Ok. So the Calgary Zoo has what they call Zoo Lights every year.
It's the kind of place you take your kids, or hold hands with your lover to get into the Christmas Spirit.
I'm going there thursday. I've never been before - I'm pretty excited about it. I love all things cozy - so sipping hot chocolate, looking at twinkle lights and wearing my mittens all sound wonderful!
The thing is I'm working all day, thinking I'll have to eat and it would be easier to eat there than to rush around trying to fix dinner (or eating a bowl of cereal like too many weeknights at my house) I said to a co-worker/zoo-frequenter, "Do they have food at the Zoo?" imagining they do, but wanting to be sure that the growling that night is coming only from the tigers, not my tummy, I figured it best to confirm.
She said, "Yes, they have 'zoo-food'."
Hmmmm...'zoo-food'.
What the hell is Zoo-Food?
'leg of zebra', 'peacock burgers', 'polar bear steak', hippo ceasar salad', 'monkey-stew'
Alright - Raisin Bran it is.
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Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Monday, December 12, 2011
An Actual Conversation On the Phone
"Why do you do that? You're weird."
"I am not weird. I'm 'quirky' and it's adorable damn it."
.
"I am not weird. I'm 'quirky' and it's adorable damn it."
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Friday, December 9, 2011
Just My Humble Opinion...
I was recently set up on a blind date.
I think having a blind date is a true test of character. Say you are with a blind date at a fancy steak house and you both order the filet. The dinners come and one looks slightly larger - would you trade the plates? How would him/her ever know - he/she's blind for gosh-sakes!!
Would you pick your nose in the car on the way home? Take a bigger bite of cheesecake? Spend hours on making sure your hair was perfect? Slouch or bother standing up straight?
I don't know, but I think if you are cool with dogs a blind date might be the way to go. Think about it - you could show up in track pants, sneak sips of his pint all night long, eat extra chicken wings then say you got ripped off cause 'there were only eight on the plate when it arrived!', you wouldn't have to bother curling your eyelashes or matching your socks...
.
I think having a blind date is a true test of character. Say you are with a blind date at a fancy steak house and you both order the filet. The dinners come and one looks slightly larger - would you trade the plates? How would him/her ever know - he/she's blind for gosh-sakes!!
Would you pick your nose in the car on the way home? Take a bigger bite of cheesecake? Spend hours on making sure your hair was perfect? Slouch or bother standing up straight?
I don't know, but I think if you are cool with dogs a blind date might be the way to go. Think about it - you could show up in track pants, sneak sips of his pint all night long, eat extra chicken wings then say you got ripped off cause 'there were only eight on the plate when it arrived!', you wouldn't have to bother curling your eyelashes or matching your socks...
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Friday, December 2, 2011
It's tAnya, not tOnya!
Yes, my name is Tanya, with an "A" not an "O". Yet I get called Tonya a lot. I have nothing against the name, in fact, I've known a couple great Tonya's in my life. It's just not MY name. So I really don't like being called it.
We had a new receptionist start here a few days ago. She'd been here maybe 3 days when I strolled in one morning, coat on, coffee in hand and cheerily sang out, "Good morning Barb!" as I walked by the reception desk.
She looked up, gave me a funny look and hesitantly said, "Good morning."
When I reached my desk I was feeling pretty bad. I mean, it was pretty presumptuous of me to call her Barb, when clearly I remembered from the email that went out her name ended with an A. Damn it, I should have said Barbara. Not everyone likes their names shortened. I mean, I really don't like being called Tonya and what is the difference between calling a Tanya a Tonya or a Barbara a Barb - it isn't her name. I guess if she wanted to be called Barb, the email would have read, please welcome Barb. Not Barbara.
Well, what is done is done. I will just fix it, that's all. Apologize for taking the liberty of shortening her name, which she obviously didn't like, and then never do it again.
So on my next trip by her desk, I said, "Oh hey, sorry, about earlier, do you prefer Barb or Barbara?"
She said, "What?"
I said, "Do you prefer Barbara, I called you Barb earlier, but do you prefer Barbara?"
She said, "Actually I prefer Debra."
OMG.
I said, "My name is Tanya, but you can call me Tonya."
.
We had a new receptionist start here a few days ago. She'd been here maybe 3 days when I strolled in one morning, coat on, coffee in hand and cheerily sang out, "Good morning Barb!" as I walked by the reception desk.
She looked up, gave me a funny look and hesitantly said, "Good morning."
When I reached my desk I was feeling pretty bad. I mean, it was pretty presumptuous of me to call her Barb, when clearly I remembered from the email that went out her name ended with an A. Damn it, I should have said Barbara. Not everyone likes their names shortened. I mean, I really don't like being called Tonya and what is the difference between calling a Tanya a Tonya or a Barbara a Barb - it isn't her name. I guess if she wanted to be called Barb, the email would have read, please welcome Barb. Not Barbara.
Well, what is done is done. I will just fix it, that's all. Apologize for taking the liberty of shortening her name, which she obviously didn't like, and then never do it again.
So on my next trip by her desk, I said, "Oh hey, sorry, about earlier, do you prefer Barb or Barbara?"
She said, "What?"
I said, "Do you prefer Barbara, I called you Barb earlier, but do you prefer Barbara?"
She said, "Actually I prefer Debra."
OMG.
I said, "My name is Tanya, but you can call me Tonya."
.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Motherly Advice
If one said I was somewhat of a social creature, that one would be correct. But it’s not my fault! If God wouldn’t have put so damn many people on earth, I’d have some free time….
I think my firefighting friend is perturbed that in two weeks, all I could offer was a lunch. Perturbed. Ha! I’m not sure if we are even friends anymore, which I’m not to broken up about I guess. But watch today be the day my apartment starts on fire!
Oh well. I guess if it went up in flames it would be fine cause I really just go there to sleep and it seems I haven’t done that in awhile.
Lately sleep hasn’t really found a spot between work and class and sports and friends and beer clubs and camera club and I’m tired!
First I thought, “I need a wife.”
Cause if I had a wife the cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping and cooking would at least be done.
But when I said that on the weekend, my brother’s wife said, “Your brother has a wife and it hasn’t helped him any.”
Huh. Excellent point.
So I asked my mother what I should do. Mom’s are supposed to know EVERYTHING after all.
Mom said, “You need to schedule some time by yourself. Tell everyone you are busy, go home after work, read a book, drink some wine, have a bubble bath. “
Yes, yes people. My mother told me that to improve the quality of my life, I should sit at home, alone, and drink.
.
I think my firefighting friend is perturbed that in two weeks, all I could offer was a lunch. Perturbed. Ha! I’m not sure if we are even friends anymore, which I’m not to broken up about I guess. But watch today be the day my apartment starts on fire!
Oh well. I guess if it went up in flames it would be fine cause I really just go there to sleep and it seems I haven’t done that in awhile.
Lately sleep hasn’t really found a spot between work and class and sports and friends and beer clubs and camera club and I’m tired!
First I thought, “I need a wife.”
Cause if I had a wife the cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping and cooking would at least be done.
But when I said that on the weekend, my brother’s wife said, “Your brother has a wife and it hasn’t helped him any.”
Huh. Excellent point.
So I asked my mother what I should do. Mom’s are supposed to know EVERYTHING after all.
Mom said, “You need to schedule some time by yourself. Tell everyone you are busy, go home after work, read a book, drink some wine, have a bubble bath. “
Yes, yes people. My mother told me that to improve the quality of my life, I should sit at home, alone, and drink.
.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Burning Babies
On the weekend I was having a pint in the company of a firefighter. I asked him if he'd ever saved a burning baby. He said that he generally tried to save babies before they were burning...something about it being an unsuccessful 'save' if the baby was burning.
I told him I used to play a computer game where you had to move firemen around to save babies from a burning building. It think it was called Bouncing Babies.
Anyhow, he had apparently never specifically saved a baby.
So I guess I won, cause on a good day, I could save like a hundred babies.
But he had saved lives with CPR and pulled a couple cats out of trees. Yes, the cat thing, it really happens.
I know. I was surprised too.
But not as surprised as when he continued on with, "Oh and once I saved a bird from a tree!"
A bird?
A BIRD?
Saved? From a TREE?
So I said, "You do know birds live in trees, right?"
...then I said, "Have you ever saved any fish from the river? Maybe you've saved a deer from the woods? A goat from his mountain?"
...then I said, "Once I saved a gopher from the ground...with a gun!"
Then I was quiet for a split second, just to take a breath and he said, "Haha. No it was a parrot that escaped from his owner and flew into a tree. We set up the rescue ladders then when we climbed up to grab him, he got scared and flew to another branch, so we climbed down, moved the ladders, climbed up, went to grab him again, he flew to another branch.... This happened 4 or 5 times, then the parrot flew down and landed on the owners arm and we left."
I don't know, but I think he should have just let me keep talking.
.
I told him I used to play a computer game where you had to move firemen around to save babies from a burning building. It think it was called Bouncing Babies.
Anyhow, he had apparently never specifically saved a baby.
So I guess I won, cause on a good day, I could save like a hundred babies.
But he had saved lives with CPR and pulled a couple cats out of trees. Yes, the cat thing, it really happens.
I know. I was surprised too.
But not as surprised as when he continued on with, "Oh and once I saved a bird from a tree!"
A bird?
A BIRD?
Saved? From a TREE?
So I said, "You do know birds live in trees, right?"
...then I said, "Have you ever saved any fish from the river? Maybe you've saved a deer from the woods? A goat from his mountain?"
...then I said, "Once I saved a gopher from the ground...with a gun!"
Then I was quiet for a split second, just to take a breath and he said, "Haha. No it was a parrot that escaped from his owner and flew into a tree. We set up the rescue ladders then when we climbed up to grab him, he got scared and flew to another branch, so we climbed down, moved the ladders, climbed up, went to grab him again, he flew to another branch.... This happened 4 or 5 times, then the parrot flew down and landed on the owners arm and we left."
