Pet sanskrit, birthday carnage and I really want some M&M's NOW!.

There is a lot of blogs out there giving advice because as you all know if you have at least one working finger and  a computer then you must be an expert.
(Probably not on snapping your fingers, what with having only one fing...well, you know what I mean.)

So I have decided to post the one thing I know for sure to be absolute.

Do I know the sun will come up tomorrow? Nope, could be the dawn of the M&M for all we know.
Can an M&M really shake his booty that well to 'I'm sexy and I know it'? Only the non naked M&M knows.

She's made out of chocolate
Can talk without a neck
Her eyebrows float in mid air
Yet, she needs glasses?

Can you tell I really want M&M's...

Sorry, back to the exciting announcement!
So here it is.
The one thing I know FOR SURE!  



Do not forget your pet's birthday.





Can you read that?
I'm scared to put it any bigger just in case Crazeecat comes along behind me and reads this.
It is now 6 -3 in favor of the animals in our house and they have a lot of pointy bits poking out of everywhere with no fear of using them.

You're probably wondering why I felt the need to warn you all.
Actually I don't care if you were wondering or not I'm going to tell you either way.

Apparently we missed Sally the dog's birthday today.

Ummm.....Yaaa, ya did!

Awwww-

NoNONO!
No awww's!
Not allowed!!

She had a grand time, she took herself to a little restaurant called the compost bin and had a delightful supper of sausages, three day old burnt marshmallow and horseradish.
Then she decided to do a little Sarah 101 and redecorated the kitchen with the less unappetizing bits from the compost.
(To find pictures of things a dog would find unappealing from a compost bin, Google rotting zebra carcass after a week in a lions stomach. Picture that as your birthday cake and then think about what would be considered garbage compared to that.)

Sally then settled in for a comedy show after enjoying her dinner.

This is my comedy show hat....not it's not supposed to be  cute or funny.
It's just a damn fine hat, yeesh!

She watched as the owner (moi) asked the offspring in a sweet manner (shrieked) to take the Crazee cat
out of the kitchen down to the den to keep him from ruining Sally's masterpiece.
Said offspring then slipped in unseen fecal matters (resulted from clashing marshmallow and horseradish in my delicate flower Sally's stomach.) while carrying Crazeecat down the stairs.
Crazeecat decided that he must be falling over a cliff instead of slipping 3 feet off the ground and decided since death was just around the corner that he would practice his Sanskirt etchings up and down the offpsrings arm.

Besides transcribing Sanskrit, he also a fine phlebotamist
and makes a jimdandy cappuccino! 

(We think he was trying to draw the picture of the rotting zebra carcass for you all, 'cause he's just that darn sweet!)

Sally laughed so hard at this she decided to share this by telling everyone loudly and repeatedly at the open window.

Betty, the birthday girl's mom decided that she was a
little embarrassed of her daughter.
So she decided to remind me of her upcoming birthday by
depositing a little reminder(about a gallons worth) just so all this won't happen again.
Thoughtful, isn't she?

So what are your absolute's that you feel free to send out in the universe?
Comment below so I know what kind of experts are checking up on my blog.

गूद्निघ्त (Sanskrit for  Goodnight, see what CrazeeCat has taught us!)

Robin Williams syndrome, camel toe and rinsing brain out with soap...all in all, normal day.

There is a great Robin Williams joke where he has had a few too many and is pulled over by the po-po.
As the officer is walking up to the car RW is practicing saying a common phrase all so soberly.


'What seems to be the problem officer? What seems to be the problem officer? What seems to be the problem officer?..okay,okay, I'm good, here he comes.'


'Sir, license and registration'


'Vat zeems tabe depobem-  hic -ossifer?'


Utter fail.


I'm Robin Williams, without the drug or alcohol problem and about only half the body hair.


(Rowwwr, sounding kinda sexy aren't I?)

That's my sexy pose,
 Mixture of I think I have malaria ,feel my fore head
and
Eww, I think I touched something sticky.

That saying of 'You can dress them up but don't give them pie....or take them places that have pie, something like that'. I'm told that all the time.

