If you have poo, fling it now.

Now, there's a million dollar idea, I can shoot Paxil straight into my forehead. I can see the ad now... A woman (why is it always a chick?) running on the beach in a bikini, perfect body, she's 19, no lines on her face, if she tries to frown, she giggles instead, wind swept hair, she can lift a car over her head she has so much energy, she drops car on herself, she never cries out, unable to feel pain, she's oh so happy.... [Stop taking this medication if you are lactating a giant pig, if you are dead, if you experience unexpected urge to throat punch random strangers- unless they deserve it. Side effects may include wrinkles, depression, urge to write blogs, delusional ideas of being married to movie stars....] Wait, what? Either way, I need to stop worrying about things. Worrying begets insomnia which makes challenging tasks almost impossible. You know, things like pouring orange juice, opening the lid of a laptop before typing, operating heavy mascara. I can n...

The title begs a story. After one of my Nazi CBT fun filled adventure Friday trips (explanations will come at a later date), on a whim, I decided to treat myself to lunch in the city. Ah the fresh food indoor market with all its smells and lovely little boutique cafés, a girl's dream really. Fresh veggies, sandwich, café au lait avec pâtisserie, yes please! It being Friday, noon on the dot, I take my tray ("you'll need a tray") and carry it to the only available table left, a table for four. I look 'round searching, not wanting to "waste" a table where other people could sit, but I have no choice, so I sit. Ah, now this is the life. I got my giant newspaper, my lunch and a smile. Unfortunately, from the corner of my eye I see a poor woman with her tray ("and this one is wet") in the same predicament I was in but a moment earlier. No room, and none of the city busy folk letting her in on theirs, so I offered her a seat. Yes it's fine, ...

There are the tangibles. Damages in 4D.  Containers holding what's left of houses. Trailers in driveways in lieu of being able to live in the actual mold infested houses. Oh how you can smell those from a distance. Tents for the kids to make it fun, an adventure really. A variety of boots, pumps, hoses and sandbags grace our front yards as, just in case, art. Eroded land, dead trees, broken....well you name it, it's broke. Odd river reeds sticking out of driveways. Not having an actual driveway myself any longer, I am jealous of those oddly perched reeds. River wrote its name on everything we thought we owned. The sounds of new wells being drilled 24/7 is akin to a science fiction flick which I am sure the human race is losing in this sequel. Trade trucks parked here and there, making a fortune off of our flood while we empty our bank accounts and go into massive debt. I must to get comfortable with these words - massive and debt. There is a special place in hell for t...

THE ARMY IS HERE THE ARMY IS HERE!!!! After three weeks, the PM sent the army in. Those first 2 days the soldiers filled a lot of sand bags. And then apparently distributed them. We saw them on the news filling sand bags and distributing them!  On the news! Lots of politicians filling sand bags too! They even had rolled up their sleeves for the photo! Bless them. I was hoping to see a flood baby kiss. The people far away from the river, the city folk, needed their sandbags desperately. Made perfect sense to me. Those closest to the river, we had 5ft of water on our yards, we were stranded, scruffy, scared and could wait it out without sandbags, of course we could. Clearly they were on the ball, yay! This was our first Army peeps passing on our road! They waved and zipped by.  Not daunted by speed, I hauled ass through the water like I was angry and blocked their zipping. Trapped, they now found themselves surrounded by happy happy refugees. Hi...

Now, from the previous post, we've established that The Mentalist (heart shaped bath owner) does a whiz bang up job with opening lines.  So I was a bit twitchy walking up the road one day seeing him already chatting up another neighbour, no avoiding. Well, I thought of diving into the water and just swimming by them, but it would have ruined my Italian leather purse. Besides, I didn't read the instructions on the 40lbs hip boots, but I gather there may have been some drowning. "HOW OLD ARE YOU?" Oh. Good. Christ. Not that that's rude or anything.  Okay, I admit, curiosity got the best of me. "I'll bite, I'm 44, why?" "I'M THE BABY OF THIS CONVERSATION THEN. I'M 43 AND A HALF.  tee hee" Ladies? I'll get his number for you. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Pixarian mentioned that we should be grateful the 12 year old tank dude didn't blow our house into oblivion while pressing all those nifty buttons. ...

When entire neighbourhoods are surrounded by water, for 70+ days, it gets very quiet. The lack of people, cars, wildlife made an eerie aquarium vibe. On our road, if we heard splashing we would check to see which neighbour was wading home in hip boots and ask them appropriate questions such as: "Water in basement? Pump working? What news have you from the outside world?" The up the road neighbours never asked me those questions, they always wanted to know my opinions on the river's moods since I live closest to it and have been my whole life. They would gather around me, too close really. I once asked how they knew it was me coming up the road before even being able to see me from their houses. Simple, they said. "No one hauls ass up the road the way you do. You walk in those boots like you're angry." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Rainy cold day, I'm hauling 3 weeks worth of laundry in the canoe like I'm angry, apparently. ...

Now it may be important, at this venture, to inform you that I live in the country of Québec. Well, it isn't a country, it's a province of Canada, but when was the last time you checked a Canadian map hein? For les Américains, we are the big country on top of you. CANADA. Yes, snow banks in July uh huh...Teasing! Please don't invade us, thank you. Now this country of Québec is a drivable distance to Virginia (fictional place) but there tends to be a border crossing in between the two. You know, to keep the riff raff out. All those illegal Canadians trying to get in so they can now pay for their shitty healthcare instead of having free shitty healthcare. And all those illegal Americans trying to marry those Québécoise women because of love and their river frontage houses, riff raff, I tell you!  Anywho, in my mind, once Jaysus strapped on (hey now!) we were going to tour the internet tribe on the way to Virginia (fictional place). A pilgrimage really. To touch a fin for lu...