I don't know, but I think he should have just let me keep talking.
.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Who Moved My Cheese, Part Five
There is now a box in our work fridge with one hundred and forty-four individually wrapped cheeses!!! Each day, one appears on my desk from the cheese fairy...
And you know, I had almost forgotten about the whole ordeal, had almost let it go...was on the verge of being able to pass people in the hall and greet them with a simple, "Hello" instead of my customary, "Morning! Why'd you eat my cheese?!"
But now, with the cheese box's appearance, I find myself spending my time trying to get to the bottom of every smile I see in the office. No one can even get lucky anymore without me wondering if their spouse is walking around somewhere mirroring their big grin or if the reason for their happiness is the new-found endless supply of cheese to steal....
.
And you know, I had almost forgotten about the whole ordeal, had almost let it go...was on the verge of being able to pass people in the hall and greet them with a simple, "Hello" instead of my customary, "Morning! Why'd you eat my cheese?!"
But now, with the cheese box's appearance, I find myself spending my time trying to get to the bottom of every smile I see in the office. No one can even get lucky anymore without me wondering if their spouse is walking around somewhere mirroring their big grin or if the reason for their happiness is the new-found endless supply of cheese to steal....
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Tuesday, November 1, 2011
...to clarify....
For the non- Canadians...a touque is a wool hat designed to keep one's head warm and ears from freezing off in a blizzard.
.
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Monday, October 31, 2011
My Brand New Blue Jeans
On October 16th I purchased new jeans from a store in Inglewood. It isn't often I splurge on myself, but once in a while I can justify passing up the day-old sale rack for the clothes that are still warm from runway models. And if there ever was one, this was the store to do it in.
espy - is a trendy new store with tons of cool items and knowledgeable stylists - one of which I paid over a hundred dollars to wrap my ass in brandname denim!
Yup. Over one hundred dollars for one pair of pants and I walked out of the store with nothing more than a receipt. The jeans I just invested in were added to the pile for the resident seamstress to hem. I was told it would take about 3-4 business days and that they'd call me when they were ready.
So, I planned my life around picking up these jeans the following Saturday. But Saturday came and went and no one called. I gave it a couple more days, but by then I was getting a little ticked off. What was the hold up? It was now October 25th - 6 and a HALF business days had passed. Hadn't she said "3 TO 4 days", not 3 AND THEN 4 business days???
Seriously? So what? Had some local billionaire walked in and they moved all his stuff to the front of the queue while my jeans got buried in a pile of the 'just doing my best to make it on my own' working people? What? Was I not good enough?? The nerve! I wanted an explanation, I wanted names, I wanted action!
So, I pulled up their website to get their contact information so I could call them and give them a piece of my mind! Unbelievable! I paid a pretty penny for those jeans and I wanted them. And I wanted them NOW damn it!
Alright. Enough is enough. That's it. I'm going to call and I'm going to tell them that I will be by to pick up my jeans today after work and by golly - they better be ready!!! And if not today, then tomorrow, or the next day, I would be there the MOMENT they were ready.
And then their website popped up in front of my eager eyeballs, my hand already on the phone... On the home page of their website was a photo of a line of naked men - well, naked save boots, briefs and touques - in front of their store. The caption read 'nakedespy'.
It was a fundraiser for prostate cancer. The first one hundred naked men to line up got free clothes for charity. Well, almost naked. ...underwear and touques.
Hmmm, I have a touque fetish - just like some women are interested in a man in uniform, I'm more of a, pull on a touque and it's 'HEL-LO Prince Charming!!' kinda gal.
The date read Saturday, November 5, 2011. Always interested in supporting a good cause, I clicked around a bit. There was a link to last year's online photo album, so I clicked on it...for the articles of course...
Just then my phone rang.
"Hello, Tanya? This is espy. We apologize for the delay, our seamstress ended up staying a few extra days in China, but she is back and you're jeans are ready!"
"Oh uh, ok. I can't pick them up tonight, or tomorrow anyway. Huh, look at that, I can't pick them up on the weekend either...or next week. Oh, darn it...looks like I'm booked solid until...oh will you look at that, I won't be able to make it until the 5th of November..."
.
espy - is a trendy new store with tons of cool items and knowledgeable stylists - one of which I paid over a hundred dollars to wrap my ass in brandname denim!
Yup. Over one hundred dollars for one pair of pants and I walked out of the store with nothing more than a receipt. The jeans I just invested in were added to the pile for the resident seamstress to hem. I was told it would take about 3-4 business days and that they'd call me when they were ready.
So, I planned my life around picking up these jeans the following Saturday. But Saturday came and went and no one called. I gave it a couple more days, but by then I was getting a little ticked off. What was the hold up? It was now October 25th - 6 and a HALF business days had passed. Hadn't she said "3 TO 4 days", not 3 AND THEN 4 business days???
Seriously? So what? Had some local billionaire walked in and they moved all his stuff to the front of the queue while my jeans got buried in a pile of the 'just doing my best to make it on my own' working people? What? Was I not good enough?? The nerve! I wanted an explanation, I wanted names, I wanted action!
So, I pulled up their website to get their contact information so I could call them and give them a piece of my mind! Unbelievable! I paid a pretty penny for those jeans and I wanted them. And I wanted them NOW damn it!
Alright. Enough is enough. That's it. I'm going to call and I'm going to tell them that I will be by to pick up my jeans today after work and by golly - they better be ready!!! And if not today, then tomorrow, or the next day, I would be there the MOMENT they were ready.
And then their website popped up in front of my eager eyeballs, my hand already on the phone... On the home page of their website was a photo of a line of naked men - well, naked save boots, briefs and touques - in front of their store. The caption read 'nakedespy'.
It was a fundraiser for prostate cancer. The first one hundred naked men to line up got free clothes for charity. Well, almost naked. ...underwear and touques.
Hmmm, I have a touque fetish - just like some women are interested in a man in uniform, I'm more of a, pull on a touque and it's 'HEL-LO Prince Charming!!' kinda gal.
The date read Saturday, November 5, 2011. Always interested in supporting a good cause, I clicked around a bit. There was a link to last year's online photo album, so I clicked on it...for the articles of course...
Just then my phone rang.
"Hello, Tanya? This is espy. We apologize for the delay, our seamstress ended up staying a few extra days in China, but she is back and you're jeans are ready!"
"Oh uh, ok. I can't pick them up tonight, or tomorrow anyway. Huh, look at that, I can't pick them up on the weekend either...or next week. Oh, darn it...looks like I'm booked solid until...oh will you look at that, I won't be able to make it until the 5th of November..."
.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Eyes on the Road, Hands on the Wheel
We have followed suit and introduced distracted driver laws in Alberta - no texting, talking on the phone, or playing angry birds while driving.
We have to make laws because we can make smart phones, but we can't make smart people.
We have to make laws because we can make smart phones, but we can't make smart people.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Who Moved My Cheese, Part Four
I requested a list of the people who purchased cheese from the fundraiser.
I then cross-referenced it with the list of people who were in the office on the day of the heist because it makes sense that the cheese thief was both (a) present and (b) fond of cheese.
With my list of suspects neatly narrowed down, I said to someone who wasn't on the list - "I noticed that you didn't purchase any cheese?"
He said, 'I didn't purchase any cheese cause I knew you would...so I don't have to!'
Damn it.
He is right - that IS suspicious behavior, cause if you have your own cheese, why would you take mine??!
So now I'm watching closely the lot that didn't purchase cheese.
If only I could get my hands on a list of lactose-intolerant people in the office to cross-reference with the list of people who feel they don't have to purchase their own cheese, I would be well on my way to solving this crime once and for all.....
I then cross-referenced it with the list of people who were in the office on the day of the heist because it makes sense that the cheese thief was both (a) present and (b) fond of cheese.
With my list of suspects neatly narrowed down, I said to someone who wasn't on the list - "I noticed that you didn't purchase any cheese?"
He said, 'I didn't purchase any cheese cause I knew you would...so I don't have to!'
Damn it.
He is right - that IS suspicious behavior, cause if you have your own cheese, why would you take mine??!
So now I'm watching closely the lot that didn't purchase cheese.
If only I could get my hands on a list of lactose-intolerant people in the office to cross-reference with the list of people who feel they don't have to purchase their own cheese, I would be well on my way to solving this crime once and for all.....
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Who Moved My Cheese, Part Three
One of the women in my office has a child who is doing a fundraising drive. They are selling CHEESE! No kidding. It is called the 2011 Fine Cheese Fundraising Program.
She went around with forms selling cheese.
I went around behind her selling anti-theft devices.
She went around with forms selling cheese.
I went around behind her selling anti-theft devices.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Warning!
Don't turn on the Discovery Channel
Trust me there are things out there that no one should discover!
The other night, I made the mistake of flicking on the Discovery channel to watch a program - discover something new about the world.
When I first sat down on the couch with my little bowl of soup, I was a pretty content person. I was pretty comfortable with my space in life and the world around me. But during that program, everything changed.
Some of you might not know this about me, but when I was in my early years - somewhere between 10 and 13 - I was sent out to the garden to gather potatoes for supper. I didn't mind, in fact I quite liked the garden - the pea section in particular was my favourite spot because one could just sit down and feast there - then blame "those damn geese!" when there were no peas in the garden.
So I go out to dig some potatoes. No big deal. I'd done it many times before. Stick in the pitchfork, pull out potatoes. Easy.
Until.
Until I stuck the pitchfork in for the last time that day, stepped on it to get it as deep into the earth as I could muster and then pulled it up - upturning moist dark dirt and revealing...NOT big round potatoes, but a sticky squirming SALAMANDER on the end of my fork!!!
OMG.
There he was, desperately flinging his little appendages this way and that! Trying to run...twist...anything away from the giant metal spear through his belly.
Yup, I had stuck the thing right through the middle.
