WHMPC - The Dial Tone

I'm still doing the online dating thing. And still giving most guys a shot, if they're normal and don't like dressing up as women, that is.

So today I went on yet another coffee first date with M. From our interactions to date, seemed like a nice guy. Educated, good writer, enjoys a lot of active activities, all round good catch.

Or maybe not.

I am a firm believer in the idea that everyone is nervous when they first meet you. But at a certain point in an hour and a half date, I expect that you'll be able to make eye contact with me and hold it. Or laugh at my jokes. Or show some interest in what the date is. But this guy had nothin'. No expressions beyond an even tone. Completely flat - like a dial tone. No idea if he had a good time, a bad time or a so-so time. We did the required 'yeah, let's do this again' but I really hope he doesn't call me.

Has made me realize that I'm a really expressive person with quite an array of emotions and feelings that I pretty much wear on my sleeve when talking with someone. While I don't think this comes as news to any of you, dear readers, I think it's something I haven't really realized as I tend to surround myself with people who are the same. I think it's only when I see a total contrast that I actually get it.

So thank you, dear Dial Tone, for not only the cup of coffee you so gallantly bought me, but for helping me see something about myself and narrowing down the field but just one more sap.

On to the next....

Dude looks like a lady

This post needs some background music so while I couldn't quickly find a video to embed, I'm sure you can open this link in a new tab for some background music while you read:

Dude (looks like a lady) by Aerosmith

So, I'm thinking of getting out of the online dating scene. Seems I'm no longer 'fresh fish' and it's only the weirdos who message me now. That and with being on 5 teams this summer and a list a mile long of life and house projects that need getting to, when am I going to find the time to date? Don't worry - there are still a few WHMPC comin' your way ;o)

But this last moment may be what I need to push me over the edge. I was added to someone's fav list today and the user was Ottawa_Gal. At first I was thinking some chick digged me. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but a little surprising seeing as I think my profile says I'm into the dudes.

No, apparently this is a dude...who likes to look like a lady. His profile is quite long and when I got to the part where he offered to be your shopping partner for all things feminine and who wouldn't mind being dressed up by you in those things you found together, well, I stopped reading. The 'vanilla lifestyle' alert in my brain went off and I stopped reading before I turned bright red in my home office by myself.

To remove from myself from his favourites list or not. THAT is the question...

Smuts and sluts and gays

Last night was my 2nd night at rowing. The first night was some really brief info and then we met our teams. I was assigned to what I've affectionately called the 'cougar crew' as the overwhelming majority of crew of 13 are cougars/soccer moms in their 40's and 50's. Awesome. Two guys on our crew and one is dating one of the gals (who is super nice might I add). The other guy is a total looker - the way he was dressed last night he could be a model for Under Armour. And somehow I managed to piss off the fashion gods (perhaps with my ownership of Crocs?) and was put on the 'gold' team. Gold isn't the right word to describe our crew's shirts. Think more of the yellow line that runs down the middle of the road. So if at a cross walk I lied down, I'd blend in and get run over. *Inside voice* Must remember not to trip and fall at crosswalks on campus. It was bad enough that JJ was visibly taken aback when she saw me in my shirt yesterday. Awesome.

At last night's rowing practice we learned how to carry the $30k boats to the water without breaking them, got in and rowed a few strokes, figured out the balance of the boat, etc. We watched some funny safety videos and rowed on the rowing machines. All in all, a pretty decent night...in the rain.

While learning the proper technique for taking a stroke, our British coach (we also have a French-Canadian coach which makes for quite the interesting pairing) said "okay, I don't want to say it like this on our first night but I tell all my rowers to be sluts. When you're feathering, spread your legs." We had all women in the boat at that point and you could see the light bulbs going off. One gal in fact (the one who's dating the one of two guys on our crew) said "oh, well I can do that, that's easy." She's French. I'd like to say that something was lost in her translation. But she's French. Need I say more? ;o)

And then today, I was reading through our morning e-bulletin at work and came across this heading: Smuts Visiting Fellowship in Commonwealth Studies. Apparently the 'Smuts Memorial Fund' provides a research grant for a visiting scholar at the University of Cambridge. It's named after Jan Christian Smuts, Prime Minister of South Africa and Chancellor of the University of Cambridge. And I thought I got the short end of the last name stick. Guess it could be worse. I could be Mr. Gay who is the captain of my Monday night softball team.

