Wednesday, August 29, 2012

And You Know That She's Half Crazy, But That's Why You Want To Be There

It's video blog time, yet again.

This one's all about beer sponsorships, why I'm bad at being a girl, my horribly annoying impression of Bane, Daisy's choice of boyfriends... and nipples.

Getting closer to keeping these damn things under 5 minutes. Promise.

As always, main background song by Mike Bolt of From The Bridge and Seas.

Monday, August 27, 2012

Hold Onto The Thread, The Currents Will Shift

Maverick and Goose spent the weekend being tourists.

Some of that included spiffy life jackets. High fashion times.

But I'm jumping ahead.

First, we hit the movies. Dark Knight in Imax, with our seats chosen in advance.

Fun movie. Unfortunately for everyone I encounter, I can't stop talking like Bane. And when I do, it often becomes a a messed up version of the mutants from The Mighty Boosh.

Then there were beers.

Because there are always beers.

The next day? After the dog park, it was time to hit the island.

Everyone got to ride the ferry for free, because Target is in a promotional whirlwind and hooked people up.

Thanks Target. I like free. Love it, in fact.

Started the island off with some beers and sammiches at the Rectory, then off we went to explore and take advantage of the last bits of summer. (Hold me. That makes me wanna cry.)

My male counterpart had never been to the island before, and I am a horrible tour guide.

"I don't know where we are. This isn't familiar. I think that's a beach. WHERE ARE THE KIDDIE RIDES?! Do you have any candy? I hafta pee."

 I am a toddler.

Beach time was had, of course, but then we decided to forgo adulthood and meandered into Centreville.

Yep. Rides. Because I said so.

After being stepped on repeatedly by a severely whiny little kid, we drove an old timey car around a track that 5 year-olds had no trouble handling.

From there, we upped our game - we drove a swan.


Stop looking at me, swan!

Now, the thing about me is... I'm afraid of heights. In a very, very bad way. And yet, people around me really like to try to get me to face that fear and do things that make me freak the hell out.

This splashy log ride thingy, while not high by normal standards, was enough to make my palms sweat a bit. But I went on it.

Video was taken of yours truly acting like a chicken shit during the incline. Stay tuned.

And I ended the island visit my favourite way - on the damn swings.

Sunday was spent in Kensington where I refrained from buying an apartmentful of bacon-related accessories. The willpower. I gots it.

That all brings us to Monday.

The day of headaches, work, and exhaustion.

Time for a nap. Even Goose & Maverick take naps. (Especially Goose... he took a dirtnap.)

Friday, August 24, 2012

If Patience Had A Band, I'd Be Her Biggest Fan

C'est Friday.  This weekend I'll be tourist-ing in my own city along with my trusty partner-in-crime (the non-canine version), and I'm stupid excited.

Or excitedly stupid.
Brain empty. Must lay down.
And so, my brain is already on some kinda vacation.

So I've gone over to my Formspring to share a few questions and answers I've not yet blogged (or video blogged, as it were. And yes, I'll stop slacking and do another one soon.)

Do you ever see yourself as a wife?

Yes. I also see myself as She-Ra. Sometimes they're the same thing.

Who doesn't want She-Ra as a wife?

Helluva wife. Rawr.
 What's your favorite ice cream flavor?


What do your blog titles mean? Are they poetry you write?

Nah. Any actual poetry I write (or have written) wouldn't be posted here. The only person who has seen those, and I mean the actual poems, was my poetry professor. And right now I really wish his name was Professor Poetry. Henceforth, it shall be!

Anyway, no. All blog titles are random lyrics from random songs. Some appropriate to each post, some just because I happen to be listening to that song when I'm blogging.  Readers have emailed me and said they like Googling each title to learn some new tunes. That makes me happy, as a music obsessor.

Mat Load said he'd do anything for love, but he won't do that. What is that, and would you do that to convince him otherwise? (Did you immediately see the typo I made in my previous question that turned Meat Loaf in to Mat Load, or did it take a read or two? High caliber questions here.) - Pat

Answering your second question first, of course I noticed the typo. Mat Load does not love; Mat Load only does porn (or he should, if he actually existed).

Secondly, I've actually already answered the Meatloaf question back in January 2011. You're not the first person to ask me this, which is both cool and slightly worrying. Find the complete answer and original question here, but if you're lazy and don't give a shit then allow me to give you the gist of it:

"...I believe Meatloaf was expressing his distaste for people who make fools of themselves for the ones they love, and so this song is about how he flat-out refuses to karaoke Paradise By The Dashboard Light in order to entertain common folk and their monkey-like friends. He is above us, you know. He is a Bat Out of Hell, and Rocky Horror elite. We are but mere mortals, willing to do anything for love. Including "that".

Can't talk right now. Someone said 'meatloaf'.

 Have a funtastic weekend, freaks & geeks. Try not to hurt yourselves.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

A Name In Your Recollection, Among A Million Same

Oh, hello.

Yeah, yeah, I'm posting irregularly again. It's ok, no one cares.

I haven't been home. I left Toronto last Wednesday, and hit Fundar yet again. It's Daisy's favourite place, dontchaknow.

What, you don't spend beautiful afternoons in cemeteries with amazing views?

Then you're the weird one. Not me.

Really old tombstones are awesome to check out. I have a new-found appreciation for 'em.

Some of them make me really sad. Emotional places, those cemeteries.