Now here is where I'd like to tell you I pulled him gently off his skewer, patted his head, gave him a little band-aid, named him Sally Mander and nursed him back to health...
I'd LIKE to tell you that, but I can't...instead...
I called out a lot of names (none of them Sally or Mander) and I threw that pitchfork as far as I could launch it! I ran out of that garden as fast as my feet could carry me!! I sped across the lawn - my feet barely making contact with the ground - no telling where those little monsters might be hiding! FINALLY I reached the safety of the steps...the door...the kitchen...the kitchen window...
I frantically searched through the window to see if his angry family and salamander friends had chased me with their mouths frothing and tails in the air. I looked at the front door - no salamanders! I let out a breath in relief. LUCKY! I had just rubbed elbows with the Grim Reaper and WON!
Mom said, 'Where are the potatoes?"
WHAT? WHO CARES 'Where are the potatoes?'! I almost died out there!
There in the garden sat my nearly-full-of-potatoes-for-supper bucket. Surely surrounded by an evil army of salamanders.
Let them rot out there. There was NO WAY I was ever stepping back into that dark, infested soil and risking my life again. I'd eat rice. Rice purchased from the well-lit-salamander-free grocery store ailes.
So, you can understand I've had a very reasonable fear of salamanders ever since. I actually quite like reptiles - rough dry things like iguanas or tortoises, crocodiles, turtles or lizards are fine by me - but put so much as a moist, smooth salamander picture anywhere in my vincinity and you won't see me back in that vicinity, ever.
So here I am on my couch the other night, thinking I'd learn a little something I can pull out at a party to impress people, like my 'why starfish can't flip themselves over' bit, and what happens???
I 'Discover' I'm living in a world home to giant 5 foot long Japanese salamanders!!!
5 FEET?????!!!!!!
I AM FIVE FEET.
Imagine five feet of slimy salamander on your pitchfork!
FIVE FEET!
OF SALAMANDER.
I am no longer safe in this world.
Trust me there are things out there that no one should discover!
The other night, I made the mistake of flicking on the Discovery channel to watch a program - discover something new about the world.
When I first sat down on the couch with my little bowl of soup, I was a pretty content person. I was pretty comfortable with my space in life and the world around me. But during that program, everything changed.
Some of you might not know this about me, but when I was in my early years - somewhere between 10 and 13 - I was sent out to the garden to gather potatoes for supper. I didn't mind, in fact I quite liked the garden - the pea section in particular was my favourite spot because one could just sit down and feast there - then blame "those damn geese!" when there were no peas in the garden.
So I go out to dig some potatoes. No big deal. I'd done it many times before. Stick in the pitchfork, pull out potatoes. Easy.
Until.
Until I stuck the pitchfork in for the last time that day, stepped on it to get it as deep into the earth as I could muster and then pulled it up - upturning moist dark dirt and revealing...NOT big round potatoes, but a sticky squirming SALAMANDER on the end of my fork!!!
OMG.
There he was, desperately flinging his little appendages this way and that! Trying to run...twist...anything away from the giant metal spear through his belly.
Yup, I had stuck the thing right through the middle.
Now here is where I'd like to tell you I pulled him gently off his skewer, patted his head, gave him a little band-aid, named him Sally Mander and nursed him back to health...
I'd LIKE to tell you that, but I can't...instead...
I called out a lot of names (none of them Sally or Mander) and I threw that pitchfork as far as I could launch it! I ran out of that garden as fast as my feet could carry me!! I sped across the lawn - my feet barely making contact with the ground - no telling where those little monsters might be hiding! FINALLY I reached the safety of the steps...the door...the kitchen...the kitchen window...
I frantically searched through the window to see if his angry family and salamander friends had chased me with their mouths frothing and tails in the air. I looked at the front door - no salamanders! I let out a breath in relief. LUCKY! I had just rubbed elbows with the Grim Reaper and WON!
Mom said, 'Where are the potatoes?"
WHAT? WHO CARES 'Where are the potatoes?'! I almost died out there!
There in the garden sat my nearly-full-of-potatoes-for-supper bucket. Surely surrounded by an evil army of salamanders.
Let them rot out there. There was NO WAY I was ever stepping back into that dark, infested soil and risking my life again. I'd eat rice. Rice purchased from the well-lit-salamander-free grocery store ailes.
So, you can understand I've had a very reasonable fear of salamanders ever since. I actually quite like reptiles - rough dry things like iguanas or tortoises, crocodiles, turtles or lizards are fine by me - but put so much as a moist, smooth salamander picture anywhere in my vincinity and you won't see me back in that vicinity, ever.
So here I am on my couch the other night, thinking I'd learn a little something I can pull out at a party to impress people, like my 'why starfish can't flip themselves over' bit, and what happens???
I 'Discover' I'm living in a world home to giant 5 foot long Japanese salamanders!!!
5 FEET?????!!!!!!
I AM FIVE FEET.
Imagine five feet of slimy salamander on your pitchfork!
FIVE FEET!
OF SALAMANDER.
I am no longer safe in this world.
Monday, October 17, 2011
An Actual Conversation at Beer Club
TOPIC - my sophisticated beer rating system.
NOT ME: "What is that?"
ME: "It's a pitcher, instead of a rating on a strictly numerical system, like say 12.4/17.5, I will colour in the pitcher depending on how good the beer is out of seventeen-point-five. The fuller the better. See. This beer good = full pitcher. That beer bad = empty."
NOT ME: "You're a woman, shouldn't you use a vacuum bag illustration so you can relate? But then, would a full vacuum bag be good? Means your floor is clean but now you have to change the bag. So maybe an empty bag is better? I don't know - you're the woman - is it better to have a full or empty vacuum bag?"
NOT ME: "What is that?"
ME: "It's a pitcher, instead of a rating on a strictly numerical system, like say 12.4/17.5, I will colour in the pitcher depending on how good the beer is out of seventeen-point-five. The fuller the better. See. This beer good = full pitcher. That beer bad = empty."
NOT ME: "You're a woman, shouldn't you use a vacuum bag illustration so you can relate? But then, would a full vacuum bag be good? Means your floor is clean but now you have to change the bag. So maybe an empty bag is better? I don't know - you're the woman - is it better to have a full or empty vacuum bag?"
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
An Actual Conversation at Thanksgiving Dinner
TOPIC: RETIREMENT
"The only think I miss about not working, is lunch."
"What?"
"Can't you still have lunch?"
"It's not the same. I miss the sandwiches. I LIKE sandwiches"
"Since I retired, I don't miss work lunches. I still have sandwiches, but I TOAST them now!"
"The only think I miss about not working, is lunch."
"What?"
"Can't you still have lunch?"
"It's not the same. I miss the sandwiches. I LIKE sandwiches"
"Since I retired, I don't miss work lunches. I still have sandwiches, but I TOAST them now!"
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Who Moved My Cheese, Part Two
Yesterday someone stole my cheese.
Today there was a new addition to our fridge...
I can't say with certainty who stole my first cheese, but the next person who steals my cheese will be easily identified when he walks away with his nine remaining fingers (evil laugh)...
Today there was a new addition to our fridge...
I can't say with certainty who stole my first cheese, but the next person who steals my cheese will be easily identified when he walks away with his nine remaining fingers (evil laugh)...
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Who Moved My Cheese?!
I know there is a book by the same name, but this is not about a book. Someone stole my cheese!
For real!
I put a lot of time and effort into planning my day's menu, including breakfast smoothie, lunch, dinner and all the snacks inbetween. On Mondays, I take a bunch of stuff to work that fits my chosen menu. This week, I treated myself to an afternoon snack of a fine aged white cheddar cheese stick and a cup of V8.
It may not be everyone's idea of a treat. But it's mine. And apparently someone else's also.
Today, I had my lunch, then I went to defeat a worthy opponent at a good-hearted game of squash. Then I returned to my desk. Sent a couple emails. And went to the fridge for my snack.
I opened the fridge, grabbed my V8 but alas, the cheese was gone?!? Had vanished like a fart in the wind. Gone, no trace.
I was pissed. Who would take my cheese??
No one. Come on, really, I work with adults, not drunken fraternity boys ready to raid a fridge at a well-weeded-tray-of-brownies notice.
So I pushed my fears of a cheese-thief-in-the-midst aside and searched high and low. But my fears were to be realized. There was most definitely a cheese thief (or a very large mouse adept in opening fridge doors and drawers) in my midst.
So, I went on a secret mission to discover the culprit. I looked around for empty wine glasses, cracker crumbs and empty cheese wrappers.
To no avail.
So I sent the following email to all those adorning our halls and offices.
One day a little mouse was sent out by his mother to gather his own food. About two hours later the mother was standing in her little mouse house when the door burst open and he came running in holding a big piece of cheese in his tiny paws. His proud mother beamed and said, “Good job little mouse. And what do you have there?”
“CHEESE!’ replied the mouse
“And what kind of cheese do you have?” asked the mother.
“NACHO CHEESE” replied the young mouse.
The mother looked confused and asked, “Uh, how do you know that’s Nacho Cheese son?”
“Because when I took it, a little boy came running after me waving his arms and yelling ‘hey little mouse, that’s NACH--CHO CHEESE’.”
Yup. That's NACH-CHO-CHEESE!!!!!
It's mine.
And I will find you.
...to be continued....
For real!
I put a lot of time and effort into planning my day's menu, including breakfast smoothie, lunch, dinner and all the snacks inbetween. On Mondays, I take a bunch of stuff to work that fits my chosen menu. This week, I treated myself to an afternoon snack of a fine aged white cheddar cheese stick and a cup of V8.
It may not be everyone's idea of a treat. But it's mine. And apparently someone else's also.
Today, I had my lunch, then I went to defeat a worthy opponent at a good-hearted game of squash. Then I returned to my desk. Sent a couple emails. And went to the fridge for my snack.
I opened the fridge, grabbed my V8 but alas, the cheese was gone?!? Had vanished like a fart in the wind. Gone, no trace.