Smuts and sluts and gays. It's going to be a good weekend.

Epilogue: C, who used to row with this league, had a coach one year that used to coach them on pulling the oar in, where it should be positioned to your body, and then the recovery when you move back up for another pull of the oar through the water as "Tits, balls, out" (see the visual here). Apparently, he didn't yell 'pull' like the olympic coxswains do, he would yell 'tits, balls, out!' I think I could really get to liking this rowing thing. I'll blog more next week about 'catching crabs' and rowing.

What keeps me going today

Something about today is getting on my nerves. Perhaps it's the impending rowing practice in the freezing afternoon I'm not looking forward to. Perhaps it's the exhaustion of spending too much time at work this week. Perhaps it's just that I need vacation time to get some life things in order.

Who knows.

Or perhaps it's the self-righteous rant I'm having to listen to that's floating over my fort walls (read cube walls) in the office.

But if there's one thing that keeps me going every spring and summer...it's these little gaffers:


Every year, a momma groundhog makes a den in the quad and I, JJ, and the Mexican Princess inevitably spend many a lunch hours giving away all our fruits and veggies to these guys. Not that momma doesn't provide enough for them or there's not enough clover to go around, but nothing cracks us up like when they sit back on their haunches and try and hold an apple core the size of their head in their hands and chow down.

So, regardless of the mindless chatter I have to listen to that floats over the fort walls (I SO need headphones to block that idiocracy out), seeing these little cubs runnin' around, I remember why it's grand to be alive.

Total soul singing moment...

Why is it that people with British accents...

Sound really smart but do stupid things?

I am the poster child for...

No self control.

I was looking up a CD (yes, I'm a troglodyte who does not download songs off of iTunes because I don't own an iPod) on Amazon.ca and this was on the homepage.
One day sale. 65% off. Visa couldn't say no...

Well that's depressing

When I moved offices a few months back I kinda did a 'throw it in a box and figure it out later' move. Yesterday, I came across my blue cue card that has my emerg contact info on it and realized it still listed le ex.

So I went up to get a new one and put new info on it. My bro and all his details went on and then I thought I should have an in-city contact just in case.

And my mind went blank.

Sure, there's JJ, M, S or D&I, but really, it's not the fact that they are friends but it was the realization that I'm alone in this city.

Alone.

No mate.

No family.

Alone.

With two cats. Who will eat my face off when I die because I've choked on a jawbreaker in my house and no one has come to look for my dead body for a few days.

Alone.

Okay, maybe it's the fact that the roommate is leaving for the summer and while excited to have the house to myself again, I'm still kinda realizing I'm alone again and am now paranoid. Or maybe it's because I have procrastinated long enough on house things (painting, repairs, etc.) and am now freaking out re. having to do it all this summer alone. Or maybe it's Wednesday and rainy out and I'm just cranky.

Whatever the case, it's a lonely day in my office.

WHMPC - The Leaky Faucet

Preface: it's a long post - make some popcorn and sit back and enjoy...

A few weeks back I got the gumption up to message a guy whose profile I'd been eyeing for a few months. He wasn't unattractive, liked baseball and seemed pretty down to earth with a good sense of humour. And he wasn't a gym rat - those guys drive me nuts.

So I did and he replied and we messaged back and forth for a while and then our relationship moved to 'the next level'.

We started chatting on MSN.

We chatted on Wednesday night for a few hours and then the following night for a few more. Towards the end of our Thursday night chat, Big Oil got on MSN so I had two chats going - one with LF and then the play by play going with Big Oil. Towards the end of the convo I typed to BO Big Oil (probably better I don't refer to her as BO) that I didn't think he was very interested. While we had managed to keep conversations going for several hours on two occasions, I had noticed that he wasn't really asking ME a lot of questions.

I need to learn to listen to my gut.

