Happy Birthday to my co-conspirator, Fluffy Galloway!
You can catch Fluffy in her latest feature, "Fluffy does Fluffing", available in the finest video stores everywhere.
Happy Birthday Fluffy! May all your dreams come true today!
Tuesday, 25 March 2008
The Onion: Anonymous Hero Donates Hospital 200 Human Kidneys
I love a philanthropic individual, don't you?
Tuesday, 18 March 2008
How NOT To Snag The Bachelor.
Okay, I’m a happily married woman, so when you read the headline, you might think that I have no right to expound on the calamities of dating and snagging that perfect man. But since I’ve managed to snag my own perfect man, technically, I’m an expert, right?
The latest season of The Bachelor started on Monday. It boasts a handsome English gentleman named Matt. He’s charming and has that all-too-sexy accent that sends the ladies swooning. Twenty-five women, in shiny dresses and over-coiffed hair are vying for this bachelor’s attention, and it seems they will do anything to get it.
Which brings me to the dating DON’Ts. Actually, they should be called dating-hell-to-the-****-no-way-don’ts, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
DON’T squeal like a star-struck teenager when you meet for the first time. Twenty-five women or not, this was technically their first date. When is the last time any of you squealed at your date when you met? And if you did (shame, shame), did you get a second date? I didn’t think so.
DON’T bring tacky, meaningless gifts to present as an offering to your date. Really, is he a god to be angered or worshipped? No way. Come ON, have some pride. Pink fuzzy dice are no rose guarantee, even if it does perfectly match the bubble-gum pink of your dress.
DON’T show the bachelor how to put together a clarinet before you play it for him. And even though you may be amazingly talented when you play, it is so not sexy to show the bachelor how you stick the reed in your mouth to make it wet so the instrument will vibrate before you put it together, neck-strap and all. Sigh.
DON’T serenade the guy. Come ON, ladies, please. I know you need to stand out among the 25, but really, when you get a rose, is it because he was enthralled with your performance, or because he just feels a little bit sorry for your nerdiness and desperation?
And then there’s the first impression rose, for the one woman who made a lasting impression. Now the weirdness comes out in full-tafetta’d-regalia.
Arm wrestling your bachelor? Um, NO. Next.
Admitting you were a Bush Aide in the White House? Not so much. Next.
Chewing (yes, chewing!) a piece out of the middle of an aluminium can just to get his attention away from a political conversation? NEXT!
And then there was Stacey, the blonde bimbette. Stacey, who is the epitome of DON’T DO THIS, Stacey who made the whole episode worthwhile.
Picture a sapphire blue, sparkling cocktail dress, revealing enough to show the lovely tattoo on the lower back, busty enough to prove that plastic surgery was there. And the attitude? Let’s just say it was porn-star meets Ghengis Khan, because she had a plan to conquer her man and make him melt in her arms. Unfortunately for her, this included sliding off her panties and stuffing them in the bachelor’s pocket.
Maybe it was all the champagne she was drinking. I do recall a scene with Miss Stacy face-down on a spare bed, snoring her drunk away.
Did she get a rose? No, praise the heavens. Our bachelor said that no matter what culture you’re from, handing over your panties just isn’t cool.
And losing your **** because he didn't choose you? Please, have some pride! You crying messes have no excuse, and you are so embarrassing. Go out and order a copy of He's Just Not That Into You and Get. A. Clue.
Ladies, take note. No bachelor is worth making a fool of yourself for. Just be yourself.
And keep your chronic hiccups a secret. We didn’t want to know. Really.
Watch the following video for Stacey in all her bachelor glory!
The latest season of The Bachelor started on Monday. It boasts a handsome English gentleman named Matt. He’s charming and has that all-too-sexy accent that sends the ladies swooning. Twenty-five women, in shiny dresses and over-coiffed hair are vying for this bachelor’s attention, and it seems they will do anything to get it.
Which brings me to the dating DON’Ts. Actually, they should be called dating-hell-to-the-****-no-way-don’ts, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
DON’T squeal like a star-struck teenager when you meet for the first time. Twenty-five women or not, this was technically their first date. When is the last time any of you squealed at your date when you met? And if you did (shame, shame), did you get a second date? I didn’t think so.
