If you have poo, fling it now.

I know, it has been a while. How. How are you still reading this blog over the years? You are wonderful, thanks. Or you need a life. Either way, yay! How is your Covid coming along? Unexpected wasn't it? Unless you are a epidemiologist, then you've known for years so stop showing off with your silly science. Now back to the tale. Do you guys remember the video about that family in Ireland with a loose bat in their kitchen? No? Here is the link, I'll wait: IRISH FAMILY WITH LOOSE BAT IN KITCHEN Hysterical yes? I am Irish as well, added bonus is me quoting this video, accent included, since its inception. During the ongoing epidemic we have temporarily moved in our elderly neighbour, originally from Belfast. She also happened to have given birth to me and was accompanied by The Anti Christ, aka her little dog. She's a cute Satan yes? She's actually highly trainable. After a month of pig headedness and constant supervision by me, she now sits on he...

I paid a professional to murder my heart on four legs. I understand they do not call it murder at the vet clinic. I understand that it isn't murder. I did what was best. The humane thing to do. I get it but for the life of me I couldn't figure out what to wear to a killing. I mean should I wear a poncho whilst chewing tobacco à la Clint Eastwood in one of those western movies? Or maybe a black veil and giant crucifix since the funeral and viewing of the body happens straight after? If only I spoke Italian, I would wail my sorrow loudly to make sure the Italian deity could hear me and let me have a place in the Italian heaven, because pasta. Now dear readers you are wondering if I have finally gone off the deep end. Is she that callous to make light of such a sad and horrible time? Did she not love that poor soul? The answer is whatever you want it to be get your own blog. Wait that was rude...You see Humphrey was (I just typed the word 'was' and may have vomited...

I call this:  "Plaid Dalmatian On Mosaic" 15 years on Earth that one.  15 years he has given me myself. He has taught me so much. Sure he taught me all about dog stuff, whatever, but mostly he taught me how to live. How to love. How to be free. How low self esteem is made up human garbage because to him, the sun rises and sets with me. To him, I am love. To him, I can do no wrong. The egg cracked and he imprinted on me. He chose me. Go figure. For 15 years I have tried to live up to what this creature sees in me. I crawled out of my safe cocoon and drove alone in blinding snow late at night to get to his classes in the middle of nowhere. I drove to different locations pre GPS to get him to race practices. I am geographically challenged people! I learned how to knit because he needed a sweater. I had to make friends with literally hundreds of people who have the same breed. PEOPLE! Yakking at me everyday. What is this world coming to? He begat The Mute Deer Goat...

I am thinking that random strangers now know I have a blog because there is no other reason why they would come up to me in broad daylight and say things. I am wearing a T-Shirt that says 'Don't Talk To Me I Hate People' but apparently I have a friendly face. Stupid face! As you may recall I run with whippets. It's what I do. Granted they are not a breed that is seen frequently in my part of the world which is fine, more for me.  First we had "Is that a Dalmatian?" (5 times by different people. I'm not even joking.) See? Exactly like a white dog with black spots. I know! Firemen and women all over North America try to get ones like these. Oh maybe I look like Cruella de Vil? Then came The Deer Goat. That is just too out of this world to be insulting right? I was walking her right next to The Dalmatian when she came home and a neighbour asked if she was a goat. Um. No. No lady it isn't a goat. Her next comment, because appar...

Scissors. On the big day JD, The Pixarian and I carted off our various mothers into my mother's home so they could either have a good time or set the entire house on fire.  They looked a bit shifty eyed for a couple of old ladies so we left The Dalmatian, The Mute Deer Goat and The West Highland Terrorist to keep them an eye on them. Us 3 concert goers had a quick meal. Well they ate, I squirreled away food in my hair from my hiding spot under the table while making loud smacking sounds with my mouth to appear as though I was chewing. You know, casual. I was also blinking out questions to JD: "Traffic cams okay?" "Do we need to take the Métro?" "Does this panic attack make me look fat?" "Why are we doing this again?" "Do we have cash for the parking?" "Did you check the traffic cams a 7th time?" "I have to poop." That last one wasn't a question but it is good to state that out loud then bl...

Paper. So that fateful day in January, by some sort of miracle, e-tickets magically appeared in my email account via the people that live in my head, or more to the point, the interwebs. VIP ones too! In that same exact moment I happen to come upon that precise amount leaving my credit card account. How fortuitous! Serendipity right there, meant to be! I instantly printed the tickets out even if the show was 7 months away. You know, in case the entire world collapses into new world order with no internet, no electricity, no food, humans wandering the earth talking to each other and meeting their families for the first time in years - I will still have these papers and the show will go on! It must, apparently. Now Johnny Depp said we could just leave them in my email and have them swipe the barcode with that miracle wand at the concert via my phone the night of.  Clearly he doesn't know just how many tickets I am printing out on a daily basis! Nor just how many people I have h...