I was pissed. Who would take my cheese??
No one. Come on, really, I work with adults, not drunken fraternity boys ready to raid a fridge at a well-weeded-tray-of-brownies notice.
So I pushed my fears of a cheese-thief-in-the-midst aside and searched high and low. But my fears were to be realized. There was most definitely a cheese thief (or a very large mouse adept in opening fridge doors and drawers) in my midst.
So, I went on a secret mission to discover the culprit. I looked around for empty wine glasses, cracker crumbs and empty cheese wrappers.
To no avail.
So I sent the following email to all those adorning our halls and offices.
One day a little mouse was sent out by his mother to gather his own food. About two hours later the mother was standing in her little mouse house when the door burst open and he came running in holding a big piece of cheese in his tiny paws. His proud mother beamed and said, “Good job little mouse. And what do you have there?”
“CHEESE!’ replied the mouse
“And what kind of cheese do you have?” asked the mother.
“NACHO CHEESE” replied the young mouse.
The mother looked confused and asked, “Uh, how do you know that’s Nacho Cheese son?”
“Because when I took it, a little boy came running after me waving his arms and yelling ‘hey little mouse, that’s NACH--CHO CHEESE’.”
Yup. That's NACH-CHO-CHEESE!!!!!
It's mine.
And I will find you.
...to be continued....
Monday, October 3, 2011
Let's call a beer a beer, a spade a spade, and a fruit a fruit.
Hello.
I am not a fan of all these fancy new fan-dangled fruity flavoured beers. If I want to drink fruit I will have a smoothie thank you very much. If I want a beer I will drink a pint of gold placed in front of me by the gods (or the crazy waitress at Bill's). And never, never the two shall meet.
The Barley Mill has placed on their menu a watermelon infused beer-y beverage.
Yuck.
I'm from Saskatchewan. The only watermelon flavouring in my beer shall be what drips off my watermelon hat into my stadium beer at a Riders game.
I am not a fan of all these fancy new fan-dangled fruity flavoured beers. If I want to drink fruit I will have a smoothie thank you very much. If I want a beer I will drink a pint of gold placed in front of me by the gods (or the crazy waitress at Bill's). And never, never the two shall meet.
The Barley Mill has placed on their menu a watermelon infused beer-y beverage.
Yuck.
I'm from Saskatchewan. The only watermelon flavouring in my beer shall be what drips off my watermelon hat into my stadium beer at a Riders game.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Your Email Will Be Responded to in the Order it was Received...
Do you ever feel like turning on your automatic reply message on your email to read,
"Please F-Off. My quota for email requests this week has already been filled.
Thanks, enjoy your weekend."
Albert Einstein said, 'The only reason for time is so everything doesn't happen at once.'
Really Albert? Then explain my life...the only time anything ever happens is at once!
"Please F-Off. My quota for email requests this week has already been filled.
Thanks, enjoy your weekend."
Albert Einstein said, 'The only reason for time is so everything doesn't happen at once.'
Really Albert? Then explain my life...the only time anything ever happens is at once!
Thursday, September 22, 2011
We All Have To Go Sometime...
Ok. I know it's a bit of a morbid thought, but at some point we all think of how we might pass on from this world. Personally I’ve always thought that I wanted to leave this world via alligator (not so much crocodile - it's all in the smile, they look too happy to eat me), but I was wrong. I want to go like this guy!
Yes, definitely, lucky man. Death by perogy……
http://www.canada.com/news/Ukrainian+wins+perogy+eating+contest+then+dies/5436399/story.html
Yes, definitely, lucky man. Death by perogy……
http://www.canada.com/news/Ukrainian+wins+perogy+eating+contest+then+dies/5436399/story.html
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Slow Down!
Yesterday I went to a meeting with one of the partners - he walked; I ran.
No, I wasn't late - he's 6 feet tall! And I...well...I'm not. So his moderate walking speed has me jogging along beside, desperately trying to keep up...in heels.
Fairly new heels.
And then, to top it off, he wants to chit chat while we are "walking" to the meeting. Of course, he doesn't stick to the one-word-answer-questions. You know things like, 'it's nice out, isn't it?' or 'did you have a nice evening?' or 'this meeting should go well, hey?'
These are all questions to which I could nod and smile in agreement or to which a quick, "Yes" would suffice.
No, he asked questions that start with, "what are your thoughts on..." or "what are your plans for..." or "who do you think will win...". Crap. So now I'm racing along in heels, spouting off my long-winded opinions on world issues, product placement and profits, and sports predictions.
Not only do his freakishly long legs put him at a leopards pace, they also move his mouth about a foot and a half above my ears. So I'm having to run along, talking, and staring upwards toward the sky cause it's difficult to hear someone that far away, so I have to do a little lip-reading to be sure that we are talking about Sidney Crosby, not Bill Cosby, which makes averting obstacles an obstacle by its own right. This leaves me bouncing off ill-placed tables and garbage bins at regular intervals, each time setting me back an additional pace and a half.
By the time we arrive at said meeting, I'm out of breath, my feet are spotted with blisters and I've acquired a couple bruises from above mentioned tables and garbage bins.
I don't know why I even went to that meeting. I didn't hear a thing. I spent the first twenty minutes recovering and the last twenty psyching myself up for the trek back. In my next life, I shall have a height restriction on the people I choose to work with.
No, I wasn't late - he's 6 feet tall! And I...well...I'm not. So his moderate walking speed has me jogging along beside, desperately trying to keep up...in heels.
Fairly new heels.
And then, to top it off, he wants to chit chat while we are "walking" to the meeting. Of course, he doesn't stick to the one-word-answer-questions. You know things like, 'it's nice out, isn't it?' or 'did you have a nice evening?' or 'this meeting should go well, hey?'
These are all questions to which I could nod and smile in agreement or to which a quick, "Yes" would suffice.
No, he asked questions that start with, "what are your thoughts on..." or "what are your plans for..." or "who do you think will win...". Crap. So now I'm racing along in heels, spouting off my long-winded opinions on world issues, product placement and profits, and sports predictions.
Not only do his freakishly long legs put him at a leopards pace, they also move his mouth about a foot and a half above my ears. So I'm having to run along, talking, and staring upwards toward the sky cause it's difficult to hear someone that far away, so I have to do a little lip-reading to be sure that we are talking about Sidney Crosby, not Bill Cosby, which makes averting obstacles an obstacle by its own right. This leaves me bouncing off ill-placed tables and garbage bins at regular intervals, each time setting me back an additional pace and a half.
By the time we arrive at said meeting, I'm out of breath, my feet are spotted with blisters and I've acquired a couple bruises from above mentioned tables and garbage bins.
I don't know why I even went to that meeting. I didn't hear a thing. I spent the first twenty minutes recovering and the last twenty psyching myself up for the trek back. In my next life, I shall have a height restriction on the people I choose to work with.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Just Another Day At the Office
Imagine you are the investigating officer in the news story below...
Nevermind laying charges, just trying to keep a straight face would be difficult enough!!!
http://www.calgaryherald.com/news/brownies+give+office+workers+unexpected+high/5342250/story.html
Nevermind laying charges, just trying to keep a straight face would be difficult enough!!!
http://www.calgaryherald.com/news/brownies+give+office+workers+unexpected+high/5342250/story.html
Monday, August 29, 2011
Ringer!
You never find trouble when you are looking. But the moment you stop looking and go about your business, it finds you.
It was one tall extra spicy ceasear and a catch up session with Candace, nothing more, nothing less. It wasn't supposed to have any lasting effects on my life.
But...it most certainly did.
My life, overnight, has gone from a nice, normal pace, back and forth between work and home. I had time for squash games, grocery shopping and bbq's. But now. Now I don't even have time to write this.
I'm in training.
I wake up and I visualize the perfect toss. All day I hear the Swoosh as the oddly-shaped piece of metal tears through the air; see the 'tink' as it hits the stick; feel the rush of a ringer!
Yes my friend - I have signed up for a high-stakes horseshoe tournament!
Brunch included.
My life now consists of watching u-tube videos on the how-to's of horseshoes. I eat, I breath, I sleep horseshoes.
Problem is, I don't have any horseshoes. If you do and you'd like to lend them to a friend in need - I'm in need. Heavy. I have only 13 days to the big game. I'm half ready - I've got the trash talking part nailed, but I need to at least hold a real horseshoe in advance - my entire reputation hangs on this...I can't go home without that trophy!
Please help! If you or anyone you know has a horse that wouldn't mind lending me his shoe for a day or two, call me right away!
I'll remember you with much gratitude in my 1st prize acceptance speech...and my future Nike sponsorship deals...
It was one tall extra spicy ceasear and a catch up session with Candace, nothing more, nothing less. It wasn't supposed to have any lasting effects on my life.
But...it most certainly did.
My life, overnight, has gone from a nice, normal pace, back and forth between work and home. I had time for squash games, grocery shopping and bbq's. But now. Now I don't even have time to write this.
I'm in training.
I wake up and I visualize the perfect toss. All day I hear the Swoosh as the oddly-shaped piece of metal tears through the air; see the 'tink' as it hits the stick; feel the rush of a ringer!
Yes my friend - I have signed up for a high-stakes horseshoe tournament!
Brunch included.
My life now consists of watching u-tube videos on the how-to's of horseshoes. I eat, I breath, I sleep horseshoes.
Problem is, I don't have any horseshoes. If you do and you'd like to lend them to a friend in need - I'm in need. Heavy. I have only 13 days to the big game. I'm half ready - I've got the trash talking part nailed, but I need to at least hold a real horseshoe in advance - my entire reputation hangs on this...I can't go home without that trophy!
Please help! If you or anyone you know has a horse that wouldn't mind lending me his shoe for a day or two, call me right away!
I'll remember you with much gratitude in my 1st prize acceptance speech...and my future Nike sponsorship deals...
Friday, August 26, 2011
Just a Few More Miles
I received an email from a friend in London that said he was going to spend the weekend walking along the coast.