DON’T bring tacky, meaningless gifts to present as an offering to your date. Really, is he a god to be angered or worshipped? No way. Come ON, have some pride. Pink fuzzy dice are no rose guarantee, even if it does perfectly match the bubble-gum pink of your dress.
DON’T show the bachelor how to put together a clarinet before you play it for him. And even though you may be amazingly talented when you play, it is so not sexy to show the bachelor how you stick the reed in your mouth to make it wet so the instrument will vibrate before you put it together, neck-strap and all. Sigh.
DON’T serenade the guy. Come ON, ladies, please. I know you need to stand out among the 25, but really, when you get a rose, is it because he was enthralled with your performance, or because he just feels a little bit sorry for your nerdiness and desperation?
And then there’s the first impression rose, for the one woman who made a lasting impression. Now the weirdness comes out in full-tafetta’d-regalia.
Arm wrestling your bachelor? Um, NO. Next.
Admitting you were a Bush Aide in the White House? Not so much. Next.
Chewing (yes, chewing!) a piece out of the middle of an aluminium can just to get his attention away from a political conversation? NEXT!
And then there was Stacey, the blonde bimbette. Stacey, who is the epitome of DON’T DO THIS, Stacey who made the whole episode worthwhile.
Picture a sapphire blue, sparkling cocktail dress, revealing enough to show the lovely tattoo on the lower back, busty enough to prove that plastic surgery was there. And the attitude? Let’s just say it was porn-star meets Ghengis Khan, because she had a plan to conquer her man and make him melt in her arms. Unfortunately for her, this included sliding off her panties and stuffing them in the bachelor’s pocket.
Maybe it was all the champagne she was drinking. I do recall a scene with Miss Stacy face-down on a spare bed, snoring her drunk away.
Did she get a rose? No, praise the heavens. Our bachelor said that no matter what culture you’re from, handing over your panties just isn’t cool.
And losing your **** because he didn't choose you? Please, have some pride! You crying messes have no excuse, and you are so embarrassing. Go out and order a copy of He's Just Not That Into You and Get. A. Clue.
Ladies, take note. No bachelor is worth making a fool of yourself for. Just be yourself.
And keep your chronic hiccups a secret. We didn’t want to know. Really.
Watch the following video for Stacey in all her bachelor glory!
Props To Mother Nature for Such an Impressive Show
March 8, 2008: I have never seen so much snow in my life. It was a pretty cool show from the warmth and safety of our house, but because of a previous commitment, I was one of those idiots on the road on Saturday night. A total, complete idiot.
I kept watch all day, hoping the snow would stop. Regular phone calls to the event venue where I was expected assured me all was a go. No cancellation. Okayfine. That truly sucks. Obviously they don't live in the country.
I’m in the Caliber and on my road now. Made it out of the driveway okay. Took me about 10 seconds to control the direction of the car with the snow a little slippery and deep, but it's driveable. The highway is snowy but flat – no snow drifts. Okay. Breathe deep. This is no problem at all. I can relax now.
All the time my intuition is letting me know that it’s staying behind where it’s safe and warm.
I pick up my friend Brenda and slide to the gym for the evening. It was a good party and I'm glad we went, but that was three hours ago, and my reality hasn't shifted to realize what three hours of snow can do to a world.
So now we're ready to leave, our arms loaded with stuff. When I open the gym door and get a bit of resistance, I realize the pathway is gone. It’s now a snow dune, and my car is beyond it. And if that’s not intimidating enough, the snow is blowing sideways now as the wind whips it, stinging cold, into our faces. Yes, I take my armloads of heavy, glass candles and trudge through the tundra to my car.
Then it dawns on me. I have to get Brenda home, and then get home myself. Okayfine, initiation by snow. I get it. I don't like it (idiot), but I get it.
We make it out of the parking lot, but barely. We just have to keep the wheels spinning long enough to get home. We are the only car on the road. That should tell me something.
We slide and spin our way to Brenda’s house, not heeding any stop signs or red lights. If I stop, I will get stuck. Don't worry - remember, I'm the only idiot on the road.
I make it to the highway. It’s really snowed over, and the sideways blowing snow is messing with my head, kind of tricking my vision. I find some tracks and stick with them. I hit the curve on the highway before our road, and am blinded completely by the snow. I take my foot off the gas and gasp in fright. I’ve never seen this before and don’t like it much. I break out in a sweat, praying fervently for my angels to keep up, keep pushing and get me home.