Can you spot the weirdo?

Ah, there she is. Having a difficult time reading old timey 'stones, I'm sure.

That night I headed back home to St. Catharines to visit the family, hit a stag & doe, and stay horizontal for a day.

In that order. Kinda.

Since Daisy stayed in Fundar, having the time of her doggie life, I was glad to have my parents' JRT, Roxie as a stand-in. She gives high fives and is probably cooler than you.

She even sits funny. Because she's cool.

Got my hair cut and dyed before the stag 'n doe (are you bored yet?), and once again have to re-iterate how much I adore my hairdresser. I have never left there unhappy.

And that, my friends, is why I can't cheat on her with a Toronto stylist. I'm all about commitment.

Then it was back to Fundar, and back to my girly.

Reunited and it feels so good... you know the jam.

Not that she missed me whatsoever.

One day we will switch lives. One day.

Sunsets in Fundar are lovely.

Sometimes ya just gotta get away from the city.

...but then, sometimes you just have to go back.

See you tonight, Toronto. Don't wait up.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

My Kingdom For A Kiss Upon Her Shoulder

Back in Fundar for a stopover on my way to a weekend in the ol' hometown of St. Kittykats. Currently blogging while staring out at an awesome view of the escarpment on a pretty goshdarn nice day.

Not too bad, Thursday. Not too bad.

(I know, I know... who the hell just wrote the previous sentences? Couldn't be me.)

So the main point of this particular post is just to throw some info at you luvverly people. First of all, you know I always post about our nights with Bob at Velvet Underground, and people keep asking when the next Full Card Friday will be. Well, it's gotten easier to remember now. We're locked in for the last Friday of every single month. Mark 'em in your calendars, tell your friends, because you've now got plans at the end of each month.

Next one is August 31st, gonna be a kickass party to start off your Labour Day weekend. So, as usual, avoid cover and get on guestlist by clicking on this linky-link. Kablam.

Second point of business... St. Catharines/Niagara people. Get at me. I wish to see all the people I've been hoping to catch up with over the past few months, and therefore require your attendance at a Stag & Doe on Saturday so we can eat, drink, and get married. Uh... be merry.

Well, we'll see what happens. Get your proposal ready just in case.

And third: Today my dearest Masuka and I got into a bit of a discussion about regrets and how certain decisions could completely alter your life. I threw the question up on the Twittermachine, and now I'm throwing it on here for future blog purposes...

Do you have any regrets?

Talk to me, Goose.

And on that loaded note, I'm outta here. Love from Fundar.

Monday, August 13, 2012

It's Just A Burden In My Hand, It's Just An Anchor On My Heart

I feel it is my duty, hell... my obligation, to post about something that was not brought to my attention until earlier today.

It would appear that this day marks a very special occasion, one that is important for me and people like me. We, this special breed of humans, are often overlooked or mocked for the important thing that bonds us.

We are left-handed. And today is our day.

Life has not been easy for us left-handers. The world isn't built for southpaws.

We can't use your scissors. We have our own.

No green-handled scissors? No cutting, friend.

And should we have an urge to open a can of soup (because even left-handed people like soup), it is not an easy task.

Y'see, can openers were invented by the devil.

Yes, the devil is right-handed. Everyone knows that.

Left-handed folks are known to be creative. Some of us are writers. Writers write in books.

Ever tried to write in a spiral notebook with your left-hand? Do it, righties. Feel our pain.

And so, I say a happy International Left-Handed Day to all of my lefties out there.

Our hands may be smudged with pen ink and our cans may be left unopened, but our minds are strong and awesome. We will never conform to the world's right-handed ways.

We are the left-handed! Be nice to us.

Saturday, August 11, 2012

It's Bitter Baby, & It's Very Sweet

I posted awhile back about my inability (read: unwillingness) to cook, and promised to post a few of my attempts at the recipes on the Moodie Foodie app.

The winner of that contest will also be guest-posting, showing off her recipe and probably making me really damn hungry.

So, Mike came to the rescue and has attempted to teach me how to cook properly. Using the app, we found a seafood pasta that matched our mood (there's a good chance I was cranky), and he added extra things because he's a genius of some sort.

I would've taken a screencap of the recipe and/or mood, but I have no idea how to do that on Mike's iPod Touch thingy.

I can't cook and I can't work Apple products, but I'm good at thumb wars. Just you try and tell me I'm not a good catch. I dare ya.

First step to teaching me how to cook?


Trois Pistoles because a higher alcohol percentage is needed to deal with me on a regular basis.

"We love food!" - The Bitches.

Those would be from the shrimp.

I took their outer parts off. I don't know what the outer parts are called. Either way, I did it. And there they are.

Pasta is my addiction, and he knows it.

That guy is a moodie foodie.

Right now, his mood is "requiring more beer to deal with this chick." He shuts me up with food.

What are these weapons of mass destruction?

I think I own some, too. Not sure what to do with them, so I created a percussion-only band.

Multi-tasking seems to be important when cooking.

Pat your head and rub your belly at the same time.

Daisy is super riveted.

Sarcasm aside, I actually was super riveted.

Mike, you're hired.

 Et voila.

A seafood pasta that I could now probably not completely screw up if I made it myself, maybe. I'm learning. I swear.

I now know the importance of a perfect sear on a scallop. (No really, that last sentence was in English. Though I've been known to speak Klingon.)

Food makes my face do this. Ouch.

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