Walking.
For fun.
"Did your car break down?" I asked.
Apparently this passes as ‘an excursion’ in the UK?!
Really - people there actually plan their holidays around a walk!
Just imagine how that would go over in Canada! Imagine there is a company called the Wandering Canuck and they specialize in these ‘walking holidays’.
“WALK! From Calgary to West Edmonton Mall. Witness beautiful prairie sunsets!"
(lots and lots and lots of sunsets)
“Walk the Yukon! Whitehorse to Dawson – be there in only 87* hours!"
*absolutely NO rest breaks, sleeping, or stopping to re-tie your shoe
“Walk the Yellowhead. A lifetime experience!"
…an entire lifetime…
Or the old Saskatchewan walking tour "I walked for seventeen days straight - saw wheat and an owl. Oh and a dog that was running away. Strangest thing - his owners were still watching him from their porch even though he was at least four days away by then. Took one photo and captured the entire trip. Wait, here's the photo. See, I started here and ended here - there's the owl I saw on day two and the dog I saw on day eleven. Ahhh, good times."
OK. I get it. It's flat.
You know, maybe Canadians should take up walking, give them something better to do than poke fun of Saskatchewan.
happy friday,
tanya
Walking.
For fun.
"Did your car break down?" I asked.
Apparently this passes as ‘an excursion’ in the UK?!
Really - people there actually plan their holidays around a walk!
Just imagine how that would go over in Canada! Imagine there is a company called the Wandering Canuck and they specialize in these ‘walking holidays’.
“WALK! From Calgary to West Edmonton Mall. Witness beautiful prairie sunsets!"
(lots and lots and lots of sunsets)
“Walk the Yukon! Whitehorse to Dawson – be there in only 87* hours!"
*absolutely NO rest breaks, sleeping, or stopping to re-tie your shoe
“Walk the Yellowhead. A lifetime experience!"
…an entire lifetime…
Or the old Saskatchewan walking tour "I walked for seventeen days straight - saw wheat and an owl. Oh and a dog that was running away. Strangest thing - his owners were still watching him from their porch even though he was at least four days away by then. Took one photo and captured the entire trip. Wait, here's the photo. See, I started here and ended here - there's the owl I saw on day two and the dog I saw on day eleven. Ahhh, good times."
OK. I get it. It's flat.
You know, maybe Canadians should take up walking, give them something better to do than poke fun of Saskatchewan.
happy friday,
tanya
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Things I Learned from a Baseball
Take it on the chin – according to the idiom dictionary means to ‘receive the full brunt of something’ or ‘to be brave and not to complain when bad things happen to you or people criticize you’
In the idiot dictionary it means ‘put your ball glove in front of your face, you idiot’
In the idiot dictionary it means ‘put your ball glove in front of your face, you idiot’
Friday, August 19, 2011
End of the World...by Accident
There is a show on tv called True Blood. Apparently it is about vampires and witches and goblins. It’s not really my thing that whole world of sorcery and spells and blood-sucking, but I realize it is glamorous to some, and so I have nothing against it. After all, lets face it – I could really care less about what goes on channels that aren’t TSN anyway.
But it did catch my attention this week. Not the show itself, but the controversy surrounding it.
Have you ever heard of a Wicken? I have. Some of you even know of my personal experience with them. A few of you, in fact, shared that “interesting” weekend with me…and the Wickens. Those that weren’t there needn’t have been for this story though – it is enough to say that Wickens consider themselves witches. But ‘good’ witches I think is how they’d describe themselves, or sun witches or something? Whatever, to me, a witch is a witch – they wear strange pointy hats and cast dark spells out of old books written in witchery.
Now remember I have not seen the show, so I cannot comment on the accuracy of the statements coming from the Wicken corner, but the point is they are protesting. It appears (to those whom watch) the reason for this protest is that the show True Blood makes witchcraft look to easy.
‘So what?’ you ask?? Well I’ll tell you 'so what'…
You know how in the Olympics the diving people make diving look so easy and then it’s a disaster when people start jumping off buildings in swan-like fashions into kiddie pools, or how magicians make sawing people in half look so easy that anyone who buys a new fridge surely gives it a go with the box their fridge came in and a willing volunteer – cause why not, it looked so simple on the tv and no one got hurt – and nothing good comes of it? Well, the wickins are worried that people will try to cast spells on each other and someone will utter a magic word incorrectly or wave their wand counter-clockwise and the consequences will be dire.
DIRE. Not like, call an ambulance dire....we are talking end of the world type stuff here.
So now I live in fear. It’s a legitimate concern! If you don’t know the bits, you should not be bibbity-bobbity-booing all over the place all carelessly and such. Voodoo injuries are the least of my concerns – the dark fury of satan accidentally cast upon the world…that’s the big one. I mean imagine it – someone sees it on TV and thinks, ‘hey I can do that’ so they get their big soup pot and start throwing things in and then innocently substitute ground ladybug because they can’t find ground scorpion – who knows what that could do??? No cauldron... Polka-dots instead of scorpion claws...
No one knows.
That’s the answer.
Sure, maybe one little frog will turn into a toad instead of a prince, but what if that’s not all that ensues???
You don’t know what demon could be unleashed, and I just don’t think this is ‘trial and error’ type stuff. It’s not like adding a pinch of something different to a tried and true recipe. Having to feed your dog curry-chicken-pyrogies because they sounded better than they tasted is one thing, but you can’t feed your dog a Frankenstein.
My first reaction was to say, 'well, you’re a witch, go make the show disappear' – isn’t that what witches do after all? But then I remembered the whole reason for the protest was because it’s not easy being a witch, so I know they'd only reply with what a difficult spell that would be....
...but, come on witches - it’s not like you have anything better to do - you’re sitting around watching TV all day for crumb's sake!!
happy friday,
tanya
But it did catch my attention this week. Not the show itself, but the controversy surrounding it.
Have you ever heard of a Wicken? I have. Some of you even know of my personal experience with them. A few of you, in fact, shared that “interesting” weekend with me…and the Wickens. Those that weren’t there needn’t have been for this story though – it is enough to say that Wickens consider themselves witches. But ‘good’ witches I think is how they’d describe themselves, or sun witches or something? Whatever, to me, a witch is a witch – they wear strange pointy hats and cast dark spells out of old books written in witchery.
Now remember I have not seen the show, so I cannot comment on the accuracy of the statements coming from the Wicken corner, but the point is they are protesting. It appears (to those whom watch) the reason for this protest is that the show True Blood makes witchcraft look to easy.
‘So what?’ you ask?? Well I’ll tell you 'so what'…
You know how in the Olympics the diving people make diving look so easy and then it’s a disaster when people start jumping off buildings in swan-like fashions into kiddie pools, or how magicians make sawing people in half look so easy that anyone who buys a new fridge surely gives it a go with the box their fridge came in and a willing volunteer – cause why not, it looked so simple on the tv and no one got hurt – and nothing good comes of it? Well, the wickins are worried that people will try to cast spells on each other and someone will utter a magic word incorrectly or wave their wand counter-clockwise and the consequences will be dire.
DIRE. Not like, call an ambulance dire....we are talking end of the world type stuff here.
So now I live in fear. It’s a legitimate concern! If you don’t know the bits, you should not be bibbity-bobbity-booing all over the place all carelessly and such. Voodoo injuries are the least of my concerns – the dark fury of satan accidentally cast upon the world…that’s the big one. I mean imagine it – someone sees it on TV and thinks, ‘hey I can do that’ so they get their big soup pot and start throwing things in and then innocently substitute ground ladybug because they can’t find ground scorpion – who knows what that could do??? No cauldron... Polka-dots instead of scorpion claws...
No one knows.
That’s the answer.
Sure, maybe one little frog will turn into a toad instead of a prince, but what if that’s not all that ensues???
You don’t know what demon could be unleashed, and I just don’t think this is ‘trial and error’ type stuff. It’s not like adding a pinch of something different to a tried and true recipe. Having to feed your dog curry-chicken-pyrogies because they sounded better than they tasted is one thing, but you can’t feed your dog a Frankenstein.
My first reaction was to say, 'well, you’re a witch, go make the show disappear' – isn’t that what witches do after all? But then I remembered the whole reason for the protest was because it’s not easy being a witch, so I know they'd only reply with what a difficult spell that would be....
...but, come on witches - it’s not like you have anything better to do - you’re sitting around watching TV all day for crumb's sake!!
happy friday,
tanya
Friday, August 12, 2011
27(ish) Dresses
Imagine if my name began with a W.
Wanda, Wilma, Waneta – whatever….the name itself doesn’t matter, the point is I could marry someone with an ‘A’ name. We could have an A&W themed wedding. How much fun would that be?! Rootbeer floats for the kids, rootbeer paralyzers for the adults, a midnight burger bar, French fries instead of flower bouquets…mmmm the scent of grease wafting through the church. The bridesmaids adorned in brown and orange gowns and a giant teddy bear mascot milling about, taking photos with the guests.
But my parents named me Tanya, not Wynonna, Willow or Whoopi, so if I marry an ‘A’, I have to do – not a rootbeer theme – but a T&A theme?! And come on! That is just plain inappropriate for a wedding!
….unless I marry a Vegas stripper…..in that case, it would probably be a pretty appropriate theme…..
Actually it doesn’t really matter what the theme ends up being. The only thing I care about when I get married, the whole reason for the big elaborate wedding I’m going to have with at least 13 – yes THIRTEEN – bridesmaids, is so that I can say to all of them, “You can TO-TAL-EEE wear that dress again! Why, you could just hem it!”
See, I know it’s meant to be a nice sentiment, but it’s really more patronizing than nice, take it from me and all my dresses – it NEVER happens. First of all, for the price of alterations, you may as well go and pick out a new dress and secondly – what is meant to be a gown isn’t meant to be a mini-skirt. I mean to get shorts, you don’t cut off your pants – no, you go buy shorts! They are cut differently. And thirdly – where exactly is it appropriate to wear a bridesmaids dress??? Not to work, not on a Friday date night at the movies, and certainly not to a wedding where you are not a bridesmaid, so where then? Waterskiing?