Example #1 - At bootcamp as usual,(just realized that with the amount of time I talk about bootcamp that people who read this and don't know me must think I am TOIGHT....yeeeah, not.) and I'm looking like all the other boot campers. (To a degree.) 


t-shirt- check
yoga pants - check
ankle socks- check
sneakers- check
hair in ponytail- check
Go and sit in my normal spot
Start bootcamp.


Sounds normal doesn't it?


Behind the scenes


-put on tshirt...maybe I'll wear yoga tank top today, arms looking okay,not bad..sitting in car at the end of driveway, suddenly throw car back into park, race in and throw three sizes too big t-shirt back on. Hello, my old friend.
-put on yoga pants- hmm, they're loose on my waist but I seem to  still have the dreaded camel toe. Surely you can't develop a muscle on your..." 

...and the problem with my toes is what?

Spend 10 minutes googling 'Possiblility of exercise giving you  a muscular vajajay?'
Wondering if other's have this, spend couple of minutes picturing fellow bootcampers then realizing I'm  picturing if fellow bootcampers have muscular vajajay...rinsing brain out with soap.
-ankle socks- sneaking up to sleeping offspring and peeling off socks while they are dreaming about pie.
-sneakers- take out of locked curio cabinet since I spent more time and money on them then I did my first wedding
-hair in ponytail - wash hair, dry hair, pull it all back in messy ponytail so it won't look like I was trying...elapsed time of not trying: 40 minutes, really not giving a shit: 60 minutes min.
Go sit in normal spot- put away shiv, carried just in case someone had tried taking my spot
Start bootcamp.


So that's all fine, but then the Robin Williams syndrome kicks in.


Scenario- sitting on precious spot on floor waiting for boot camp to start
Have E-Reader up as shield so don't have to speak/embarrass myself.
Cute, fit instructor comes up(obviously not having crazy syndrome coursing threw her veins) and asks,


"You're a reading fan I see."


Normal response (I know this as I have read them in books, not because I ever give one)


'Yup, love books. Can't seem to put them down, obviously'
They both laugh politely and she moves on to the another normal person.

Yuuuup, pretty normal.
No crazy here, nope, nope nope.

My response (*resigned sigh*)


"You're a reading fan I see"


'More than my own kids, I would run you down before looking up from my book...seriously, dude I would'...awkward pause...followed by trilling insane giggle and anecdote about being a bit of a slut 20+ years ago in Montreal and how I know lot's of Spanish swear words from spanish men I slept with back then.....why this topic? No clue.

...then there was Vincent, then Alejandro and  Henri and  Maria  eep...umm, I mean Mario.
I'm sorry,what were we talking about?
Hello? hello?...Wonder where she went?

I now look at all the other non- camel toed, normal looking bootcampers and wonder if maybe there is one or two that have a touch of the Robin William's syndrome like me.


Anyone?
Anyone...just a smidge?
*resigned sigh #2*

(Liar, liar camel toe on fire)

Adiosfolks!

Put the lotion in the f*#$in' basket!(10 pts in huge giveaway if you caught the movie reference)

I tend to do weird things when I'm bored.
The End.












That's it.
That's the whole post.










Hello? I'm not kidding.








Dumdedumdumdum...








Go away.












NOW.




















Seriously












I'm feeling kind of sorry for you now since your life is obviously more boring than mine.


I mean not in the way you feel sorry for those kids on tv who haven't eaten for a week.


You- Oh my,  those poor little sprouts- (yeah, I don't know why I'm suddenly sounding like Dolly Parton either)- I just want to gather them to my delicate rock like bosom and feed them jelly donuts till they spew. Now where is my check book? My, that's odd it was lodged under my left boob. Wonder how long it was there?

Come here you cute little itsy bitsy darlings
Why I could just eat you right up, you all are so sweet!

Umm, you know what scary nice lady
We're good eating what we have right here.
Yummmy, sand....
Is she gone yet?

'Oh,those poor little darlin's whatever I can do to help I'll do it -
DING!- oh, my popcorn is ready, yumm, .
Now what was I doing....oh, yeah. True Blood marathon!


That's pretty horrible.


I mean not staying up to date on True Blood weekly just sends a poor life lesson to your kids.
Just saying.

