Heh heh, oops.
So maybe I was a little hasty with my former blog. Maybe I didn't have a technical malfunction. Maybe a couple of cords got really tangled and I was plugging the camera cord into the camera, and then my ipod cord into the computer.

Damn.

I hate when I spark off about something and end up being wrong.

So here's the pic of the chair. I leave you with the following details:

One sister goes upstairs.
One sister stays down.
There is a crash! A squeal! No reply to "Are you okay?"
And then faintly through laughter a small voice is heard. "Help."
One sister has to pry the other out of said chair by tipping it sideways and dumping her out.
There is much laughter.
Jenge thinks she will recover with only a few bruises.
The chair cannot be saved.

F$%KING Technology!
You're supposed to be looking at a picture I just took right now. You're supposed to be reading along to a VERY FUNNY story involving Me, Jenge and a chair that continues to break, yet we continue to use (I know, you're DYIN' for details). I even took a picture to illustrate.

Unfortunately, my camera is currently not speaking to my computer. Something about one of them said the other one was a luddite and then the other got really mad and now refuses to work.

Damn technology!

A Trip to the Medium
Maybe I think too much. Here's the deal... I found out the name of a Calgarian medium and Jenge and I decided to go. After Jenge and I went, Chantal, Sandi, Corinne, Donna and Ann went, along with some of Jenge's co-workers.

After hearing everyone's stories of their visits, I've found the following:
1. Two different people got told shoe stories
2. Two different people got told about tomatoes
3. Two different people got told they had healing energies for animals
4. Two different people got told about roses
5. Two different people got told about sweet peas
6. Two different people got told that their back hurts because of their shoes

The interesting thing is, it's never the same two people. Am I just being overly analytical or does this seem strange? Is my brain working too hard on this? I mean, the medium told us lots of other stuff that was very specific to each individual and didn't overlap, but I seem to be stuck on the overlapping stuff.

Am I being too thinky thinky on this?

Winter. . .again.

I was out walking the dogs the other day and taking some pictures so I could scrapbook winter. Winter is very pretty. Snow covered trees look pristine, everything looks fresh and crisp with a blanket of snow.

I don't mind the snow and the cold, unless it's windy in which case, I can't stand it. And traffic sucks too. But on the weekends, I like looking out the window and seeing a white, snow covered, frosty world.

Not everybody dislikes Winter!

Portia loves the snow. She goes outside on the patio and lies down with her belly snuggled against all that coldness. She'd stay out there all day if Rocky didn't come inside. She hates to be outside alone, so as soon as Rocky comes in she cries at the door. But while she's out there, she loves it!

A bad case of Ennui

Oh, the ennui of it all! I'm barely able to keep up with all my appointments (wake my mother up by slapping her across the face with a paw, breakfast, napping, turn over, napping, move with the sun, napping, dinner, napping etc etc). Thank GOD my mother booked me in a doggie spa this weekend, I really need to get away from it all. . .

Bizarre!
I saw on the news and read this morning (Scientific American: More than 40 dolphins die in Mozambique beaching) about these dolphins that had beached themselves. It's so bizarre. What causes them to do this? Do they know something we don't? Is it a message? A portent? Or does something just go beserk in their brains and they get a case of mass hysteria/mob mentality? I don't know why I am so fascinated by this, but I am. I can't stop thinking about those dolphins.

Classifying the Unclassifiable

So Ashleigh and I were talking about our books and then she mentioned getting a book on all the genres out there so we would know what they are. This led us to a brief discussion about how to classify our books.
The problem is, there isn't a really good classification out there for them. I was thinking about the authors that I truly enjoy and even they aren't classified correctly. Just because it has vampires does not make it horror, and just because there's a romance, doesn't make it a romance novel. The term 'dark fantasy' was popped out there, but that just sounds sort of kinky and conjurs up 14-year old boys secluded in their parents basement playing a wacked out version of Dungeons and Dragons.