Don’t get me wrong, I have loved all the dresses I’ve worn and have been proud to stand beside those that I have, but let’s just be honest. Bridesmaid dresses are re-worn about as often as people are out and about in their wedding gowns after the big day!
Someone suggested a Halloween wedding-themed party so people could get a second use of these gowns/dresses, it’s not a bad idea….but the best idea was just to wear the thing to the persons house next time I went for a visit! Just casually walk in, take off my coat, take a seat, sip my coffee and hang out in the gown. When they ask why I am wearing it, reply with “What do you mean? You’re the one who said I could wear it again! And you were totally right – it’s nice don’t you think? This totally works, doesn’t it? Yup, it’s a good look! One that I can wear over and over…”
happy friday!
tanya
Wanda, Wilma, Waneta – whatever….the name itself doesn’t matter, the point is I could marry someone with an ‘A’ name. We could have an A&W themed wedding. How much fun would that be?! Rootbeer floats for the kids, rootbeer paralyzers for the adults, a midnight burger bar, French fries instead of flower bouquets…mmmm the scent of grease wafting through the church. The bridesmaids adorned in brown and orange gowns and a giant teddy bear mascot milling about, taking photos with the guests.
But my parents named me Tanya, not Wynonna, Willow or Whoopi, so if I marry an ‘A’, I have to do – not a rootbeer theme – but a T&A theme?! And come on! That is just plain inappropriate for a wedding!
….unless I marry a Vegas stripper…..in that case, it would probably be a pretty appropriate theme…..
Actually it doesn’t really matter what the theme ends up being. The only thing I care about when I get married, the whole reason for the big elaborate wedding I’m going to have with at least 13 – yes THIRTEEN – bridesmaids, is so that I can say to all of them, “You can TO-TAL-EEE wear that dress again! Why, you could just hem it!”
See, I know it’s meant to be a nice sentiment, but it’s really more patronizing than nice, take it from me and all my dresses – it NEVER happens. First of all, for the price of alterations, you may as well go and pick out a new dress and secondly – what is meant to be a gown isn’t meant to be a mini-skirt. I mean to get shorts, you don’t cut off your pants – no, you go buy shorts! They are cut differently. And thirdly – where exactly is it appropriate to wear a bridesmaids dress??? Not to work, not on a Friday date night at the movies, and certainly not to a wedding where you are not a bridesmaid, so where then? Waterskiing?
Don’t get me wrong, I have loved all the dresses I’ve worn and have been proud to stand beside those that I have, but let’s just be honest. Bridesmaid dresses are re-worn about as often as people are out and about in their wedding gowns after the big day!
Someone suggested a Halloween wedding-themed party so people could get a second use of these gowns/dresses, it’s not a bad idea….but the best idea was just to wear the thing to the persons house next time I went for a visit! Just casually walk in, take off my coat, take a seat, sip my coffee and hang out in the gown. When they ask why I am wearing it, reply with “What do you mean? You’re the one who said I could wear it again! And you were totally right – it’s nice don’t you think? This totally works, doesn’t it? Yup, it’s a good look! One that I can wear over and over…”
happy friday!
tanya
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Next Time, No Hustler...
Unfortunately a friend of mine recently found himself in a hospital bed. I wanted to do something to lift his spirits, but what would that be?
For a female, easy - you bring flowers. She looks at the splash of colour, thinks of you thinking of her, and smiles. Mission accomplished.
But men don't stare at flowers and think 'oh, pretty!' But they do seem to like staring at naked chicks... So I thought, what better then a playboy magazine to brighten his day! He can stare at the pictures and think 'oh, pretty!' or whatever guys think when they look at the naked lady pictures, and when he's bored of staring he can read the articles. They must be good - that is why guys buy them after all. But in order to do this, I had to ask a couple guys I work with where to find a playboy magazine. Hoping they would suggest a place that had self checkouts, I was very disappointed to hear that not only would I have to go to a convenience store, but I would likely have to ask the dude at the counter for it. They also said that playboy was a good choice - for the articles of course - but added that in Penthouse or Hustler the pictures were better and they had less articles taking up space than Playboy. Ok. Good to know. Wait. But don't you buy them FOR the articles?? Nevermind.
So at 11am, when I suspect the convenience store business is slow, I ventured off to a 7-11 far from my home and workplace. I went to the magazine aisle and found a Men's Health, a Maxium, and a Playboy. But remembering that the guys said 'Penthouse' or 'Hustler' I searched and searched. Nope. Damn. I'm going to have to ASK for that one. Ok, I can do this. Yup.just after all the innocent customers here for bubble gum and newspapers clear out...after 15 minutes hiding in the chocolate bar aisle, the place finally cleared out! I saw my chance and I took it. I casually threw my men's magazines and Reese cups on the counter.
Calm. Cool. Collected.
He was ringing in my playboy when I blurt out, 'do you got any penthouse or hustler back there?' (yes - I said 'do you got.')
The clerk looked up at me very seriously. "No ma'am," he replies. "7-11 and MAC's, we do not carry REAL porn."
A bit stunned at the response, having expected it to all be over in the next three minutes, I hear myself say "Oh, uh.do you uh know where can I get some?"
Now he just looks sorry for me. "Ma'am, I really don't know. You could try the grocery store three blocks down. My parents used to own a store and they carried the real good magazines, but no more. I don't know where to go. Maybe ask them at the grocery store down there." He points.
Oh geez. I pay. I leave. I never look him in the eye.
As I'm driving back to the office I pass the grocery store he mentioned. I hesitate, then think, no, I just can't start walking into random establishments asking for dirty magazines. If I knew they had them, ok, but I'm not just going to roll the dice.
So I drive past. But then I see the 'Toy Box'. The windows are covered in black paper, paint is peeling off the door, but a little "OPEN" sign draws me in. If the Toy Box doesn't have 'REAL' porn then no place will. I enter. I scan quickly, I see no one, I spot a magazine rack to my right. JACKPOT! I quickly go over, the sooner I get out the better. I reach down to grab the first glossy Penthouse I see.
The moment my fingers touch the plastic packaging I hear, "My, my, I see you know EXACTLY what you are looking for and EXACTLY where to find it!"
OMG.
Note to self: next time in sex shop spend first 3 minutes looking confused and disoriented.
I slowly turn to see a sweaty, creepy dude right behind me.
Note to self: next time enter sex shop, bring bear spray.
Turns out creepy guy was the sales guy. He told me he was in the back doing some 'housekeeping' when I had come in, but the beads of sweat indicated perhaps something other than light dusting. I didn't care, I just wanted out. I wanted to pay. I wanted to go. I wanted my mommy.
Note to self: never enter sex shop again. What 7-11 doesn't sell, I don't need!
FYI - Female or Male - if you end up in the hospital and a package arrives from me - trust me - it's flowers.
happy friday!
tanya
For a female, easy - you bring flowers. She looks at the splash of colour, thinks of you thinking of her, and smiles. Mission accomplished.
But men don't stare at flowers and think 'oh, pretty!' But they do seem to like staring at naked chicks... So I thought, what better then a playboy magazine to brighten his day! He can stare at the pictures and think 'oh, pretty!' or whatever guys think when they look at the naked lady pictures, and when he's bored of staring he can read the articles. They must be good - that is why guys buy them after all. But in order to do this, I had to ask a couple guys I work with where to find a playboy magazine. Hoping they would suggest a place that had self checkouts, I was very disappointed to hear that not only would I have to go to a convenience store, but I would likely have to ask the dude at the counter for it. They also said that playboy was a good choice - for the articles of course - but added that in Penthouse or Hustler the pictures were better and they had less articles taking up space than Playboy. Ok. Good to know. Wait. But don't you buy them FOR the articles?? Nevermind.
So at 11am, when I suspect the convenience store business is slow, I ventured off to a 7-11 far from my home and workplace. I went to the magazine aisle and found a Men's Health, a Maxium, and a Playboy. But remembering that the guys said 'Penthouse' or 'Hustler' I searched and searched. Nope. Damn. I'm going to have to ASK for that one. Ok, I can do this. Yup.just after all the innocent customers here for bubble gum and newspapers clear out...after 15 minutes hiding in the chocolate bar aisle, the place finally cleared out! I saw my chance and I took it. I casually threw my men's magazines and Reese cups on the counter.
Calm. Cool. Collected.
He was ringing in my playboy when I blurt out, 'do you got any penthouse or hustler back there?' (yes - I said 'do you got.')
The clerk looked up at me very seriously. "No ma'am," he replies. "7-11 and MAC's, we do not carry REAL porn."
A bit stunned at the response, having expected it to all be over in the next three minutes, I hear myself say "Oh, uh.do you uh know where can I get some?"
Now he just looks sorry for me. "Ma'am, I really don't know. You could try the grocery store three blocks down. My parents used to own a store and they carried the real good magazines, but no more. I don't know where to go. Maybe ask them at the grocery store down there." He points.
Oh geez. I pay. I leave. I never look him in the eye.
As I'm driving back to the office I pass the grocery store he mentioned. I hesitate, then think, no, I just can't start walking into random establishments asking for dirty magazines. If I knew they had them, ok, but I'm not just going to roll the dice.
So I drive past. But then I see the 'Toy Box'. The windows are covered in black paper, paint is peeling off the door, but a little "OPEN" sign draws me in. If the Toy Box doesn't have 'REAL' porn then no place will. I enter. I scan quickly, I see no one, I spot a magazine rack to my right. JACKPOT! I quickly go over, the sooner I get out the better. I reach down to grab the first glossy Penthouse I see.
The moment my fingers touch the plastic packaging I hear, "My, my, I see you know EXACTLY what you are looking for and EXACTLY where to find it!"
OMG.
