This award was crafted by Simply Curious

and bestowed on me by I am the Diva

I’m sharing the llama love with:

I’ve Come Undone
Jean’s Cathouse and Shooting Society
The Hotfessional
Days Go By

The instructions for this is kind of meme-ish, because you scoop the image, reference the creator, and the giver, and go decorate someone else’s house when you are done.

Shameless self-promotion:If I’m the Freakiest Blogger you read, show me some freaking love. Go on, vote for me. You know you wanna.

Warning! Some very bad words are in this very old, recycled post. Is it okay that they are quotes? No? You can read this with your eyes closed then.

I have some issues on my system that I need to address, so don’t bother yourself looking for new stuff over the weekend.

Bluenose vernacular.

• Bluenose is slang for Nova Scotian.
• Vernacular is slang for slang.I made that up.
• God’s Country…a proprietary term to indicate a level of
  breathtaking beauty and real honest-to-gawd decent
  folk not to be had anywhere else. I use this one lots.
• Come from away…refers to anybody who was not born and raised
  ALL THEIR FREAKING LIFE in Nova Scotia.
• Fill yer boots…I interpret this to mean “help yourself, take as much as you like”.
  There may be more sinister, sheep-related implications to this however.
• Kiss my rosy red arse…I attribute this one to a love of alliteration.
• Petunia…when I was liddle, I called it my “bird” My fave uncle used to call me Petunia, and I HAD NO CLUE. I thought it was because he stuttered like Porky Pig.
• Oh, me nerves!…meant to indicate a stressful situation.
• Oh, me fuckin nerves!…this calls for more sympathy than Oh, me nerves!, like when it dawns on you that your favourite uncle was calling you “twat” (Disclaimer: My uncle did not know about this meaning. He was offended when I first posted it)
• Nobody likes a smartarse…what the Papa always said to me.
• Gimme a knife; I’ll cut me t’roat…usually said to indicate some unbearable pain for which death is the only solution.
• Spleeny…I am not making these up, I swear. Means unable to tolerate any pain or hardship. (see above)
• Twitchy…very irritable, or antsy
• Hotter than the hinges of hell…brings to mind an image of hell having doors.
  Temperatures over 80 F are hotter than the hinges of hell.
• Tits up…same as belly up, but more charmingly Nova Scotian.
  Sometimes indicates a person who is passed out from drinking Captain Morgan Rum or shine.
• And my personal favourite…Who pissed in your cornflakes?…are you having a bad day?
  And why must I be gifted with your lovely mood? (Another note: recently, Dr. Phil has been using a sanitized version of this saying. He totally stole it from me. I wrote this for another blog about seven years ago. Just so you know. And stop it Dr. Phil.)

Shameless self-promotion:If I’m the Freakiest Blogger you read, show me some freaking love. Go on, vote for me. You know you wanna.

I was born very near the feeding grounds of many large whales, at a time of year just before they head there in large numbers. I have always had a deep affinity for whales, but the finback, the finback whale is really special to me.

Only the blue whale is larger. The fin isn’t the showiest when it surfaces because it is a whale that doesn’t show it’s tail. If you saw one, you so wouldn’t care about the tail. These animals have presence. They are sentient beings. They know things. And the sheer size of them is astounding.

The one on the left? Fixing to dive under the boat. Thrilling.

The first whale watch I went on, I called the whale to me. We only saw a minke that day, but it surfaced right beside where I sat. Hardly anyone else saw it. I’m certain it heard my call, and came to investigate.

If you get the opportunity to go on a whale watch tour, jump on it! Best time for sailing is the earlier tours, around 10 am, before the wind and the chop comes up.

Whale has visited me in other ways as well, in the dreamtime.

Not too long ago, I lived on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. I dreamed a staircase of ice, leading from the ocean up to my bed. Swimming under the ice of the staircase was a procession of finbacks, each coming to me to share knowledge, then swimming back down. This event was another activation, an awakening of memories that I didn’t realize I had. Sort of like “I knew that. I just didn’t know I knew it until now.”

Soon after, I began to notice the clocks around me when they were at 11:11. One clock actually stopped at 11:11. I began to hook up with other healers in the early days of the internet, on IRC. We shared energy, and worked together to heal people and situations in the world, this world which suddenly became much smaller.