I thought maybe a new title for our stuff would be approprite. Nouveau Horror would be more up to speed, but then after thinking some more, I decided that my stuff isn't even really horror. So, I have come up with:

Supernatural Fiction

I think it accurately describes a bunch of stuff out there that is currently getting shuffled around by my local Chapters into too many categories. I have several favourite authors whose books are under 2 or 3 different genres (fiction, horror and romance - but truly, none of those fit). I also think it accurately classifies my book, without pigeonholing me too much. So, I'm putting it out there to you, the people. Whaddya think?

Is it a pipe dream?

Those of you who know me know that I have been working on a book for quite some time. I've been writing since I was 17 and I started working on My Book in about 1996 (no joke). It's gone through several transformations: character changes, plot changes etc etc, but the heart of it has remained the same, kept constant by my heroine.

Of late, I've been swapping 10 pages a week with Ashleigh, who herself is writing a book. We gleefully exchange pages and ideas; each week nervous about how the other person will take it. You'd think after already giving her 13 chapters, I wouldn't be nervous anymore, but every week I hit the 'send' button and wait anxiously for Ashleigh's seal of approval.

But this week I'm plagued with doubt and anxiety. With thousands of people out there wanting to be published authors, do I stand a chance? I waffle back and forth between "With all the crap out there, how can they not publish my stuff. My stuff is GOOD!" and "With all the crap out there, why would they publish my stuff? How will I ever get a break?"

But I guess all I can do is keep writing, finish the book and see what happens. But darnnit! I want to get published! I want to make gads off money doing something I really enjoy!

Hello, 911? I think someone murdered a Wookie in my bathroom!

Yuck! Ew! Ugh!

Listen, I've got a lot of hair and I shed as much as Portia does. What does this mean? It means that every once in a while I notice that the shower water is starting to creep up my feet as the drain slows down. And then I procrastinate. I hope against the natural laws of physics that all the hair clogged in my drain will go away on its own. I won't have to do anything. It will magically disappear. Like matching socks in the washing machine, it will go the way of the dodo and I won't have to lift a finger!

Except, I will have to lift a finger and drano, liquid plummer and Zap aren't gonna cut it. Nope. I'm gonna have to unscrew the drain and clean it out. Shudder.

Such was the case this weekend. I was dying my hair and had to rinse until the water ran clean. Problem was, I couldn't tell when the water was running clean since the drain was running slow. I was ankle deep in blood red water. Looked like a bad outtake from 'Psycho'. So, I rinsed as well as I could and then got dressed and busted out the screwdriver.

Honestly, you'd think I was bald with the amount trapped in that thing! Why is long hair attached to a scalp so attractive yet the second that follicle is separated from your head it becomes one of the grossest things on earth? I'll run my hands through my hair dozens of times a day and relish in the cool, smooth, softness of it. But get me to clean out a drain of the stuff and I think I might puke. And it's all mine, I'm the only one that uses my shower. But I couldn't help but wonder if someone had killed a wookie and disposed of it in the bathroom . . .

Knitworthy Moment: My First Sweater!
Hey gang! So I took up knitting last December and have dabbled in a few things, but this is my first person sweater (having previously made a dog sweater for Portia). One of the sleeves is a bit tight, but they are both the same length (which I'm told is fabulous for a first time sweater knitter). It has a hood (which is not really visible on the photo), a front pocket, and a generous heaping of dog fur knit into it (as everything I own has been loved by Portia).

It's made out of alpaca wool, is deliciously soft and warm and was completed just in time for fall!

Scrapworthy Moment: my first tin!

For those of you in the know, I am WAY behind the trend of scrapping a lunch pail tin. So far behind the trend, in fact, that it may be considered 'retro'! But here it is, my first attempt. I made a couple of boo-boos which I then tried to fix by 'distressing,' the tried and true method of all scrapping fixes.
Now I just need to figure out what to put in it...

Tattoo You!

Ola compadres! Well, this weekend saw the Squirrelly Girly at her not-so-local tattoo parlour getting inked! Rick, the artist at Strange World Tattoo in Crowchild Square did a faboo job of bringing my 'vision' of the infinity symbol to life (yes, I'm THAT geeky). As an homage to my love for math, a nod to my fantasy-sci fi side and an acknowledgement of my personality, I decided to get a dragon eating its own tail, curled over in the shape of an infinity symbol. The dragon eating its tail is based on the ancient symbol, the ouribos, which depics a snake eating its own tail, as a symbol of repeating past mistakes. Got it done in my favourite color, pink, natch! It's on my lower back and I'm quite happy with how it turned out!

