The truth of the matter.

It's POP QUIZ time!

Test your supernatural knowledge here, for exciting prizes!! *


The werewolf is a wily creature, and immune to damage inflicted by ordinary weapons. So how do you kill a werewolf?

a) Force it to watch reality television shows for 48 hours straight

b) Shoot it with a silver bullet or stab it in the heart with a silver
knife

c) Drown it in holy water

d) Drive a wooden stake through its heart






The correct answer?

Do you really need me to tell you?

Yeah.

It's 'A'.
"Force it to watch reality television shows for 48 hours straight."

Silver bullets? That's a laugh.
You'd be lucky if they didn't steal them all and melt them down for cash to buy a good old Scorpions cd.







*I was lying.
There are no exciting prizes.

At least you know how to do in your typical werewolf next time they come over to visit.
But the truth of the matter is...anything with Paris Hilton or Juliette Lewis will be equally up to the task.

Happy HOWL-o-WEEN!!!

I'm currently dressed in jeans, a white tee-shirt, and sneakers.

One of my co-workers laughed, and asked (facetiously, I might add) what I was dressed as.

I replied blithely, "A werewolf."

The blank stares suggested that they just. didn't. get it.

So I curled my lip back to reveal a full set of vicious canines sliding down from my gumline, my hands creaked and curled and stretched into huge fur covered pads....



Rats.

I'm still here.

They're celebrating, AND DAMN IT, SO AM I!!

I don't know what they're so happy about, but today is my ONE YEAR BLOG BIRTHDAY!!!

Who knew I'd be able to keep this up for so long!


You know...these two young women look VERY familiar to me.

I pulled this as a random pic off the 'net, so I'd be really surprised if I did know them.

But they just LOOK SO DARN HAPPY!!!
I suspect it's my blog that brings them joy.

I mean, what else could it be?

(Okay, possibly it's the hat. And the lighter.)

(And maybe the fan in the background.)

I don't recall that being taught during drivers ed.

I'm driving...driving along..driving along..lalalala

OH LOOK, THERE'S SOMEONE PULLING OUT

RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME!!!!!

BRAKE BRAKE BRAKE HOOOOONNKKKKK WHY DID YOU PULL RIGHT OUT IN FRONT OF ME!!???!!


What's that!?!

You're giving ME the finger!!??!!!

So.

This is what I learned today.

I can pull right out in front of someone driving along, and when they screech on the brakes and look shocked and afraid, it's their fault.

And when they honk at me out of stress and fear, I should indicate to them through hand signals, that they can "Fuck right off."

Thanks.
I didn't know that before.

(Like how I put a 'kinder-gentler' spin on the whole thing?
I cleverly disguised this post as a 'thank you' note to the driver who opened my eyes to the new rules of the road.
Subtle, no?)

Oh, how I wish I wrote this.

Highlights from Tom Cruise's inevitable upcoming Today show interview regarding his impending baby with fiancee Katie Holmes:

"I know diapers, Matt. I‘ve powdered tushes, OK? Have you ever powdered a tush, Matt?"

"Please, Matt, Don't try to tell me about Barney. I know Barney, OK? I‘ve worn the Barney suit, Matt, I didn't just sit around talking about it. Did you ever wear a Barney suit, Matt? Or do you just talk about it on TV?"

"Don't talk to me about spit up, Matt. Have you ever even spit up? Because I've spit up, Matt. And for you to insinuate that spit-up is no big deal ... You're very glib, Matt. Very, very glib. And facile. Glib and facile. Matt."

"Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt. Do you even know what's in Gerber Rice with Apple Bits and Cereal Crisps, Matt? Have you ever done a chemical analysis of those bits and crisps? Because that's what I did. I built a lab in my basement and tested those bits and crisps myself. Until you've tested those bits and crisps Matt, I don't think it's responsible for you to be on the Today show talking about Gerber Rice with Apple Bits and Cereal Crisps."

"Now I'm going to jump up and down and sing a little fatherhood song. Don’t talk to me about jumping up and down, Matt. Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt."

You look so unhappy, Ms. Lewis...

I must extend an apology.
It appears that I'm laughing at Ms. Lewis often in my blog.
But that's not true.

I'm actually becoming very concerned for her.

Look at the size of her forehead! Something horrible must have happend.
A terrible accident or...
Oh, wait!

I've got it!

She's lost her Viking horns!

Quick, somebody find them and return them!!
She looks like she might be capable of inflicting some serious damage.

(Nice gloves, though.)

Thanks everyone!

Gil is recovering at home at the moment.

It's expected he'll make a full recovery, but no one really knows how long it'll take...how long does it take broken ribs to mend?

(As a side note, this is the first time in 3 years that he'll have 'called in sick'.)

Oh Gil.

We had a horrible accident today at work.

One of the older men I work with (he's 67), had a terrible fall and literally cracked his head open on the concrete floor of the warehouse.

He was doing something he shouldn't have been, climbing unsafely on his forklift in order to get something down from a height, (to help ME, I might add, though I didn't ask him to do it in that manner).