This dream was a precursor to the 11:11 activation, which was an initiation into the energies of the Archangel Michael. And then, all heaven broke loose.

But that is a tale for another day.
Shameless self-promotion:If I’m the Freakiest Blogger you read, show me some freaking love. Go on, click it. You know you wanna.

I spent the past two days tweaking my CSS, and I still have that incredibly huge header.

I want to move the photo to the upper left, and have the title to the right of the photo. Then 86 the whole “Hi! I’m witchypoo.” blurb. The header is way too big. It’s a bit tricky working with somebody else’s code. Way easier to do your own, because you know what the selectors mean to you. I’m going to upload WordPress to another server for testing purposes. You cannot mess with a live site when you are altering the layout of somebody else’s code.

I cannot emphasize enough, if you are using Internet Explorer 6, find yourself a CSS compliant browser, preferably Firefox. You will love me for that, send me your firstborn, etc. It is that good.

Okay, I see your eyes glazing over. Two things. Just admire my sidebars awhile if you will. I made a new blogroll from images, but haven’t found a way to caption them, so you will have to mouse over to get the blog title.

Second thing: There is a “Deck the Blogs” uncontest over at Memarie Lane so just click the button on my sidebar (the sidebar that does not show up if you are still clinging to the evil IE6) and it will take you right to the un-contest. All you have to do is send her a Christmas type of image, or post it on your blog. I went through all my images on my D drive before I realized I had already posted the perfect one right here. Fabulous prizes for this one!

Alright, enough out of me. You luddites with IE6, bite the bullet and get you some Firefox.

Shameless self-promotion:If I’m the Freakiest Blogger you read, show me some freaking love. Go on, vote for me. You know you wanna.

You remember Skinny Bitch don’t you? A total delight she is.

SB is the most practical person I can remember meeting. She loves money, and she adores saving it. In fact, I remember her catch phrase at one time was “Squirrel it away, witchypoo, squirrel it away.”

She took her own advice, bought a great house and invested the rest. This is not a frivolous woman.

I stroll into her bed and breakfast back yard to find her hard working husband doing some hard yard work. Then I notice this troll-like creature that is snurffling around the yard. (I know that is a made up word, but snuffling doesn’t quite do it justice)

This creature, this almighty wicked hideous creature, has short legs, noisy asthma, and one blind googly eye. To call it a troll is to dis the entire troll kingdom of trolliness.

So I ask Mr. SB “What in the name of very bad words everything gone wrong is THAT???” Yes, several question marks because I was that incredulous. Mr. SB, a very manly man I might point out, replied in a reverent tone: “That’s SB’s dog, Henry. She loves him.” (SB has him so whipped. She has that effect on all men.)

He watches with his customary reserve as I completely lose it. Just howling with laughter in a puddle of helpless laughy goo. I’m SB’s friend, we’re both nuts. No big. He’s used to it.

When SB gets home, I very casually ask her about the stab-myself-in-the-eye fugly dog thing. She’s all effusive, Henry this, Henry that.

SB: “I call him Handsome Henry!” For once, I am speechless.

She shows me his “trick”. It’s where he stands back, to judge if it’s safe to come near her, because sometimes, SB doesn’t want to be touched. She’s neurotic. Even the stupid troll thingie gets it.

Me: “SB, that isn’t a trick. It’s a behaviour. Everyone who knows and loves you has learned it.”

She still insists it’s his trick, then demonstrates how cute he is when his little tongue sticks out while his head is cocked. It looks much cuter when she is doing it.

Me: “SB, did you pay money for Handsome Henry?”

SB (reluctantly) “Ye-es.” I drag the details out of her, because, really,there is no way I can leave this alone, knowing her financial habits as I do. She paid about a grand for a dog that was unregistered, blind in one eye, has death rattle asthma, is incredibly stupid, and by the way? He needs special food. Special expensive food. And huge vet bills.

Me: (rolling eyes) “SB, I’ve known you for about twelve years now. I feel I know you well. I have special powers and all. For the life of me, I just don’t understand why you parted with so much money for Handsome <shudder> Henry.

SB: (in a very small voice) “I was afraid that nobody else would love him.”

See? How can you not love a woman like Skinny Bitch?

Shameless self-promotion:If I’m the Freakiest Blogger you read, show me some freaking love. Go on, click it. You know you wanna.