Of course, that's after I kick away the panic that tells me to leave my car in the middle of the highway and run screaming towards where I think home might be.
I pay close attention to the tracks in front of me. When I look up again, I realize I am on the wrong side of the highway. I’m only doing 40, and praise the heavens above that I am the only idiot on the road. But you already knew that.
I have never been so terrified in my life. The kind of terror that clutches at your guts, makes your toes and fingers tingle and makes you break out into a cold sweat. I hope I never feel that again, thankyouverymuch.
I see my road ahead, but barely. Wait, that is my road, right? Is that the turn? There’s the top part of the sign, crap, I'd better turn because there's no way I can turn around if I miss it. Okay, here goes nothing.
And here I stop. At the mouth of the highway at the bottom of a tiny hill in two feet of snow.
Stuck.
I call Peter and tell him the good news. I call our personal snow angel Harvey. Peter is on his way with a flashlight and a shovel. He’s walking, because all other vehicles are buried in the driveway. Harvey is coming on the tractor. His daughter Ashley is walking down too, just for the adventure. My man is walking on a darkened road in a blinding snow storm to save me (insert swoon here.)
The snow is still blowing sideways. It’s a surreal, freaky feeling, not being able to see five feet beyond your line of vision, wondering if I will be able to see the beam of the flashlight coming from Peter.
It takes two shovels, an ice scraper and a tractor to get me up that tiny little hill. An hour later, Harvey is ploughing the way home for me. Peter and Ashlie are walking behind, in case they need to give me another push. When we get gome, I almost kiss the floor.
I remember doing that one time while driving in Fresno County fog in California. But this snow is a new monster. I'll take the fog anyday.
It was just lovely being truly initiated in Canadian winter driving, but next time, no matter what the obligation, I’m staying home with the smart people.
Opening the door the next morning. There is a 6" drop to the porch.
Our driveway. Notice the caliber at the mouth of the driveway. That's as far as I made it that night. Notice the F-150 buried under the cedar tree. Also, next to it is a Chevy Corvair. Yes, that white lump there. And that silver stripe you see is what's left of the mustang. I'm standing on the front porch, knee-deep. The yard is up to my waist now.Thank the Lord for Harvey and his plow, we are no longer snow-prisoners.
The mailbox - somewhere under there is also a newspaper box.Aha! Here they are!
Peter doing a snow-Vanna.
Harvey, saving us from snow-madness.
It’s a Cheer World, and We Just Don’t Know It
As far as cheerleading goes, there have always been two camps. One camp says that cheerleaders are vapid, empty-headed, silly girls who bounce around and shake their pom-poms, hoping desperately for a glance from the quarterback or captain. The other camp knows the truth. Cheerleading is a demanding sport that takes hours of practice, dedication, talent and focus.
If you’re wondering why I’m on a cheer-high, well, it’s because Fluffy and I took a road trip to Queen’s University in Kingston to watch the Ontario Cheerleading Federation’s 2008 Eastern Regional Cheerleading Championship.
That’s a mouthful, ain’t it?
When Fluffy invited me a few weeks ago, so many memories from my school career came flooding back. I was a cheerleader in middle school. I was also a member of the dance team in high school. When I hit university, I had to be the mascot. So I’ve got about 6 years of cheer and dance embedded in my memory banks. When Fluffy asked me to go and watch her friend’s daughter perform on the Kingston Elite National Co-ed Cheerleading Team I was completely cheercited.
Even though I had to wake up at 7:00 a.m. on Sunday morning, I couldn’t wait to feel all that energy again and see how well the teams moved together. The thrill of the competition, of checking out every other team’s moves. . . bring it ON!
The Queen’s University stadium was filled to the brink of a cheersplosion, and when the first cheer team hit the floor (the ever adorable Barracuda Youth squad), Fluffy was hooked, and I was drawn in like a stage mom to a hair and makeup session. Looking down the list on the program, I was even happier to see a team from Smiths Falls participating in the competition! Lanark County was representin’!
Then the thump of the bass hit the stadium as the deejay started the second team and I forgot about the program.