Anyhoo back to feeling sorry for me...or you. Whatever, I can't keep track so let's just focus on me 'cause J'adore moi.
(Mistress of Immodesty folks, not Mistress of Fake Boob Bitches pretending to care about the rest of the world)


I was telling you that I sometimes do weird things when I'm bored.
It was brought to my attention by my eldest offspring when he commented on something in my living room.
Let's see if you notice it in the first picture.

Eek, needing some new furniture.There goes the frenchmen's holiday plans.
Damn, I'm a keeper.
You'd think I must be really good in bed.
You'd think it.
Anyhoo, did you notice the oddity?

Nope you say? (Ignoring you keeners in the back who already have their hands up, put them the hell down you stupid wankers. Hmm, another career to be crossed off list,Teacher)


Here's another picture closer up.

Anyone...?
 No, you boring twats. It's not that I need  curtains!
Imagine if that was it.
Wow, soooooo funny!
Going to tell everyone about this blog with the window that needed new curtains.
Conan, I have this writer for you. She does this bit with a curtainless window..
Bwahahaah.....ah, no.

Still nothing? (I swear I'll cut your hands off if you put them up one more time. Anything to do with children, crossed off career list.)


I'll give you a hint.

Betty, all around cutie pattotie, pee supplier ('cause wood floors can't get enough moisture especially in this hot weather) and distributor of....

Do you get what it is? Do you want a closer look, 'cause if you're still with this blog post you obviously have nothing better to do...

Yup, it's just as pretty close up. Kind of like  a Picasso.
It's a bowl of Picasso like dog hair.

Now this wouldn't be so weird if I had just recently brushed Betty but I did that three weeks ago.
 The weird part is that for some reason I don't want to get rid of it.


My offspring and I had a chat about it and the sad thing is that isn't the weirdest conversation we had that day.


OS - Nice decorating Mom. Hair bowl is the new black this season?


M- I like it, it gives the room texture.


OS - Like Buffalo Bill in Silence of the Lambs thought the women screaming in the hole were just ambiance?


M- Yeah, like that. 


OS- (Eyebrows raised)


M- Wait, no....um..is this where you tell me I need to get out more?


OS- It's either that or stay in with a lock on the outside of your door.




See, aren't you wishing that you had left when I told you from the start?

Bootcamp, three ways. Not a threeway bootcamp, that would just be cleaning of lots of unknown liquids, ya pervs.

Every time I come home from boot camp my daughter/son/hubby asks the same question.

How was boot camp?

I seem to always want to karate kick people in the head when they ask dumb questions like that, but with my new found patience (and the threat of jail) I don't do that.

(Anymore).

This actually what I look like when I do it, I have a full size cat suit in the closet.
That's just a really big ass dog.

Back to the family.
 I'm not quite sure why they ask it, 'cause it's not like I come home singing from the Sound of Music.
I scoot out of class like the hounds of hell are chasing me.
Or Tom Cruise is eyeing me for wife number 4.
Eek!
I then zoom home 'cause I can feel the muscles starting to seize.
I  proceed to worry the neighbors as I sit in my car in the driveway with the door open while having a little nap on the steering wheel.

I'm telling you George there is something not right with that girl.
Who has a specially made cat suit in her closet?
I mean, really, when the Walmart has lots of lovely ones at half off.

When I exercise at all my face turns an especially lovely color of red.

I've had complete strangers ask me if 'I'm okay' through out the years. 

(Hence the cat suit and knowledge of jail with the karate kicks)

So I'm walking into the house with the red face and sweat pouring off me and without fail the question comes.

How was boot camp?

No kicking aloud
Besides you  just finished vacuumed all the cat hair up from the last ass kicking.

I'm not sure if you noticed but sarcasm is bit of a forerunner for me when I'm asked anything.

So I've come up with a couple of slightly insincere answers depending on my audience.

Answer to 11 yr old offspring

Bootcamp?

Ah, just the norm.

We all gather in a big circle.

The lady who's first wearing the boot, Pam, starts us off with a singalong.

She then passes the boot to Julie who is a bit of a high stepper fan , so then we dance.

Then it's passed to either Holly or the 'other' Melissa and we do kind of individual dances with them.

Then the boot is passed into the center and we all listen as the boot tells us a lullabye so we can take a nap.

Answer to 18 yr old offspring.

Bootcamp? 

Ah, just the norm.

We all gather in a big circle.

Then Bootie, Pam's nickname, brings out the medicinal ciggs.