Rock. In the run up of trying to get myself out of the house more, I decided the best way to go about this was to see live music with 75 000 screaming people. Like real people. Screaming. In the dark. Shoulder to shoulder people that move around and breathe. Weird. On this go around it was only 17 000 people. Pffft. Easy peazy lemon squeazy. Not so much. Some of you may have realized by now that I hate people. And places. And travelling. And traffic. And new things. And just about everything and everyone.  No, not you. Well, maybe? Take a good long hard look at yourself and get back to me. In January these two ding bats decide to announce a summer tour together: From the petergabriel.com site Look at them, all jovial and peaceful. Assholes. Three minutes after they announce their tour, I hear about it from the people that live in my head. More specifically though, the interwebs. I sat there staring off into the mid distance trying to absorb what this information ...

I have no idea who this person is.  After a few years absence, I've decided to see if I can still swim. The last time I re-booted the swimming external drive, this happened : click here->  Covet Thine Mouth.   How bad could it be this time? Nowhere to go but up I say. They renovated the old pool! It was the grand opening yesterday. They have added windows. It used to feel like I was drowning in a sarcophagus in there. Now it feels like I am drowning in a nice airy relaxing place. If you're going to die, might as well be in a pleasant room. They have added new and improved 12 year old lifeguards too! They are lovely little creatures that smile, bounce and flip their hair a lot, so exciting! Now the third time they ask you if you have read the rules on the wall - you know because we've all been swimming there since the 80's (the year their parents were born) and we need to be reminded SEVERAL times not to run on deck nor push each other - it can get a little t...

This journey started 10 months ago. But it feels more like 3.2 years. (Why 3.2 years you ask? It's my blog and I decided on that number. No, you don't get a vote. Also that's when I noticed a swollen finger once. Fine it was 3 years ago, I added the .2 for pizzazz, hush.) You see, in an effort to rid myself of swollen joints and pretend 2 doctors and 1 specialist didn't know what they were talking about, I decided to embark on a natural path to rid myself of Rheumatoid Arthritis. I know, I know, not a sexy illness like; "Oh gosh my boobs are too big" or "I have a fake sex addiction!" No an old lady joint disease. I came to find out that RA is an autoimmune disorder that affects the entire body (lungs, kidneys, eyes...) not just the joints and it can start at any age. One doesn't need to test positive for RA (like myself) to have it...But more on all that boring science later. I used the google. Did you know you can cure cancer with broccoli? ...

For those who aren't up to speed, you might want to read this first: Click here ->     Flinging poo for real! Today is the liquid diet day. It is 9am and I already want a steak. I am starving, this does not bode well for the rest of the day. Clear broth for breakfast, mmm. Right up there with not winning the lottery. Today is also Prep day. Preparation for appointment day. Prrrrrrep. Or better known as hurl everything you are into the toilet day. This starts later. I am looking forward to it for I may see stars.  Who doesn't want to lay unconscious on the commode whilst little gnomes fling out? Fun! I'll give you 50$ for a brioche.

I'm sorry, what's that person on the phone? You want me to do what? That soon? Huh. Faints. Here's the thing. I have anemia. My hemoglobin values are not getting better with time nor iron so my thorough doctor - let's read the word "thorough" again shall we? - thought to cover all bases and schedule a colonoscopy in case there is bleeding, ulcers, gnomes,...up in there. Up in there.  Up in there. Y'all gon' make me lose my mind, up in here, up in here... (DMX? Anyone?) Did you know that with a supposedly socialized health care system one ought to be on a waiting list for these things? Nope, not my ass. They called yesterday and wanted it done this Friday. Friday? I can't possibly, that is the 4th of July!! Johnny Depp is American, surely this excuses me from hell?  So Tuesday it is.  The Google told me there is a "prep" day beforehand? Nice word. Prep. Sounds so innocent and perky. Let's face it, I'll be flinging p...

Hi Deer Goat Wilma! Well, knock me over with a brick. 5 people. Yes 5 so far, have asked me if Wilma will change into a fawn brindle when she grows up. You know, like the Humphrey Dalmatian? 5. Yes, I see it here. From blue to Dalmatianesque.  Now I'll just add photos for gratuitous puppy smiles. Sitting pretty. Going Zebra brindle anytime now. She looks worried about it too. Showing off her demure shy side...

Does that look like a goat to you? Yeah, me neither. Same neighbour who dubbed the Humphrey a Dalmatian. "You know she reminds me of a goat. And she runs like a deer.­" Great, I paid good money for a Deer Goat. Maybe she meant Dear Goat. Except her name is Wilhelmina, Wilma to her friends, which is a far cry from the word goat. I thought I'd get "Weimaraner" for sure...Nope. Welcome to the family Wilma, you billy bob goat deer.

