouth!

A couple of weeks ago I posted about starting the Crest/Oral-B Challenge. It's only really started now, well, yesterday, when I got my nifty care package dropped at my doorstep.

So - y'know, so far, so good.

My cool little box came with two Crest Pro-Health toothpastes, one for night and one for day, Crest Glide "Deep Clean" floss, and Crest Pro-Health alcohol-free mouthwash.

(Apparently my Oral-B Vitality Precision Clean toothbrush is arriving later, in its own limo. With its own posse of peeps. It's THAT COOL).

So the toothpastes, well, nothing revolutionary there. I mean, it's toothpaste. They do seem a bit gritty. The Pro-Health Night apparently does a better job than regular toothpaste of protecting your mouth at night from decay-causing bacteria. Both toothpastes have whitening benefits, too. Which is good, because apparently all this coffee and red wine I drink is starting to make me look like Snaggletooth.

(I wonder what happens if you mix the two toothpastes together? Do you think it's dangerous? I'm going to try it. Maybe it's like C-4).

The Glide floss is awesome, and I swear by it normally, though I've never used the "Deep Clean" variety. (How much deeper can you get without blood loss?). I still have all my wisdom teeth, which makes for a crowded mouth, but the Glide floss gets in there without shredding or getting stuck.

And, the Crest Pro-Health mouthwash. I am not a mouthwash person. I was pretty glad this stuff was alcohol-free, because the alcohol stuff? EEEEE!! THE BURNING! THE BUUUUURRRNINGG!! And the Pro-Health tastes pretty good - the gentle, sweeter mint of the light blue Trident rather than the holy-crap-smack-you-in-the-face mint of the recent 'extreme gum' trend. My issue with mouthwash normally - AND THIS IS JUST ME - is that about an hour after I use it, it tastes like something died in my mouth. Especially if I go to bed right afterwards. Then it's like something died, but threw up first.

But because I'm a dedicated little reviewer, I made the decision to use the mouthwash. I read the back of the bottle while I was swishing, and oh! hey! You're supposed to rinse with water afterwards. Which actually makes it tolerable. Less like something died in my mouth, and more like something furry just passed out there temporarily. Which is acceptable.

You learn something new every day.


(For more info, visit the Oral-B or Crest Pro-Health websites).


Crest and Oral-B: The Final Tally

If you've been with us for a little while, you know that I accepted a "Crest/Oral-B 4 Week Challenge" to use their products and attempt to improve my overall oral health and reduce my plaque.

This week was my final checkup. It was also my appointment to fix the cavity they found the first time. So I braved the dentist chair for you folks. (My dedication to you is unwavering, I know. You can show your appreciation with PayPal or chocolate).

The dentist's chair has a TV now - they even let you have the remote, albeit wrapped in plastic, but they don't get the Space channel and I don't know what else to watch during the day. I put it on some kind of talk show about a makeover subject who, 5 minutes into the show, needed major dental surgery. NOT HELPING. Switch to Oprah.

Enh...that doesn't help either, unless your goal is MORE pain.

Anyway. I put up with the needles and the stench of burning tooth enamel and the distinctly uncomfortable sensation of being able to bite as hard as you can on your own face and not feel it, because I wanted the verdict. Did Crest and Oral-B help me out?

And the answer is yes. Yes they did.

My oral hygiene was pretty good to start out with, but I had some plaque on my upper molars. And I'm pleased to report that in just 3 short weeks (what? I started late) the Oral B Precision Clean toothbrush and it's Crest compadres reduced that plaque to almost nothing. The brush head on the Oral B is small enough to get back far enough to even clean my wisdoms properly.

I was hoping for a whiter smile, but I do tend to sabotage any effort in that area with the amount of coffee and red wine I drink. And it was only three weeks. But I think Crest made a little difference.

So, what are you waiting for? It's still Oral Health Month for over a week* - get brushing!


*This is a complete and utter lie, but remember I originally posted that a while ago. Anyway, Dental Hygiene Month is OCTOBER in the US and September in the UK. So you have tons of time to think about your chompers.