Note to self: next time in sex shop spend first 3 minutes looking confused and disoriented.
I slowly turn to see a sweaty, creepy dude right behind me.
Note to self: next time enter sex shop, bring bear spray.
Turns out creepy guy was the sales guy. He told me he was in the back doing some 'housekeeping' when I had come in, but the beads of sweat indicated perhaps something other than light dusting. I didn't care, I just wanted out. I wanted to pay. I wanted to go. I wanted my mommy.
Note to self: never enter sex shop again. What 7-11 doesn't sell, I don't need!
FYI - Female or Male - if you end up in the hospital and a package arrives from me - trust me - it's flowers.
happy friday!
tanya
My Best Side
Do you know what is on the top of my head?
White hair.
Not grey. Not light. WHITE.
I thought about pulling them out this morning, but then I'd have this bald spot and I'm not sure which is worse.
There are more than a few more than 6 and they are right up there front and centre. I mean, why wouldn't they go somewhere more hidden - somewhere I wouldn't have to stare at them everytime I pass by a mirror, window, drinking glass.
Preferably on someone else's head.
You know though, even with the white hair, I still do get comments about how young I look from time to time. I thought it was nice. Flattering even. Until I realized what was really happening.....
I walked into the casino and this 'bouncer' came running over, "Miss, can I see your ID," he asked me as he reached out and grabbed my arm.
I turned to face him and said, "Sure."
But before I could reach down for my purse he said, "Oh no, that's ok, you're old enough."
"WHAT?!? How do you know?!??!"
Ya, like I said, all the white ones right up front......
Sigh.....
It's sad the day you realize that your back side has become your best side....
happy friday!
tanya
White hair.
Not grey. Not light. WHITE.
I thought about pulling them out this morning, but then I'd have this bald spot and I'm not sure which is worse.
There are more than a few more than 6 and they are right up there front and centre. I mean, why wouldn't they go somewhere more hidden - somewhere I wouldn't have to stare at them everytime I pass by a mirror, window, drinking glass.
Preferably on someone else's head.
You know though, even with the white hair, I still do get comments about how young I look from time to time. I thought it was nice. Flattering even. Until I realized what was really happening.....
I walked into the casino and this 'bouncer' came running over, "Miss, can I see your ID," he asked me as he reached out and grabbed my arm.
I turned to face him and said, "Sure."
But before I could reach down for my purse he said, "Oh no, that's ok, you're old enough."
"WHAT?!? How do you know?!??!"
Ya, like I said, all the white ones right up front......
Sigh.....
It's sad the day you realize that your back side has become your best side....
happy friday!
tanya
Sushi
I don’t mind sushi. Sure, I don’t love the stuff - I’m a farm girl after all, not a mermaid. I’d take a big juicy steak over raw fish wrapped in seaweed any day of the week...
Hey – do you know what I can’t stand? People who claim to be vegetarians but eat seafood. So, you won’t eat a cow cause it’s alive and it can moo so it can feel pain, but you’ll eat a poor little shrimp or a wall-eye? WTF?! Fish have feelings too. Just cause you can’t hear their tiny high-pitched wails underwater and their tears get jumbled up in the ocean before you can decipher them doesn’t mean they aren’t crying.
These people, they call themselves ‘pesce-vegetarians’ and they think by having vegetarian in their label they are somehow more virtuous or moral than us more carnivorous-vegetarians. But I ask, what is the difference between someone who has no qualms chomping on Nemo or Kermit the Frog’s legs, and me who would happily chow down the Easter Bunny or Bambi’s mom?
Ya – Bambi’s mom. I am no longer allowed in the ‘Canadian Wildlife’ exhibit at the Calgary Zoo….my tummy rumbled so loud the zoo-keepers thought it best to protect their moose, elk, deer….Mmmm……deer steak......sorry, what? oh ya….
Who are these people anyway – these fish-a-tarians? Think about all the flies and worms that these non-committal, wanna-be-do-gooder, pesky-people - oops…I mean ‘pesce-people’ - are sacrificing just to catch their dinners. Flies and worms have feelings too people!
If you ask me, these fish-a-tarians are prejudice. Only eating ugly things does not make it ok. Let's face it more people sell puppy calendars than tadpole calendars, but I don’t think that’s a reason to deem them ‘ok to eat’.
See, I don’t judge. Cute things are just as edible as ugly ones.
We live on the top of the food chain – we get to taste EVERYTHING! It’s a locational-perk!
I made a friend in university. Nice enough guy and I liked him probably from the first time I met him, but the day he made the transition from ‘acquaintance’ to ‘friend’ was the day he called me and invited me for dinner cause he was “making vegetarian lasagna”.
Yes, vegetarian….and yes, I showed up. I’m not proud of it given my beliefs, but hell, I was in university – pride didn’t stand a chance against free food!
Anyhow, when he set a plate of vegetarian lasagna in front of me I was ecstatically-surprised to see ground beef falling out all four sides! “Kevin!” I exclaimed, “I thought you said you made vegetarian lasagna!”
“I did.” He said, wondering what the problem was. “I made vegetarian lasagna cause it was healthy, then I added meat so it tasted good.”
Yup. I knew right there…friends for life.
Yes, so anyway, the reason for this email was the sushi – I am wracking my brain to figure out if the world is on a mission to convince me to love sushi or if heaven has me tagged for death-by-salmonella – for the second time in little over a month a restaurant has served me raw meat – different restaurants, different foods. First a raw hamburger at one restaurant; today, raw salmon at another. Well, I’m onto you, Grim Reaper – you won’t get me that easily! I’ll be checkin my chicken!
….and my pig, cow, deer, shrimp, mussels, turkey, deer, halibut…..
happy friday,
tanya
Hey – do you know what I can’t stand? People who claim to be vegetarians but eat seafood. So, you won’t eat a cow cause it’s alive and it can moo so it can feel pain, but you’ll eat a poor little shrimp or a wall-eye? WTF?! Fish have feelings too. Just cause you can’t hear their tiny high-pitched wails underwater and their tears get jumbled up in the ocean before you can decipher them doesn’t mean they aren’t crying.
These people, they call themselves ‘pesce-vegetarians’ and they think by having vegetarian in their label they are somehow more virtuous or moral than us more carnivorous-vegetarians. But I ask, what is the difference between someone who has no qualms chomping on Nemo or Kermit the Frog’s legs, and me who would happily chow down the Easter Bunny or Bambi’s mom?
Ya – Bambi’s mom. I am no longer allowed in the ‘Canadian Wildlife’ exhibit at the Calgary Zoo….my tummy rumbled so loud the zoo-keepers thought it best to protect their moose, elk, deer….Mmmm……deer steak......sorry, what? oh ya….
Who are these people anyway – these fish-a-tarians? Think about all the flies and worms that these non-committal, wanna-be-do-gooder, pesky-people - oops…I mean ‘pesce-people’ - are sacrificing just to catch their dinners. Flies and worms have feelings too people!
If you ask me, these fish-a-tarians are prejudice. Only eating ugly things does not make it ok. Let's face it more people sell puppy calendars than tadpole calendars, but I don’t think that’s a reason to deem them ‘ok to eat’.
See, I don’t judge. Cute things are just as edible as ugly ones.
We live on the top of the food chain – we get to taste EVERYTHING! It’s a locational-perk!
I made a friend in university. Nice enough guy and I liked him probably from the first time I met him, but the day he made the transition from ‘acquaintance’ to ‘friend’ was the day he called me and invited me for dinner cause he was “making vegetarian lasagna”.
Yes, vegetarian….and yes, I showed up. I’m not proud of it given my beliefs, but hell, I was in university – pride didn’t stand a chance against free food!
Anyhow, when he set a plate of vegetarian lasagna in front of me I was ecstatically-surprised to see ground beef falling out all four sides! “Kevin!” I exclaimed, “I thought you said you made vegetarian lasagna!”
“I did.” He said, wondering what the problem was. “I made vegetarian lasagna cause it was healthy, then I added meat so it tasted good.”
Yup. I knew right there…friends for life.
Yes, so anyway, the reason for this email was the sushi – I am wracking my brain to figure out if the world is on a mission to convince me to love sushi or if heaven has me tagged for death-by-salmonella – for the second time in little over a month a restaurant has served me raw meat – different restaurants, different foods. First a raw hamburger at one restaurant; today, raw salmon at another. Well, I’m onto you, Grim Reaper – you won’t get me that easily! I’ll be checkin my chicken!
….and my pig, cow, deer, shrimp, mussels, turkey, deer, halibut…..
happy friday,
tanya
Monday, April 18, 2011
What Wedding?!
Did you know that everyone in the UK gets the day off for the royal wedding?
EVERYone.
Regardless of if you RSVP’d to the wedding or not.
WTF, I ask you?
WTF?? Or rather should I say WAC??
What About Canada?
Is this not also OUR royal wedding?? Are we no longer a part of this commonwealth?!? When the queen speaks are we not expected to listen?!
...wait, what is that on the back of every single Canadian loonie?? It's on every single toonie too?! Oh ya…..
Every time I buy a stick of gum, or flip a coin to start a ball game and it comes up ‘heads’, I am reminded that their queen is my queen. Their prince is my prince. Their Kate Middleton is my Kate Middleton. Yet no one’s called me to tell me I have the day off when they exchange rings.
I keep hoping every time I turn on the news that the queen’s face will appear on the screen as the announcer utters, “The Queen would like to send out a royal apology to Canada for forgetting they exist, and call for an official federal holiday in the country to commemorate the wedding of her grandson in recognition of the ties that the royal family has to the country. In fact to show her sincere regret over the mishap, she has asked Canada to take Monday off as well.”
But the wedding is coming closer and my hopes of this are puttering out. I feel a bit like the smallest child who gets left behind at the gas station on family vacation.
I am going to personally call the queen regarding this issue.