And he slipped, and he fell.

I called 911, a fire truck and an ambulance arrived to find him suffering from arterial bleeding.

Later we found out (his wife called in and kept us up to date on his status), that he is also experiencing internal bleeding of the head and he's broken some ribs, too.

He's almost 70.

Oh Gil...please come back to work soon.

I miss you, and I feel so bad that it was in doing something for me that you hurt yourself so badly.

Hi, my name is...uh...

"Well, it's Osedax Mucofloris...yeah, it's Latin. My folks were old hippy-scientists.

Umm, what does it MEAN??? It's kind of embarrassing, I'd really rather not...oh, you insist?

Alright, but I didn't want to do this.

(Man I hate my parents), it means Bone-eating Snot Flower.

Uh huh. I eat whale bones.

But I'm super picky.
I only dine on Minke carcass in relatively shallow water close the Swedish coast.

Hey, it's a weird, but somebody has to do it!

So.

Yeah.

That's me.

Here's my pic...you free Saturday night?"

So much for closure.

It’s his mom, on the other end of the line.
I haven’t spoken with her for almost 7 years...not since I broke up with her son.

He used to be a charming, entreprenurial young man...excited about life and interested in everything.
Now he’s a millionaire drug addict, slowly killing himself.

I've been trying really hard to keep myself separate from that whole mess, but some how I keep getting pulled back there.
I can't seem to be rid of him, even after all these years.

First he calls me to take care of his cat, then his best friend calls to ask how he looks, then his older brother calls to warn me that he’s unstable and possibly violent, and now his mom has called.
And she's devastated.

I don't MIND that she wants to speak with me, in fact, it's rather flattering that she would turn to me.
But I just didn't realize how much I had managed to pretend I didn't care until I talked to her.

And now all the things that I didn’t want to have to think about, and all the things that I thought I had managed to get ‘over’, have all come flooding back.

I broke up with him years ago, but that doesn't seem to mean a thing.

Is this mean?

Today, I was so happy that I did NOT cry at my desk because work is so frustrating and my nose was dripping.

Nope, today, my CO-WORKER burst into tears at her desk, because work is a despairingly sad place, where everyone cries at their desk.

And I'm glad it wasn't me this time.
Is that mean?

Augh!

Between work being monstrous, and my being ill...well, all I can say is humblest apologies for lack of blogging.

And now I have to go back to work.
Thank you for your time.

*sniff*

What I was going to write...

...was how work is a great black festering hole of despair, but it's not very positive sounding, is it?

And then I was going to whine about how I didn't get any turkey for Thanksgiving day, but you know what?

Instead, I'll be thankful that I have a cozy apartment, two fat cats, dear dear friends, a sister who practiced Reiki on my sore wrist (and now it feels better), a mother I adore (her CT scan came back normal, hooray!), a car that I can afford to insure, perfect health, a good brain (stop the guffawing over there), and a sunny day today.

And anyway,turkey is overrated!

Well...the color of the wine is similar!

Thanks Spider, that WAS fun!

How many karma points for this?

I saved a life today.

Yes, a wee yellow budgie flew his coop today, and came awfully close to being road mush until I intervened.

And he chewed a good chunk of my fingers for my efforts.
He wasn't as grateful I thought he should be.

Ah well, now he's safely installed at the vet.

I'm sure my cats would have appreciated me bringing him home, but...I need all the karmic points I can get!

Halycon is not exactly the word I was looking for.

The small town I grew up in is situated on Vancouver Island.
The good ol' 'Village of Cumberland.'
(yeah, it really was allotted 'Village' status. It wasn't even a town!)

I swear, inbreeding was an issue there, everyone seemed to be related to each other in a convoluted and strange (read 'unnatural') manner.

Having been born in a different (but equally small) town on the Island, I narrowly avoided the risk of being related to any of the riff raff belonging to that place.

Now, keep in mind that I'm talking about the town as it was during the late 70's, and throughout the 80's.
Today, it's actually become an interesting little hub of antique stores and talented artsy types.
Its' original existence was as a coal mining town during the 19th century, and at its' peak, it hosted the second largest Chinese immigrant population outside of San Francisco.

During the period of time that I lived in Cumberland though, it was a poor, poor town.
Merely (and barely) a bedroom community to some of the larger towns, it had few basic requirements for survival.
Including 4 pubs and a liquor store, this little town became known a few years ago as the "Luckiest Town in B.C.", due to the vast quantities of the cheap beer 'Lucky' which was consumed by the residents.

But it had no mall. No movie theatre.
No streetlights, just stop signs (I mean the ones that weren't shot out of course.)

It had 8 dusty Roads one way, and 10 dirty Streets going the other way.
The only street with a paved sidewalk was the main street, so if you wanted to get somewhere, you walked in the dirt.

Cars on blocks in the front yard, and dead fridges on porches were common sights.