And then to my surprise, he suggested we go out for drinks the next night. Of course I said yes and then realized I had nothing to wear. I know - such a 'chick' dilemma. So Friday after work I raced to get a new shirt and found a pair of semi-clean jeans (they passed the 'sniff test') and off I went to meet him at Pub Italia.

He was recognizable enough outside PI when I got there and on our way in, I was all of a sudden grabbed by the face, given a huge kiss on the cheek and a big hug. Knowing it wasn't him, I was completely gobsmacked - only to see it was R, friend and husband of good friend MH. He started chatting me up for a few seconds before he realized I wasn't there alone. LF didn't look overly impressed but not overly unimpressed either. Awesome - looks like I've invited the friends to check him out. Great. Inside was yet another reunion with MH who was waiting for the table and we decided to go to another restaurant with a lesser wait time.

We ended up at some fairly fancy italian place across from the Heart and Crown. He held the door open for me. Note: one of the few gentlemanly things he did that night. Yeah, that's not saying much if that's all he did... ANYWAYS, we were seated at the edge of the dining room and he took the chair facing the dining room so I had a view of the lobby and him. Not necessarily a bad thing as I can be easily distracted by people watching.

So he ordered a beer and I a glass of wine and then we started to look at the menu. It was a substantial menu and I had never been there before so I was browsing through. I then heard 'snap' to look up and see he'd closed his menu and placed it in front of him. Surprised, I said 'decided?' 'yup...so, like I was saying....' and he continued on with the conversation we had been having prior to looking at the menus.

Um, wouldn't edicate say you should shut your pie hole and let me decided and THEN continue talking?!? Guess not. Strike #1.

After quickly deciding, I got back into the conversation. I asked questions, picked up on things, made connections, blah blah blah. I can be very engaging ifI want to be. Too bad he wasn't. While he enjoyed our conversations, I think, I then started to notice, within the first 15 minutes, that while I was asking questions he could reciprocate on for me in turn, he wasn't. Humpf. About 10 more minutes go by and he's still not asking me anything. It's at this point that I realize he's just like a leaky faucet (did I mention he's a faucet and doorknob salesman! LOL!), keeps running at the mouth and doesn't care about the damage he causes around him! So I decided to just let this go and see how long he'll go without any reciprocating information. Strike #2.

And then the comments started coming out - the homophobic, the racist, the sexist, the arrogant - you name it, he's got one. How my a$$hole radar didn't go off before then? I don't know. To give you an example, there was another patron at the restaurant that broke into song. You know how that happens at some restaurants in movies, right? Or like in Sex and the City when Big takes Carrie to that restaurant and proceeds to sing to her? So anyways, he pretty much had to stop talking (remember I was just listening so at least it was something to drown him out for a few minutes - thank you, drunk man, for that reprive). When the drunken mess finished his 'aria', LF says, in an audible enough voice that should there been people at tables around us they would have heard, ''effing WOP'. 'Effing WOP?!?! In an ITALIAN restaurant on PRESTON where I'm sure half the patrons were mafia (if that actually exists in Ottawa). I wanted to crawl under the table and die. After that, he pretty much, for the last 20 minutes of the 'date', watched the rest of the room and only grunted out monosyllabic answers to my questions. I had one final effort to get him to talk where I asked him what his brother's girlfriend (they'd been dating 6.5-7 years) taught before she was a principal le al whatever-you know what I mean. It went something like this:

L: So, what did your brother's girlfriend teach before she was a principle/al?
(insert WTF? face) LF: Pffft, I don't know. I'm not dating her.
L: Yeah, but she's been your brother's girlfriend for like 7 years. It's never come up in conversation?
LF: (insert incredulous tone) LIKE I SAID, I'm not dating her. Fuck, I don't even know what the teachers I'VE dated taught.
L: How many teachers have you dated?
LF: 2 or 3

It's at this point I realize that it doesn't matter what I say, he's never going to listen to me. Awesome.