HELLO??? Queen??? It’s me. Tanya. From Canada. Remember? Canada. That big land mass that you stop by when you are craving a really good steak. Ya. Not sure if anyone’s told you, but you’re our queen too – you’re on the freakin money!! We put you on the freakin money! The least you could do is give us the day off with the rest of your ‘people’.
If she doesn’t take my call, I will never again call ‘HEADS’ in a coin toss.
Never.
I’ll show her.
happy friday!
tanya
EVERYone.
Regardless of if you RSVP’d to the wedding or not.
WTF, I ask you?
WTF?? Or rather should I say WAC??
What About Canada?
Is this not also OUR royal wedding?? Are we no longer a part of this commonwealth?!? When the queen speaks are we not expected to listen?!
...wait, what is that on the back of every single Canadian loonie?? It's on every single toonie too?! Oh ya…..
Every time I buy a stick of gum, or flip a coin to start a ball game and it comes up ‘heads’, I am reminded that their queen is my queen. Their prince is my prince. Their Kate Middleton is my Kate Middleton. Yet no one’s called me to tell me I have the day off when they exchange rings.
I keep hoping every time I turn on the news that the queen’s face will appear on the screen as the announcer utters, “The Queen would like to send out a royal apology to Canada for forgetting they exist, and call for an official federal holiday in the country to commemorate the wedding of her grandson in recognition of the ties that the royal family has to the country. In fact to show her sincere regret over the mishap, she has asked Canada to take Monday off as well.”
But the wedding is coming closer and my hopes of this are puttering out. I feel a bit like the smallest child who gets left behind at the gas station on family vacation.
I am going to personally call the queen regarding this issue.
HELLO??? Queen??? It’s me. Tanya. From Canada. Remember? Canada. That big land mass that you stop by when you are craving a really good steak. Ya. Not sure if anyone’s told you, but you’re our queen too – you’re on the freakin money!! We put you on the freakin money! The least you could do is give us the day off with the rest of your ‘people’.
If she doesn’t take my call, I will never again call ‘HEADS’ in a coin toss.
Never.
I’ll show her.
happy friday!
tanya
Sunday, March 6, 2011
What Happened to Rock & Roll??
I went to a concert on Tuesday night. I LOVE live music. Love, love, love live music!
And it’s because of this love that I’ve been to a number of concerts in my life. The problem is – I’m short. And the problem with being short at a live show is missing 90% of it because stupid tall people would stand in front of me. So I got good at “fists up”. I’d fight my way through the crowd, any crowd. And I’d take along whoever could survive it, but it wasn’t a feat for the faint of heart. Most people made it halfway up and then couldn’t take it - they'd turn back. Well, see ya later then. If I'd notice, I'd hardly care.
I’d get pushed and pulled and blocked and elbowed – by the time I got to the front I’d have a black eye, two broken toes, thirteen beers spilt on me and have lost at least one article of clothing, be it a hat or a shoe or whatnot – but I didn’t care – I WAS AT THE FRONT!!! Two feet in front of me – guitar strummin’, drum bangin’ talent. Raw, alive, real.
And in between me and that talent….Security. More bouncers than tattoos at a biker bar. And tough too – they had to be.
So, this is what I expected when I went to a concert on Tuesday night. But do you know instead what I found between me and that talent??
Twelve hundred teens and twenty-somethings……..texting. WTF?!?
Texting their facebooks and tweetering their twitters to tell their friends how awesome it was.
I felt the need to yell, "How the hell do you know it’s awesome kid?? You’re missing the whole thing!"
I didn’t see one security guy. Not one. And yet, no one got trampled, no one jumped on the stage screaming and tearing at the lead singers clothes, no one flashed their tat-tats. No one.
Kids sat civilly in their seats. Yes…you read that right – they had SEATS. It was the oddest thing I’d ever seen.
In my day, people with talent were supposed to stand on the stage and make us feel like we were witnessing something freakin amazing and we were there to make them feel like Rock Stars! That was the deal. It was a good deal.
And we still feel like that when we go to concerts. I went to a Glass Tiger concert only a few years ago. Now Alan Frew – hmmm, if you aren’t familiar with Alan Frew well, he wasn’t exactly a George-Clooney-look-alike back in the day, never mind now – anyhow, he came on stage – I think he was 60 or 80, but still dressed like it was 1986 (but a few sizes larger…yup – leather pants – yum). Anyhow – it was in a little hall in Regina. There were about a hundred people.
THEY had security.
And they needed security, cause about ten minutes into the show, people were flinging their panties and trying to rush the stage! Naturally….
I'll never forget that night. Just as we, that night, never forgot the passion.
So kids, if I could, a little advice – turn your stupid cell phones off and start flinging your gotch at the people on the stage in front of you. You’ll never forget the moment when your best friends underwear go flying past your head while you’re rockin’ out to “Don’t forget me while I’m gone…I have loved you for so long…”
Never.
happy friday!
tanya
And it’s because of this love that I’ve been to a number of concerts in my life. The problem is – I’m short. And the problem with being short at a live show is missing 90% of it because stupid tall people would stand in front of me. So I got good at “fists up”. I’d fight my way through the crowd, any crowd. And I’d take along whoever could survive it, but it wasn’t a feat for the faint of heart. Most people made it halfway up and then couldn’t take it - they'd turn back. Well, see ya later then. If I'd notice, I'd hardly care.
I’d get pushed and pulled and blocked and elbowed – by the time I got to the front I’d have a black eye, two broken toes, thirteen beers spilt on me and have lost at least one article of clothing, be it a hat or a shoe or whatnot – but I didn’t care – I WAS AT THE FRONT!!! Two feet in front of me – guitar strummin’, drum bangin’ talent. Raw, alive, real.
And in between me and that talent….Security. More bouncers than tattoos at a biker bar. And tough too – they had to be.
So, this is what I expected when I went to a concert on Tuesday night. But do you know instead what I found between me and that talent??
Twelve hundred teens and twenty-somethings……..texting. WTF?!?
Texting their facebooks and tweetering their twitters to tell their friends how awesome it was.
I felt the need to yell, "How the hell do you know it’s awesome kid?? You’re missing the whole thing!"
I didn’t see one security guy. Not one. And yet, no one got trampled, no one jumped on the stage screaming and tearing at the lead singers clothes, no one flashed their tat-tats. No one.
Kids sat civilly in their seats. Yes…you read that right – they had SEATS. It was the oddest thing I’d ever seen.
In my day, people with talent were supposed to stand on the stage and make us feel like we were witnessing something freakin amazing and we were there to make them feel like Rock Stars! That was the deal. It was a good deal.
And we still feel like that when we go to concerts. I went to a Glass Tiger concert only a few years ago. Now Alan Frew – hmmm, if you aren’t familiar with Alan Frew well, he wasn’t exactly a George-Clooney-look-alike back in the day, never mind now – anyhow, he came on stage – I think he was 60 or 80, but still dressed like it was 1986 (but a few sizes larger…yup – leather pants – yum). Anyhow – it was in a little hall in Regina. There were about a hundred people.
THEY had security.
And they needed security, cause about ten minutes into the show, people were flinging their panties and trying to rush the stage! Naturally….
I'll never forget that night. Just as we, that night, never forgot the passion.
So kids, if I could, a little advice – turn your stupid cell phones off and start flinging your gotch at the people on the stage in front of you. You’ll never forget the moment when your best friends underwear go flying past your head while you’re rockin’ out to “Don’t forget me while I’m gone…I have loved you for so long…”
Never.
happy friday!
tanya
Friday, February 18, 2011
Willy Worm's Family Tree
So most of you are familiar with my issue with worms and the fact that if you cut one in half, and both ends live, they may later meet, fall in love, and mate. It’s a weird predicament, like the worst family tree ever –
Who’s your mom?
Me
Who’s your dad?
Me
Who are you?
Me
And then what if you cut that worm in half and it found it’s other half attractive and it had its own worm-babies again and then it’s grandparents and parents (and then if you cut it half again and it had babies, then it’s kids too) would all be itself.
And you wonder why worms are ugly. At least that’s what I wonder, but is it true?
Well, all the wondering will soon come to an end – I have someone who enlisted their child to do a science project on this.
I was very happy, but it made me realize that I missed my calling.
My calling was actually to be a junior high school science teacher. Imagine all the theories that I could have tested…my very own think tank!!
“Here’s a worm kids and a pair of scissors – go to work!”
sigh...my very own sweat shop!
happy friday!
tanya
PS. just so you are not left hanging - the research was done (not by 9th grade scientists) and in conclusion the same worm could not reproduce with itself in the above situation. In simple terms - if both ends did survive, the butt end couldn't grow a new head and therefore never figure out how to reproduce.
Also - 90% of the butt ends of worms die when split. They may wiggle away, akin to a chicken with it's head chopped off, but they will just shrivel up as soon as you stop looking. Please do not cut worms in half.
Who’s your mom?
Me
Who’s your dad?
Me
Who are you?
Me
And then what if you cut that worm in half and it found it’s other half attractive and it had its own worm-babies again and then it’s grandparents and parents (and then if you cut it half again and it had babies, then it’s kids too) would all be itself.
And you wonder why worms are ugly. At least that’s what I wonder, but is it true?
Well, all the wondering will soon come to an end – I have someone who enlisted their child to do a science project on this.
I was very happy, but it made me realize that I missed my calling.
My calling was actually to be a junior high school science teacher. Imagine all the theories that I could have tested…my very own think tank!!
“Here’s a worm kids and a pair of scissors – go to work!”
sigh...my very own sweat shop!
happy friday!
tanya
PS. just so you are not left hanging - the research was done (not by 9th grade scientists) and in conclusion the same worm could not reproduce with itself in the above situation. In simple terms - if both ends did survive, the butt end couldn't grow a new head and therefore never figure out how to reproduce.
Also - 90% of the butt ends of worms die when split. They may wiggle away, akin to a chicken with it's head chopped off, but they will just shrivel up as soon as you stop looking. Please do not cut worms in half.
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