I'd like to give a shout out to my mum, who after much (scary!) internal debate, I decided to tell about my tattoo. I braced myself for recrminations and possibly a lecture, but all mum did was chuckle and say, 'Okay!' Although she did mention all the years she kept my lowerback/bum clean and powdered only for it to be covered with a tattoo years later. Thanks for keeping the canvas in shape, mum!

Press Release from Rocky - "I'm Okay!"

In a dramatic press release today, the normally reclusive Rocky relased a statement that despite the fact that he hasn't been seen on the blogospher in a while, he is okay.

Rocky, or 'The Sock' as he is known to his peeps, had this to say:

"I know I've been out of the blog for a while and I just wanted to say that I'm okay. As you may know, I hate people. I hate all people with the exception of my mummy, Mummy Jennifer, and her best friend Natalie. I'm fine. I bark all the time to let you know that I hate you all, but you won't seem to listen. Leave me alone. Unless you want to give me a treat."

After his statement, Rocky barked for a full ten minutes and then stalked off in a huff. When asked how she felt about his statement, his pack mate, Portia, had this to say:

"Do you have any meat?"

Rocky's people then called an end to the press conference. We'll keep you posted as developments emerge.

Ever wonder what your pet does all day while you're hard at work making sure they have enough to eat and stay toasty warm?

There you go.

Kinda makes you wish you didn't know, doesn't it?

Playtime
When I go to Jenny Craig every week, I generally have to wait for Jenge to finish her appointment first. Since JC usually runs behind, I'm sitting there anywhere from 15 min to 45min. There are never any new magazines, just the same tired ones that a) I already own myself or b) have been there for weeks on end.

But there is a toy chest for people who bring their kids.

Why are there no toy chests for adults?

I found myself thinking about this as I waited for my appointment this week. A few weeks ago I blogged about how now that I'm an adult, I can't have an imaginary tea party or play dress up anymore. Apparently, I'm no longer allowed to play with toys either, unless they are 'sanctioned toys for adults.' (NOTE: I DID NOT say 'Adult Toys' as that conjures up an entirely different kind of thing and this is not that kind of blog!)

So what are the sanctioned toys? Cell phones, pagers, car alarms, car stereos, mp3 players, PDA's, palm pilots, and any sort of established collectable (model planes, model trains, model cars, stamps etc). Veer out of this acceptable range and you get laughed at, mocked, scorned, etcetera.

I want a chest of toys to play with. I want a coloring book. I want fun stuff and shiny stuff and colorful stuff instead of a tired, ratty issue of 'Business Today' (which frankly is 'Business Four Weeks Ago' since the issue is so old!)

Why can't we redifine adulthood so it doesn't have to be so LAME??!!?? I feel like I got ripped off. Like when I was a kid, I would play with my Barbie and she had fabulous clothes and shoes and really glamourous hair and you would think to yourself 'when I get big, I'm gonna get all those things.' And then you got big and it didn't happen because you just don't have that many opportunities to wear a ball gown and a tiara in this day and age. So why shouldn't I be allowed to go back to having my Barbie parties? I know that some adults still collect Barbies, but note I didn't say I wanted to collect them (AKA leave them in the box until they make oodles of money and then sell them later), I want to play with them. Take them out of the box, loose one teeny barbie shoe and complain about it for weeks, buy barbie dresses and change her clothes and have her drive a convertable.

I want a toy chest for adults at the next waiting room I'm in!

Trainspotting
Normally, I'm a driver. I drive anywhere I want to go. Walk? don't think so. Bike? Tires are flat right now. Run? Hi, have we met?

But today I had to go downtown and I didn't know where I was going to park, so I thought, oh, I'll take the C-Train.