 Blogging is hard. I know you are still out there, I see the views on my blog. In fact 52 of you were here yesterday. Which is crazy pants. I haven't put anything up since December. So there. Re-read at will. Johnny is that you? Blogging involves a lot of self openness. Yet, recently I have my face scrunched up not wanting to leak any of me out in print. I ought to quit that, it's giving me wrinkles. Obviously I've lost my wit. Or wherewithal. Maybe both? Nah. When I talk to people in the real world they still show me their teeth. They are either thinking I am a dentist or that I am funny. We'll never know. I'll ask around and get back to you.

Support your local shops is my motto. The problem is they have people in them. Ew.  Armed with mace and a positive attitude, I fa la la la laed uptown. First, I needed a snap button repaired on my trusty winter coat so I headed to a seamstress tiny shop. It was lovely in there, especially the nice woman with the unfortunate habit of coughing on me. Why do people do that to me?  I surmised between hacking convulsions that this poor half dead woman was not able to snap a snap back on and with her dying last cough sent me to a cobbler shop. I now have a pneumonia coming on surely? Okay cobbler shop, Hi, I drove all the way cross town to see you how are you today? "CAN'T DO IT." Comes the reply.  Huh? I've only walked in the door? Surely the seamstress couldn't have called you from her grave to tell you about a tiny snap?  Turns out I was holding my coat in a "certain manner" that prevented him from seeing what kind of snap. Apparently there are mill...

Us whippet owners provide crack for our dogs.  There I said it.  No coming back from it. We have a secret knock, handshake and meetings. We compare, confer and consult. "How big?" "Where do you get yours?" "What time did we crash the site?" "Dear such and such vendor, we are sorry we crashed your site, fork over the on special items now!" "Do you leave the tube in or not?" It arrived nonchalantly, in a plain box. Humphrey was on the box looking for his first fix. He pawed it out of the box because my opposable thumbs were apparently too slow for him. How he knew it was one having never seen one before, well, his skeletal DNA may explain a lot. As soon as it was free from the box he burrowed into to it with such force, quite frankly it was violent. Johnny Depp and I suffered the evil eye for several long minutes having lapsed as Whippet owners. See contract, document 43.8, paragraph C. Humphrey's face was screaming:...

I've been 32 days without power in a Canadian winter. I've been 70 days in a flood, the likes of which had never been seen. I've never done both at the same time. (Okay half a day during the flood, but I blacked out.) I've done neither in a city environment. No canoes, no alternative heat, no way to cook or save food? Millions of people? They all must have clicked into survival mode. Survival mode sounds scary, but when one has no choice, you either deal or breakdown. I liked scattering both throughout the hours, day and night. No sense being even keeled. The media already talking about the aftermath and how they are going to rebuild. Yeah, Sandy has passed, but the present moment for those hip deep in water, take it from me, don't need talk about all the work. They definitely don't need disaster tourism. We may want to see those images to be informed and up to date, but from inside it feels invasive when the umpteenth reporter power boats up your...

Fall through societal cracks, break your mother's back. Shoot 'em up bang bang. Holy livid batgirl. Arsenal of weapons, not one of them a pen nor a dialogue. Finders keepers. Easy to find a multitude of war machinery, just dial 1800RAGE. They deliver. Easy peazy. The opposite equals unpatriotic. True patriots needed time to load the musket. But what do I know, I have no right arms from a bear. Tick Tock, who's next? Narrowly escape a shooting in T.O. only to be slaughtered in CO. Fate? No, a man and his gun.

But wasn't it just yesterday that he picked me after firmly stating  I wanted a girl?  At 3 weeks old, he left a pile of warm puppies, stuffed penguin in his mouth, toddled over to me, took him forever,  laid his tiny head on my foot, gave me the penguin and sighed mightily. He picked me. Of course I kept it!!  I am remembering some of his antics as a youngster. Kinda like the time he jumped into a plate of spaghetti that someone was holding while standing up. He then slid off the plate, bounced on the wall, scared himself, and proceeded to strew noodles and sauce throughout the entirety of the house.  Normal. Or the time I turned around to set the water dish beside him and he had disappeared in a blink, then I heard rustling, looked up and there he was on top of the fridge.  Normal at 9 weeks old. Or both times he gave me a black eye, oh and Johnny Depp too. Nothing new to a Whippet owner. Or his love of Halloween trick or trea...

When needing to loudly hawk up a lung - man in back of me - by all means spew phlegm into the garbage can at the mall. INSIDE the mall. IN THE TRASH BIN. Out IN PUBLIC. Said garbage can a mere inches away from EXTERIOR door he (I checked, it wasn't the swimmer from my last phlegm episode) was leaving through 3 seconds later where one could have grossly spit on grass. But noooo. Or go for broke and actually have a tissue. Well, no, that would be bizarre world. Soon there will be trains with the one "no spitting" section you pay extra to sit in like in China. Where is our civilization going?  Flinging poo? (Bazinga!) I mean okay you have low rider jeans and you want to show your crack with the scroll flower tattoo and bits that ought not be shown in places of work. Still? Quite lovely, Brazilian? I've seen your preference of  blue bubble gum while waiting at my table. I've heard your "s'up?" when I walk into your store. I've seen oodle...