As the teams progressed on and off the floor with their impressively choreographed jumps, tumbling, pyramids and hip-hop dancing, the teams grew better. The older the group, the more experience. By the time the Kingston Elite Nationals team hit the floor, the crowd was pretty pumped up. And this was Jillian’s team, so it’s like I was 2-degrees-from-cheer-mom, sending a river of chills across my skin.
From the first step Jillian’s team took, my mouth fell open. I believe the entire stadium was caught up in the absolute perfection that their team displayed. I wish you all could see a video of how well each moved was choreographed, timed, tumbled, tossed, shook, jumped and thumped.
It was beauty and excitement at its height for all of us. You’d change your opinion on cheerleading.
When it was over, we were all on our feet. It was no surprise when Jillian’s team took first prize in their division, as well as the top prize, Grand Champions of the competition. Yes, they’re that good.
I was SO never a cheerleader of that calibre. I may have jumped and wiggled, but I couldn’t gymnastics my way through a paper bag. You should hear me yell, though.
Fluffy and I have already reserved our rooms for provincials and nationals. We’re officially cheer-groupies. Fluffy is even talking about wearing team-coloured metallic red wigs at the next competition.
Help us.
If you’re wondering why I’m on a cheer-high, well, it’s because Fluffy and I took a road trip to Queen’s University in Kingston to watch the Ontario Cheerleading Federation’s 2008 Eastern Regional Cheerleading Championship.
That’s a mouthful, ain’t it?
When Fluffy invited me a few weeks ago, so many memories from my school career came flooding back. I was a cheerleader in middle school. I was also a member of the dance team in high school. When I hit university, I had to be the mascot. So I’ve got about 6 years of cheer and dance embedded in my memory banks. When Fluffy asked me to go and watch her friend’s daughter perform on the Kingston Elite National Co-ed Cheerleading Team I was completely cheercited.
Even though I had to wake up at 7:00 a.m. on Sunday morning, I couldn’t wait to feel all that energy again and see how well the teams moved together. The thrill of the competition, of checking out every other team’s moves. . . bring it ON!
The Queen’s University stadium was filled to the brink of a cheersplosion, and when the first cheer team hit the floor (the ever adorable Barracuda Youth squad), Fluffy was hooked, and I was drawn in like a stage mom to a hair and makeup session. Looking down the list on the program, I was even happier to see a team from Smiths Falls participating in the competition! Lanark County was representin’!
Then the thump of the bass hit the stadium as the deejay started the second team and I forgot about the program.
As the teams progressed on and off the floor with their impressively choreographed jumps, tumbling, pyramids and hip-hop dancing, the teams grew better. The older the group, the more experience. By the time the Kingston Elite Nationals team hit the floor, the crowd was pretty pumped up. And this was Jillian’s team, so it’s like I was 2-degrees-from-cheer-mom, sending a river of chills across my skin.
From the first step Jillian’s team took, my mouth fell open. I believe the entire stadium was caught up in the absolute perfection that their team displayed. I wish you all could see a video of how well each moved was choreographed, timed, tumbled, tossed, shook, jumped and thumped.
It was beauty and excitement at its height for all of us. You’d change your opinion on cheerleading.
When it was over, we were all on our feet. It was no surprise when Jillian’s team took first prize in their division, as well as the top prize, Grand Champions of the competition. Yes, they’re that good.
I was SO never a cheerleader of that calibre. I may have jumped and wiggled, but I couldn’t gymnastics my way through a paper bag. You should hear me yell, though.
Fluffy and I have already reserved our rooms for provincials and nationals. We’re officially cheer-groupies. Fluffy is even talking about wearing team-coloured metallic red wigs at the next competition.
Help us.
Thursday, 6 March 2008
The forgotten fun of a great band and a crowded pub.
A band that my friend Fluffy loves was playing locally and Fluffy convinced us all to go out Saturday night and watch them. We even managed to get our men lined up for a night of schmoozing and dancing. I love to dance, so I was a wee bit excited to go out and shake my groove thang with the girls while our husbands looked on with pride at our combined hotness.
Saturday night comes and we all met up at the best spot in town to get sweet potato fries. The band has already set up their equipment, and Fluffy has managed to secure a table with ten seats, although keeping those seats empty until we all showed up was an exercise in bloody, tactical warfare if you ask her.
