November 2nd, 2008 | 13 Comments »

Okay, I’m a huge slacker. My blogversary was yesterday, and I totally forgot it.

My clock stopped again, at the same freaking time it had stopped the last time. No, it wasn’t 11:11, it was 7:00. Exactly. And? My nightstand clock, which is digital, died a sudden death at the same time, but I don’t have evidence because it doesn’t display anything. I’m asking myself: “What is the significance of a clock stopping at 7:00″? Is that a signal to get a life? Shaddap, rhetorical question here.

Halloween brought no costumed cuties to my door. I did hear a whump around 8 pm, and discovered that my front window had been egged. Now I have a dirty window and masses of candy. If only my outside light worked, I might have a chance. No kids want to risk coming to the door of a 150 year old dwelling that houses an old psychic. I did not dress up as a witch. I was in my jammies. I remember last year. No kids, but no eggs, either. Dang.

My goal is to pay my rent on time, instead of half on the first and the second half on the 15th. My landlady is very kind. So far.

I now only have my computer to tell me the time. Think I’ll set up a screensaver with the time on it.

Anybody want any candy?

October 14th, 2008 | 11 Comments »

Canadians! Today is Election Day. I know we don’t have all the hype and foolishness that goes on with the presidential election south of us, but I so strongly believe that each of our voices is important.

Our present Prime Minister has his nose in Bush’s back pocket. And I think he might be sniffing his bum.

Please, if you care about this great country of Canada, go and vote now.

And non-Canucks? You can vote for me at the Blogger’s Choice Awards.

I love you long time.

Posted in the mundane
September 30th, 2008 | 13 Comments »

You remember shit mittens, don’t you? Yeah, me too.

Shortly after posting that, Warrior Woman was enjoying my cooking, lubricated with a bottle of wine she brought over, when I spied a good-sized spider on my ficus tree.

In the past, I had gently escorted spiders out of my house. That was before I encountered the swift and nasty bite of the recluse spider that had taken up residence here.

I knew it wasn’t a recluse in my ficus, but I approached it with a murderous glint in my eye. All in house spiders now have a death sentence on their heads. Don’t be hatin. Warrior Woman is wicked afeared of spiders, so she did not object. Not even a little.

I also spied two empty potato chip bags, just minding their bidness in my wastebasket. I did a mini dumpster dive and emerged with one on each hand.

Thus was born chip mittens. With a clap of my hands, I dispatched the critter, and Warrior Woman breathed easier as I escorted the remains outside.

There are lots of contests going on right now. If you want in on some, why, just go visit these sites.

I followed a commenter to this site, and lo and behold there was an ipod shuffle up for grabs. I’ll comment after publishing this post.

And then there is Laura of I am the Diva. I wuv her. She is giving away a Zunes player. That’s like an ipod for PC users.

For those who are more into handbags than tunes, there is a fabulous launch of planet handbag, where they are giving away 24 bags in 24 hours on October 15.

See? I take away life from an innocent creature, but I’m still all about the giving. Chip mittens.

June 7th, 2008 | 13 Comments »

I had a dream the other night that I was at bingo. I seldom go since my Mom died, because it’s something we did together, and well, I turned into a snotbag when I went without her.

Ass Burger Boy knew this, and graciously volunteered to go with me, so I wouldn’t be alone and prone to the snotfest. Isn’t he sweet?

I don’t exactly know why I thought I should go, it isn’t as if I dreamed I would win or anything. And? Have you ever been to bingo and watched the people around you?

Nobody smiles. Even when they win. I heard one woman who won almost $500 mutter “It’s about goddamn time, after all the money I put into this.” If they’re going for fun, I’d have to give them a fail.

If you’re in a good mood, and talking with your companion, or strike me dead laughing, you are on the receiving end of the bingo hall death ray stare. It seems that laughter is verboten at bingo.

The only time there was any real hilarity at bingo was at my expense. I once went with Mom and her friend in the valley. The tree in her friend’s yard had ripe plums on it, and I ate quite a few of them, not thinking that plums, when dried, are prunes. These were fresh, ripe, and delicious.

The rumblings coming from my tummy announced the fool who had been eating fresh plums, and the dashes to the washroom underlined just what fool it was. Everytime I scraped my chair back, the tables around me tittered.

I was happy to provide some amusement. Because bingo? Full of sour-looking, cranky faces.

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Posted in the mundane
May 14th, 2008 | 21 Comments »

My blog buddy, Zoe, is a food nazi. She has more rules than you could ever keep track of in your head concerning food, like it mustn’t touch other foods on the plate. I would probably be over stressed if I had to feed a person like her, although I would do it, because I love her. But I’d still make fun of her.

I determined early on with Ass Burger Boy that some foods, like sugar, are actually drugs in disguise. It really wasn’t easy doing research in a small town library (before the internet) when he was little, but my own observations underlined any information I gleaned about the Feingold diet. I noticed when he was very young that ketchup would make his ears turn red, and his behaviour got really out of whack. Or it was whack. Whatev.

People often wondered how I managed to raise him single-handedly with his different abilities, and really, he was a total treat. With a healthy, non-processed, no sugar diet, he was so happy and adorable that I was truly blessed. And eat? Boy, did that chile love him some grub! Anything I made him, he would chow down on with satisfied, happy noises.

How adorable was he? He’s not eating there, but he looks like he’s reaching for food. Work with me, people.

He had his first soda pop when he was nine, and promptly threw it up. And no, it wasn’t me who gave it to him, although I recognized that as he got older, his body was better able to process food-drugs. My attitude was why mess with success?

His only real food quirk is that he cannot bear to waste it. So the only clue I got that he preferred not to eat some foods is that they would languish in the fridge.

Now that he is almost twenty-five years old, I finally learn that tomatoes and spinach are not his faves. Two foods that I always have in abundance. Heh. You coulda said something, son. I don’t go on strike because you don’t like something.

Pizza and wine with Warrior Woman are not on the agenda for the foreseeable future. She has determined that she is allergy testing herself for gluten and alcohol. And potatoes. Yes, I still have some of the fifty pound bag of potatoes left. We’ve had them baked, mashed, roasted, scalloped, everything but deep-fried. But I figure I can make a meal that she can eat without all her no-nos.

And the pizza? All the more for ABB. He likes my pizza just fine.