We get the bill, he insists on paying (yeah that's right, the least you could do is pay for my meal seeing as how the company was such crap) and we leave. As we walk back to Pub Italia, he says 'so where did you park?' I motion down the street and say 'oh, on a street or two past Pub Italia' to which he responds 'well, I'm down here' and stops walking. Goes to give me a hand shake and then pulls me in for the weird man hug thing and says 'I'll call you' and we both know, and probably pray, he won't.

This is where Strike 3 comes in....

He yells after me as I walk away 'have a nice walk to your car' reminiscent of the tone you'd use on someone if you were to say 'and don't let the doorknob hit your ass on the way out!'.

I went home, picked up S and went out drinking.

Total waste of hair and makeup products....

Wow - I'm stupid

Two moments for the B&G files from yesterday.

Baby notes
Friend L & hubby E are having twins. I normally don't get all caught up in the coochie coochie coo moments of babies that are on route so when I decided to do the 'guess the weight, height and birthdate of the baby' game, I kinda surprised myself. So, I did what any non-breeder does. I went to the calendar, looked for payday (because L&E would be getting the payload when the chicklets arrive) and then picked times relatively close to when I was born. Makes sense, right? I thought so too. So, yesterday the babies were born. JB MSNed to let me know and I went on and on and on about how much of a rockstar I was. JB kept saying 'yeah, you were so close' and I was all like 'ugh, dude, you need to give me props because I was sooo on the money' but they weren't that forthcoming. And then when I read their birth times (I guessed birth times of 7:31 and 7:37 am when the babies were born at 7:38 and 7:44) I even gloated more! I went so far as to even gloat on mutual friend V's status update on Facebook. I then was telling JJ about it at the end of the day only to realize I had picked payday, the 14th. Yesterday was the 13th.

It's alive!
Yesterday, after realizing how dumb I was re. dates, I went to change into my ball clothes and head to my ball game. When I came out, I heard this awful squeaking noise while washing my hands at the sink. I then realized it was coming from behind the mirror. I listened a bit more and there was no consistency/pattern to the noise. I called poor JJ (remember, I just did the whole I guessed the date right - oh wait, I'm a moron' incident with her) and the conversation went something like this:
L: Come to the bathroom right now
JJ:Um, why?
L: I have to show you something
JJ: Um, no, that's okay
L: No, I'm not going to show you something like that, just come. It'll take like 30 seconds.

30 seconds later, JJ comes into the bathroom and I've got my head and ear up to the mirror. 'Dude, there's a critter trapped behind here - listen' I say. She leans in, hears the noise, her eyes grow wide and then narrow and she turns and pushes on the mirror. The squeaking increases and my first horrified thought is 'how cruel! You're crushing that poor critter!" but before I can get it out, she continues to push on the mirror with a grin on her face and it's then that I realize the mirror isn't fully attached to the wall and is what's squeaking.

Oh my, sometimes there are no words in relation to my brilliance and glory.

Oh good god.

So, the online dating thing is still amusing me to no end. But the creeps are starting to come out of the ditch or from under the stairs. Here's some fun stories from the past few weeks...

WHY?
This was the subject line of a message in my inbox from unknown person. They tell you when writing the message to make your subject line something interesting to increase the likelihood that your message will be opened. So okay, I'll bite. The message consists of 'why do you refuse to answer my messages?'

(insert record scratch)

Whaaa tha fahhh? I went through this person's profile and saw no similarities to any other bozo who's messaged me. So I sent back"??" and haven't heard from them since. Um...okay.

NICE TRY
I get this message from this guy who's 41 saying that he liked my profile, blah blah blah but before he introduces himself he wants to know if I have issue dating someone of colour. If I do, don't reply. A bit aggressive so I read through his profile to see that he goes on this big diatribe re. dating someone with a good figure who takes care of themselves and looks good in a bikini or a bathing suit because that's sexy. Oh, and must be single with no kids, never married. (Because people in these categories are lepers apparently.) So I reply that I don't have issue with it but he may have issue with the fact that I've been divorced. He replies back that my profile clearly states that I'm single, not separated or divorced. "Nice try. Good luck."