First of all, the city of Calgary train system is so unprepared for the number of passengers they have. I live in Eversyde, within spitting distance of three train stops. Did I go to any of those? Nope, you gotta be there at 6.45am if you want a parking spot. So I drive five stops up and go to Anderson, which used to be the end of the line and has MONSTER sized parking. I got a spot, about a mile from the station (okay, okay, I'm exaggerating, but you get the idea). Then I stuff myself on the train with a gazillion other disgruntled downtown workers and we're off.

Half way through the train ride, my arm, which is carrying my books is starting to twitch because the muscles are tired and sore. Do I switch arms? No, because I DON'T HAVE ROOM! It's too crowded.

Then I walk the 6 blocks to where I was going.

I decide to leave at 3 so I will 'beat the rush.' HA! After just missing a southbound train, I wait 20 minutes (!) for the next one, at which point, I stuff myself back on the train for another ride. Despite the natural laws of physics, more and more people keep getting on the train which should be bulging at the sides at this point. And then, the high school kids. It's so stuffed in there, and I'm standing so akwardly to keep from falling over that, (no joke) 7 of my toes fall asleep. And all I can think is, "Oh no! I'll lose my balance! I can't feel my feet (except the parts that hurt from standing). God it's hot in here. What is that smell? Yuck! Someone is touching me, SOMEONE IS TOUCHING ME! SOMEONE'S HAIR IS TOUCHING ME!!"

What can I say? I'm squirrelly.

Then I had to trudge back to my car. I had to push the automatic starter and then perk my ears like a dog to 'listen' until I found it. Poor baby. Sandwhiched with a gagillion strange cars all day. And then I had to drive the rest of the way home.

Is this the best that modern civilization can muster? Sad.

Insert clever title here

I thought to myself the other day, 'I'm gonna find a current issue and blog about it! I'm gonna read cbc.ca and msn.ca and all the other .ca's and find something I can really sink my literary teeth into.'

One of two things happened:
1. The world is boring as $#!T and I couldn't find anything I thought was remotely worth blogging about.
2. I realized I am the most apathetic person in the world as I couldn't find anything I wanted to blog about.

So which one is it? Is it that nothing good is going on? I mean frankly, who gives a crap about the majority of stuff you see on the news? Isn't it all just the same $#!T different year? Insert "WORLD CRIMINAL" here and add on a little war-mongering and toss in some dumb politicians and you've got pretty much any year since the beginning of time.

Or is it that I just don't care enough about world issues? I mean, I'm totally shallow and I know it. I don't give a hoop about alot of what's going on. It's not like I can vote on what the government is doing (unless it's election year). No one is interesting, no one is good looking. That's why Hollywood is better at selling ideals than governments. We'll always listen to attractive, interesting people like movie stars. Boring and ugly people show up and we think - "Why would I listen to you? I may end up like you! boring and ugly" And wouldn't that be a fate worse than death? I think so too.

Seriously. We should all be so lucky.

When you just don't get it.

So my mum told me that people have been killing stingrays to 'avenge' the death of beloved Crocodile Hunter Steve Irwin, himself killed by a stingray.

As my mum said, wasn't this exactly what he spent his whole life championing against? Wasn 't it his mission to save as many animals as possible? To teach us about these creatures in the hopes that we would work to preserve all life?

So I think there are two things people aren't getting here: 1. In trying to pay some kind of weird tribute to this man, you are going against the very things he was trying to teach us.
2. It's not possible to take 'revenge' out on animals. The stingray that killed Steve Irwin is not going to feel really bad now that you've gone out and killed a bunch of its brethern. The stingray does not feel remorse for what it has done. The stingray did not kill Mr. Irwin out of malice or jealously or anger. Animals kill for one reason: to survive. Either by eating what they kill for food, or killing something that was trying to kill it.

So what are these people trying to prove? Do they feel better for killing another member of the stingray family? Most likely a stingray who was minding his/her own business, swimming in the ocean, looking for some lunch? Do these people call up their friends now and say, Crikey mate! I killed a stingray for Steve Irwin! and then their friends ooh and ahh over this? I don't get them, and I don't think they are getting the point.

Read an article on this here