October 22nd, 2008 | 12 Comments »

My long time buddy, Torch, jumped to my rescue when I mentioned that I couldn’t pull a story out of my arse. She and the Big V were my partners in crime long ago, and we had us some times. I think Torch remembers more of them because she was more sober than the rest of us. Torch usually drove.

Torch’s decrepit Ford Cortina was particularly memorable . The rust was so bad, it was all that held it together. When we reached a certain speed, the fenders would lift. We thought we were flying in that Cortina. The splendour was not confined to the rust-riddled body, oh, no, it was not. Inside were many fast food meal remnants, and all manner of refuse. On the floor in the back grew a single marijuana plant. Makes sense, with all the smoking and the readily available compost. Torch always hollered at us so we wouldn’t trample her little pet plant. We honoured Torch’s wishes. She had a fearsome temper.

This is the vehicle that brought us on countless road trips. Often, we would tear about an hour up the highway to a nice park, and pack a lunch. How they ever put up with my insufferable bossiness is beyond me, but Torch assures me that I insisted we only bring biodegradable items with us. (Maybe I had seen her car?) So, boiled eggs it was.

We got all glammed up, because really, a girl can’t look too pretty when she’s hiking the trails of a park with a waterfall in it. I think I was in a big hat-wearing phase at the time, so over the top was my every day look. There was much hilarity and picture taking. And more hilarity. Sponsored by our friend, Mary Jane. What a bunch of nature nuts.

We were very subtle with our Southern Comfort on the way there, and in the park. We had dixie cups. Southern Comfort was good because we didn’t have to bother ourselves with that pesky mixer. We drank it straight. Bad arse nature nuts. What? It went well with the boiled eggs. Which, as you may recall, were biodegradable.

Big V and Torch with their Southern Comfort.

The don’t drink and drive thing? Because you might hit a bump and spill it? The Big V was driving back, and had her dixie cup in her hand when she turned the wheel. She dumped the contents in her lap. And was very whiney because she wasted good Southern Comfort.

Yes, we were eejits. It was a million years ago. Before all the edjamacational tv ads that spell out why drinking and driving is a bad thing. Bad arse stoopid nature nuts.

Good thing the windows worked in that Ford Cortina. What with Southern Comfort and boiled eggs, I think ventilation was in order. Even for nature nuts.

October 15th, 2008 | 13 Comments »

I used to be a great first date. My first husband and I went to a big do where he worked, and we smuggled cafeteria trays out of the cafeteria, and used them to coast down a hill outside. It was summer, but the grass was wet. It was all kinds of fun. Of course, we had smuggled our drinks outside, and going downhill on a cafeteria tray is not the optimum method of getting the liquid on the inside of you, rather than the outside.

Afterwards, we changed into jeans and comfy wear (just like the prom after party) and went for a drive in the country. I thought it might be a good idea to go horseback riding by moonlight. The idea was born as we had stopped to commune with some rather friendly horses in a pasture.

Dang, those horses were tall, but we found a stump to climb aboard from, and away we went, sans saddle, sans bridle, just us and the horses. In the moonlight. Some folks might call that romantic, but we were mainly just laughing. At ourselves.

Ass Burger Boy? Close your eyes now.

But the real reason I was a great first date with my first husband is because I slept with him that night.

Too much information?


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July 22nd, 2008 | 16 Comments »

First crack at internet access that hasn’t been entirely consumed by uploading sound files. So I have a true story for you.

My folks come from an island in the Bay of Fundy. Island folk are rather insular, sometimes even xenophobic, and they have their ways.

Some of them are quite the characters, colourful like you don’t see everyday for sure.

One of these was Poopy Small. My uncle told me how Poopy got his nickname. I’ll leave those schoolyard details to your imagination, but it stuck even after he was all grown up and a grandfather to boot.

One time when Poopy was not feeling entirely like his nickname if you get my drift, he was so uncomfortable that he visited the crusty old island doctor for relief.

The doc told Poopy to take some suppositories and come back in a week.

Doc: How’d those suppositories work for you, Poopy?

Poopy: (whiny old man voice)You know doc for all the good they did me, I might just as well have stuck them up me arse.

July 11th, 2008 | 21 Comments »

My first puppy love boyfriend (as opposed to having a boyfriend just for the sake of it) used to tell stories to entertain me.

He had some crazy friends. Horny McSlutty and his sidekick, Stoopid, were visiting a fellow who had a small blacksmithing operation going on in his yard.

They watched the man as he heated a horseshoe in the fire, then dunked it in water, and placed it on a stump. This was done outside. Very small operation.

Stoopid wanders over to inspect the horseshoe, picking it up. He drops it immediately.

The blacksmith guy grins at him and asks: “Hot?”

Stoopid: “No. It just doesn’t take me very long to look at a horseshoe.”

June 17th, 2008 | 23 Comments »

I was over at Christy’s site, and apparently, she was brought up on the lunatic fringe extreme southern type of religion. The kind where the pastor smacks smites you on the forehead and declares “You are healed!”

They fall into the category of the “Just wannas”. I just wanna tell you, Lord, blah, blah blah. I just wanna praise you, Lord, etc.

I was really, really sick one time, and a friend asked me to come to her church where a visiting healer was conducting his miracles. I figured what could it hurt, right? Right? Wrong.

I was fairly feeble, and extremely febrile, and it was summer. I made the mistake of struggling into what I thought would be acceptable church going clothes, a silk blouse with a modest skirt. It was too hot to wear a bra. Shaddap. In hindsight, I see my mistake. I was sick, okay?

Those who had requested a healing were to stand in a certain area. An area which I didn’t realize until later, was the prime focus of the video cameras.

I suffered through far too many Just wannas as I wobbled on my poor shaky legs. The fever had perspiration streaming off me, copiously.

Did you know that even dark coloured silk is kind of see through when wet? It had not occured to me. Strange. Fever. Blame it on the fever. Which made me perspire. Copiously.

By the time the anointed Just Wanna got to me, I was only standing with the assistance of my friend, who was feeling rather guilty for subjecting me to this in my condition.

Just Wanna mumbled a few words in tongues, and gave me an awful wallop on the forehead, recommended highly for those who are suffering an out of control sinus infection.

Was I grateful? I showed him my gratitude when he stuck a freaking microphone in my face. He asked me how I felt now, and smiled to his adoring congregation. I told him if he didn’t get that microphone out of my face right now, he would receive a similar smiting. There may have been snarling.

What? Pain doesn’t make you cranky?

My friend assisted me out of there immediately. We both feared I would be even more unpleasant.

Then I proceeded to sob from the pain and humiliation of being televised and smited while wearing a soaking wet silk shirt.

She took me to emergency, where I had to be admitted.

I totally get why people are skeptical of healers. Myself? I prefer to work entirely with energy and no smiting.

I just wanna share that with you.