Now I'm angry - how dare he judge me?!?! So I reply" 'nice try'? Like I'm trying to pull a fast one? I'm in fact single in that I'm not attached to nor in a relationship with anyone. And my relationship history is private and not for the viewing of anyone who may see my profile. In addition, I don't put anyone through the relationship wringer until it's appropriate and expect the same in return. And for someone who seems so concerned with being discriminated against, you [sic he] seems to be very discriminatory. "

Grr.

Just lookin' for a new momma for my babies
We all know I'm not a breeder. Never have been, never will be. And there is nothing regarding kids in my profile. So why, WHY, did this next gent feel the need to go on and on and on and on re. his whole life situation of his various relationships, kids from them, how he's pulled himself up by his boot straps since his separation 30 months ago, his promotions, his everything...to then include multiple photos of each of his kids with his messsage.

(insert screaming and running for the hills)

There will be more, I'm sure of it. It's like it's spill over from the full moon on the weekend....

Oye.

Belly laughs

Gotta share these two songs. They crack me up.

Monday mornings should not start out with...

A physical and a confessional.

I went to the dr for my yearly physical Monday am. As per usual, I had to fill in that medical history form. I hate filling in that form. It's like you don't have my file in front of you and you just want the Coles notes to my life so you don't have to read? Wait, that's it. Dr's are lazy, they don't want to have to read. And we trust them with our medical health?!?!

ANYWAYS, the Coles notes version of my life takes me longer to fill in than the whole appointment is going to last. I've had a pretty healthy life but there are some things I've experienced that always raise red flags - like chest pains (inflamed cartilage between my ribs) and migraines. Both of these things have long since stopped (well, I get a migraine once a year it seems), but for some reason, the dr wants it all hashed out again. So the front of the form is your medical history of all your past issues and your parents and grandparents. All on one side of 8.5" x 14". Seriously? On one piece of paper? I've now resigned to the fact that you're going to get everything I have experienced THIS YEAR on the form. Take that lazy dr.

And then I flipped over the back of the form. Whoa. Not the form *I* last remember filling out. This is the 'social medical history' including:
-where do you work?
-what do you do?
-who was your previous employer?
-how often do you use tobacco? quantity?
-how often do you use recreational drugs? what types?
-how often do you drink? quantity?
-how often do you exercise? what do you do?
-how often do you drink coffee? quantity?
-what is your marital status?
-what is your living arrangements?
-what type of dwelling do you live in?
-sexual preference?
-how many sexual partners have you had in your life time?
-how many new sexual partners in the past year?
-how many new sexual partners in the past 3 months?
-birth control methods used?
-number of STDs and types?
-number of pregnancies?
-number of pregnancies ended through miscarriage, still birth, therapeutic abortion?

My palms were sweating just reading the questions and I've lead a pretty vanilla lifestyle. Seriously? I have to answer all this? I mean, I know it's for my best interests but I actually have a dr who engages and reads the form. And then grills me or will show me the tough love. She's a no bullshit kinda dr which I need but also scares the crap outta me. I am not part of an organized religion for a reason - I don't like the idea of confessing my 'sins' and being made to feel guilty for living life.

And just when I figured there was nothing else she could ask me that isn't on the form, she came out with these three during my exam:
-do you floss regularly (I'm sure my dental hygienist put her up to this one)?
-do you get your teeth cleaned regularly?
-do you wear sunscreen regularly?

By the end of it I felt like having a breaking down into tears and crying, 'yes, yes, yes! And I had a donut on the way over here. I couldn't help it! I was running late! The line was too long for a bagel and I hate fruit explosion muffins! Please don't make me say 15 Hail Mary's run around the block in punishment!' (insert muffled sobbing).

It feels exactly like this clip from Definitely, maybe. Specifically from 55 seconds in to 1:20.

And to think, all that mental anguish even before the real exam began. Happy Monday to me is right.

I don't normally comment on celebrities

But shit, what happened to these two? It's like middle age caught up to them, kicked 'em while they were down and left them withering in pain at the side of the road. Like look at the difference two years can make. And dye jobs apparently.

Yikes.

Is it bad that I'm still jealous of her body even if the face and hands that go with it are hideous?