And then there were the roving packs of pre-teens looking to pick a fight for lack of anything else to do in that town.
Do I need mention that more often than not, myself and the girls who befriended me were their targets?
(I suppose I should be glad I grew up back then. Nowadays those same roving packs of bored teens are killing those outcast girls...case in point, Reena Virk in Victoria was murdered by one of those groups.)

Small wonder that to escape that place was high on my list of priorities after graduation!

There were a few redeeming features about that town, though...for instance, the surrounding forest played an integral role during my childhood.

To hell with Barbies and makeup and boys!
My dear friends and I had pointy sticks to sharpen, bows to make, hunting skills to hone, and trees to climb.
(Well, I climbed the trees mostly. They would stand around at the bottom and call up to me pleadingly, "I don't think that's such a good idea, Tai.")

We roamed far and wide in the extensive bush behind Cumberland, hunting for edible natural foods, preparing ourselves for the inevitable apocalyptic end to the world as we knew it (of course, we would be the only ones who were going to survive! We had to be prepared and rigorously trained!)

I suppose we were lucky.
We had run of the town from dawn till dusk with little restriction.

Except for me of course.
We had exactly two corner stores in that town.
On opposite corners of the same block if you can believe that.
A Chinese one (Leungs), and an Italian one (Marocchi's).

I wasn't allowed in Marocchi's.

Which was a cryin' shame, 'cus they had the best candy selection!

I don't know why my father took a dislike to it, but he did.
I knew I would rue the day he ever caught me in there, so I judiciously avoided it when I thought he might be about.

So I was in there a lot.

But I digress....

After dark and in the wee hours, we would sneak out of our homes and run about after midnight without fear.
And given the fact that we were prone to rearranging garden gnomes, it's more likely that the town folk feared us!

I'm hard pressed to think of anything else of any import...well, there was the bakery...best glazed doughnuts EVER (Kripsy Kreme doesn't even come close) for a mere 25 cents.

ummmm...nope.
Can't think of anything else.

Of coure, while the feral cat population and the black bear infested garbage dump added some interesting features, I wouldn't call them selling points, really.

If you had a horse though, you could ride it up and down the streets all the live long day, if you so desired.

I wish I had a horse then.
I think I would have enjoyed doing just that.

If I can do it, any old monkey can!

Chimp finally quits smoking *

A chimp at a zoo in China has finally managed to kick smoking after 16 years.
(she must have taken the literature seriously!)

Former chain-smoker Ai Ai quit within four weeks by cutting down step by step.

Keepers at Qinling Safari Park, in Shaanxi Province, decided to help the chimp quit after her health began deteriorating.

The methods tried by handlers to divert the 27-year-old chimp's attention from cigarettes included a walk after breakfast, music sessions after lunch and gym after dinner, reports Xinhua.

One zoo keeper said: "She's served fried dishes and dumplings at every meal, alongside her usual diet of milk, banana and rice.
('Cus those post-smoking pounds can really kill a girls figure...)

"I also put earphones on her so that she could enjoy some pop music from my Walkman.

"In the first few days, she squealed for cigarettes every now and then, but as her life became more colourful, she gradually forgot about them altogether."

Ai Ai started smoking cigarettes given to her by visitors shortly after her first male companion died in 1989.
(Smokes...the perfect substitute to lifelong companionship!)






*ME? I've been quit for 1 year and 4 months (give or take a few days.)
YAY ME!!!

Hell and cheap roses.

I was driving around over the weekend, when I witnessed a VERY odd sight indeed.

There's a company that sells inexpensive roses (a dozen for $4.99!) in Vancouver.
They advertise by having a person stand on a street corner holding a large sign up with their particular company details.

Over the years they've had more than their share of 'odd' characters holding their sign for them on that corner.

There was the ancient, toothless, chinese woman who was barely able to suppport herself upright with a cane, let alone hold the large sign and point to the store up the hill.

Then, there was the curly blond haired young man, who always rolled his cotton shorts WAY up on his plump thighs, and tied his shirt up into a 'roll twist' to afford as MUCH of his pale, lumpy skin a chance at the sun.
He was sort of entertaining in his own way...bouncing around, gesticulating wildly and yelling at stopped cars to buy the cheap roses.

But this new fellow?
He has come from out of my nightmares and now sells roses on the corner of Main and Marine.

I'm sure he's the Grim Reapers nearest cousin in human form.

Wearing black baggy jeans, a huge black hooded sweatshirt that he wears hood up.
It resembles nothing short of a cowl shadowing his gaunt face.
Large black Uni-Bomberesque sunglasses and 4 days worth of facial hair completes the alarming look.
He stands motionless, one hand grasping the 'Roses $4.99' sign, the other arm pointing up that hill to the store.

I'm pretty sure I'll never go to that shop.

Ever.

He's looks as if he's pointing to a place where one would go, if one were interested in having their throat slit.

I suspect he'd be much better off, standing at a dark crossroads, his pale pointy finger ushering you forward to the gates of hell. *









* And most disturbing of all, toward the cheap roses.