The pub is crowded with loud conversation, the band tuning up and servers making their way through the ever growing surge of people waiting for the music to start. The appetizers and drinks are flowing, and people are ready for a good time.
The party starts with the first note that hums through the speakers and monitors at the noisy pub. The crowd grows quieter as the music grows louder. Either that or I just can’t hear anyone over the music, which is okay – because the band is good. If I could get through the press of people at my back, I would go dance. Fluffy and Tami don’t care. They crawl over the top of the table and dance their way down the middle so they can get to the floor and give their groove thangs some freedom. I boogie in my chair with envy as my partner.
I look through the top of the window at the front of the pub and see some of the thousands of twinkling lights on the trees of Bridge Street. Outside is cold, but in here the warmth flows from the music, the laughter, the dancing and the people singing along to every well-played cover song.
Fluffy makes her way back to the table and sits for just a second, because in the next, a Blue Rodeo song is played and Fluffy takes that as her cue to sing as if it’s her last chance for the final on Canadian Idol. Thank the Lord for loud music. As soon as she sat again, the keyboard player started “You Oughta Know” by Alanis Morrisette. When Fluffy’s husband gave us a rare performance of his Alanis love, I was sure my stomach muscles would collapse from so much laughter.
When the band is allowed to Take Five, it’s an almost crushing silence. I try to start a conversation with Peter and realize I am on my way to laryngitis.
Now, is that because I was talking loud enough so I could be heard over the music? Or was it because I was singing every song as if my musical career depended on it too? Yes, you guessed it. A night at the pub with a really great band caused it.
Can’t wait to do it again.
Saturday night comes and we all met up at the best spot in town to get sweet potato fries. The band has already set up their equipment, and Fluffy has managed to secure a table with ten seats, although keeping those seats empty until we all showed up was an exercise in bloody, tactical warfare if you ask her.
The pub is crowded with loud conversation, the band tuning up and servers making their way through the ever growing surge of people waiting for the music to start. The appetizers and drinks are flowing, and people are ready for a good time.
The party starts with the first note that hums through the speakers and monitors at the noisy pub. The crowd grows quieter as the music grows louder. Either that or I just can’t hear anyone over the music, which is okay – because the band is good. If I could get through the press of people at my back, I would go dance. Fluffy and Tami don’t care. They crawl over the top of the table and dance their way down the middle so they can get to the floor and give their groove thangs some freedom. I boogie in my chair with envy as my partner.
I look through the top of the window at the front of the pub and see some of the thousands of twinkling lights on the trees of Bridge Street. Outside is cold, but in here the warmth flows from the music, the laughter, the dancing and the people singing along to every well-played cover song.
Fluffy makes her way back to the table and sits for just a second, because in the next, a Blue Rodeo song is played and Fluffy takes that as her cue to sing as if it’s her last chance for the final on Canadian Idol. Thank the Lord for loud music. As soon as she sat again, the keyboard player started “You Oughta Know” by Alanis Morrisette. When Fluffy’s husband gave us a rare performance of his Alanis love, I was sure my stomach muscles would collapse from so much laughter.
When the band is allowed to Take Five, it’s an almost crushing silence. I try to start a conversation with Peter and realize I am on my way to laryngitis.
Now, is that because I was talking loud enough so I could be heard over the music? Or was it because I was singing every song as if my musical career depended on it too? Yes, you guessed it. A night at the pub with a really great band caused it.
Can’t wait to do it again.
Monday, 3 March 2008
THE DATING TAPE from Jon Lajoie
Another classic from Jon Lajoie - I hope you all are watching these! They make me giggle, but I'm easily amused.
Busy busy busy!
Hey Y'all-
Sorry there's not been much - have lots to catch up on. . . Fluffy and I went to Kingston to see her friend Jocie, and her daughter Jillian in the OCF (Ontario Cheer Federation) Regional Championships. It was all BRING IT ON and so much fun! Brought back HUGE memories, and again made me realize how old I'm getting. Jillian's team won and are going to Provincials and nationals! (That's like state and nationals for the American side). Fluffy and I plan on attending and staying with her brother, a champion thoroughbred horse breeder.
I love my life.
I'll be writing more about our cheertastic experience tomorrow - just wanted to let you know to check back often for new posts! Also scroll down in case you've missed any previous posts, and leave a comment!
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