Missing, hunh? Humpf...

My cousin writes a blog. I kinda cyberstalk her because I read what she has to say and never let her in on my own secret blog. I noticed that she puts up a whack o' widgets on her blog and while I like the concept, to me a widget is like a tattoo and while they are all fine and dandy on someone else's blog, my blog, like my bod, is beautiful and interesting enough on its own not to need one. A widget that is. Nor a tattoo on my bod that is. Err....right....

ANYWAYS, she has this widget that shows mug shots of missing children. She's turned her blog into a milk carton or a grocery store bulletin board. Which is fine. I applaud the effort. But someone please tell her she should have selected a different resolution size because images like this scare the bejesus outta me:
























It's like the Ditch People or the People Under the Stairs' offspring got loose. CREEEEEE-PY!!!

(inside voice: I know, I know. One way ticket to hell.)

You stink, you're noisy, and you're on my list (typed on my typewriter)

There are some profound moments in life where you realize you really are 'normal'. It's normal to hate going to work on Monday's. It's normal to experience road rage from time to time. It's normal to hate going to the doctor or the dentist. And it's normal to have your beefs in the workplace.

But I think I have come to realize that I am as vanilla as they get when it comes to being a less than troublesome employee.

Or so I thought.

Several weeks back, I was 'approached' by a woman in my shared office suite who had finally found the source of the smell that had been the bane of her existence for several weeks. Me. She came around the wall of my 'fort' and sniffed in the air like a blood hound before proclaiming, in a borderline disgusted way, 'oh, it's YOU'. She then proceeded to tell me that I was causing her to not be able to breath by the end of the day and that she could smell me down the hall before she even entered the office suite each morning. So I stopped wearing perfume to work. A week and a half later, she once again went on a patronizing rant that in fact, it is my laundry products that are causing her grief. Now, I don't want to be completely insensitive to someone's health issues, but with the patronizing tone she took with me and the complete and utter lack of appreciation for the fact that she was asking me to make an accommodation for her, it got my back up. Fast forward to that weekend where I bought unscented fabric softener and bounce - see, I'm not a total ass, I can be accommodating. Monday rolls round and I have a weekly meeting with my boss where, you got it, I was 'reprimanded' for my scent. I told him what I was planning on doing and was asked to wash my clothes before I wear them to the office in the unscented products. Right. So anyways, apparently the smell has gone away because this woman has commented on it to our office manager - but has anyone said even one iota to me about thanks for accommodating, etc.? NO! Which pisses me off to no end.

But just so you get an indication of this woman, she has an enclosed office in our suite - I'm in a cube in a hall. Our office suite is a horseshoe with her being at one tip and me being in the opposing corner. I don't even see her on a daily basis as I don't even leave through the door by her office, I use the one closer to my 'fort'. The key here is an enclosed office which is what you need to keep in mind when I tell you the next outlandish behaviour of hers.

She works on a publication that is produced yearly. I don't think her job is overly hard - she doesn't even write the content. Nor lay down any rules as to formatting. Basically it's a multi-hundred page document free for all and you know how that would piss off the communications person in me. Anyways, she not only feels the need to close her office door but she also has GIGANTOR headphones because, as she put it to another colleague on our floor she 'doesn't want to have to hear anyone else while [she's] working.' Have I also mentioned that she's soooo far up the union's butt that I'd be screwed if I ever tried to go head to head with her? Not that I'd win, because as soon as you mutter those magical words - HEALTH ISSUE - you're tarnished with a different form of scarlet letters on your chest.

So, with that, I leave you with another ditty that'll blow your mind. The chair of one of our departments, sadly a TBay native as well (sadly because I'm embarrased) is a special character. He's one of the most cynical and ornery people I've ever had the displeasure of working with. I groan when I see him on campus because nothing is EVER good enough for him. You want to offer the olive branch but he doens't want it because he wants the whole 'effing tree and if you can't give it all to him, 'eff it, he doesn't want the branch. I HATE people like that!

Anyways, he has a list. It's a list of people that he carries with him that his doctor has given him a note to say he does not have to have any contact with them in any way because they cause him undue stress that could lead to a heart attack or inflated blood pressure. Yes, a list of names. And should you be on the list and decide to approach him, he will, in fact, pull the list out of his pocket and point to it saying, 'you're on my list' whereby you're expected to retreat. I have yet to see it in action, but a trusted source has. Seriously, where do I get me one 'o them lists?

And last but not least, we still have a faculty member on campus who refuses to have a computer. Yup, no computer. Even though she's been offered one and they'll pay for it for her, she refuses. She still types things on a typewriter.

I told you I was pretty vanilla.

Genius - pure genius

So there's something to be said with fruit flies in my building. I think it has something to do with the fact that I eat lunch at my desk most days and then throw Baby Bel wrappers, banana peels, coffee cups, muffin wrappers, etc. out in my garbage. Now, if CUPE were involved, they'd say that the solution to my fruit fly problem is to take my allotted break and NOT eat at my desk. But we all know how I feel about the union, now don't we?

A few days back, I had forgotten to throw out a cafe misto and the milk, while not smelling bad, did attract some rather large, crazy fruit flies that buzz around my head and drive me more bananas than I already am. I tried to smack one only to have it fly off when I lifted my hand. I then did a mid-flight grab of one in my fist. Again, to have it fly off when I uncurled my fingers.

I lamented about this in my FB status update to have T comment that I need to 'smack and smear'.

But I have found a better option...

Yesterday I had a hankering for Doritos. Mid-afternoon Doritos and chai tea - don't ask. And no, I'm not pregnant. I just find that the 3 pm hurdle to get through without a warm bevvie and some kinda snack is nearly impossible. I finished my Doritos and threw the bag out. I then had a banana around 5:30 (I worked late - it's getting to be that time of year again) and decided I needed to put the banana peel into the Dorito bag (because it is kinda messy and gross to just put on the desk) and then throw it out in the hallway garbage on my way out of the office.

Apparently I forgot to do it - to my benefit!!! Guess where all my fruit flies congregated? Guess who just closed up the Dorito bag this am and captured them all in one fell swoop? That's right - ME - the pure genius that I am.

Check out my masterpiece:


MOUAH AH AH AH AH!

Rock out with my BBQ out

I just had to tell you what an amazing dinner I put together on Saturday night. Oh, and that I'm pretty modest. It was a first showing of what I can do on the BBQ on my own - well, let's be honest, A cooked and I 'supervised' when really I spent more time admiring my 400 twinkle lights than watching the barbie. Seriously, I think all meals from this point forward are going to pale in comparison, sadly. Ah well, could be worse, right?

Really, I'm just super excited at the idea of having a usable backyard. First year in the house, there was a barbie back there. Next year, a set of patio furniture, a flood light and no barbie, and this year, a barbie, patio furniture and awesome twinkle light lights. I plan on spending many an evening back there this summer. Anyone wanna join me? I may even be convinced to cook for you if you like...

And so it begins...

So, I've procrastinated long enough and admired her blue beauty ever night I pull into the garage.

I'm going to pull out the BBQ today. Sure, I know most of you have been BBQing away for weeks but 1) I'm irrationally afraid of propane and the urban legends that come with its explosions and 2) I'm irrationally afraid of propane. But I figure I've GOT to use it (or my brother and SIL will be thoroughly unimpressed with the fact that it sits in the garage) and considering that I plan on putting up 500 twinkle lights in the back yard to make it more inviting, you can't NOT have a BBQ.

So I've roped poor A into getting propane with me, hooking it up and turning it on for me. But I'm repaying the favour with awesomely prepared food...that he'll most likely end up actually cooking because I have NO idea what I'm doing with a BBQ. (This is also my not-so-subtle way of telling him he's actually doing the cooking tonight.) I've only once BBQed and that was a few weeks ago with some sausages that were pre-cooked while S&J did bathroom repairs and yelled instructions out the bathroom window into the back yard. But let's be honest, how do you 'eff up pre-cooked sausages? Any idiot could've cooked them.

Inside voice: we are SO going to be ordering pizza tonight....