We proceed to all partake in the 'special smokes', wind up taking our shirts off

and start talking about our periods while sitting cross legged in our bras.

and then the answer to the 52 yr old hubby.

Bootcamp?

Ah, just the norm.

We all gather in a big circle.

The main rule in Boot camp is you can't talk about boot camp.

Let's just say, a bunch of girls, sweaty, heavy breathing, who are predisposed to talking things off.

(Sneakers, but he doesn't need to know that . He's paying so I have to throw him a bone sometimes.)

B- 'What the hell do I have to do with this blog?'
M- 'You're pretty, just shut up and stand there.'

I have met the devil, she has a ponytail and wears yoga pants...

Even if you're not Catholic we all have heard the stories about the scary fella living beneath us with the little red horns.

(No, not that fella. That's my uncle Steve and hopefully he will move out and stop reliving halloween daily. Dude! It's creepy, stop!)

On the plus side we no longer have rugrats at our door on Halloween
Sometimes creepiness pays...in mini Mars bars.

Sorry about that, back to the real devil.
When most people think of the devil and hell they picture a hideous creature with horns who snaps his gum constaaantly in a triplex of fire and no cable...'shudder'


We all have our own version of hell.

I've met her...actually I've met all of them.
------? Her?  All of them?
Yep,and yep.
 Shocked you didn't I?


You're like 'WHAT?!"
I'm like 'YA-HUNH!"
You're like 'NO WAY!"
I'm like "WAY!"
You're like "INCONCEIVABLE"
I'm like 'CAN WE STOP SHOUTING NOW?"

10 points to who got the 'inconceivable' movie reference.
No really keep track as big, no Huge prize for the winner .
FYI How do most of you feel about balls of dog hair? Big ones?

I met her in a seemingly innocuous place.


Bootcamp.


After all these centuries of tears, screams and causing people agony she figured let's make a little bit of coin with this.


(Recession hit everyone folks, those daily pineapples, that are shoved up Hitlers you know where, don't come cheap)


She prettied herself up along with her fellow devils, okay, to be specific there isn't really a bunch of devils they are just her minions (motivators) to lure people in.

This is what I see at bootcamp when  they are trying to 'motivate' (hurt) me.

The minions motivators are gorgeous ladies who suddenly appear beside you during bootcamp just when you are ready to say uncle (Not uncle Steve though, eww!) and urge you to keep going.


She makes a different minion for all types of people.


There's the one who...


You know what?
I'm going to hold off describing them right now because if my instincts are right and they might be reading this I might actually have some leverage for slacking off.


Hmm, maybe some of her devilish nature is rubbing off on me.

Until next time, my minions.

Things learned today...claustrophobic vagina's and footy p.j's don't help in making me a better writer.

I'm at a writer's retreat this weekend.

At times I'm not sure if I should be here 'cause I'm kind of cheating.

No,no! Not cheating cheating like with another guy.

(Not with another girl either as none of them are my type....as in 'they have vagina's' kind of type. I have no problem with the vajayjay but I think it has to do with my being claustrophobic that I like things that stick out as opposed to enclose you.)

You thought this comic would have something to do with lesbians or  claustrophobic vaginas, didn't you?
Nah, it's just funny.

Anyhoo, I've listened to the other writers at the retreat talk about what they are working on

.

One is going back and editing her first draft. Awesome!

One is trying to decide if she should make her book into two different ones she has so many ideas. Great!

One is using multi-media  in her book. Uber artistic in every way. (No sarcasm meant there, she actually is.)

And so on...

Then there is me...♪doobydoobydoonotdoinganythingbutlookinggooddoingit.♪

First things first, let's get the important parts done.

I do have the look of the writer down pat.

Just like that except with boobs.

#1. Frown on forehead like I am writing the Magna carta (don't ask me what that is but it sounds important).

#2. Hunched over computer like their is nothing more important than getting this amazing story down immediately. (Hey, I just got poked on Facebook! I better poke her right back or .....I'd better do something more important. Oh, look lolcatz!)

#3. Gazing off into space and organising different plot lines in my head. (Yup, it's definitely the claustrophobia problem that is keeping me with the male side of the species.)

I'm surrounded by pens and paper and have studiously written down some key points.

#1. These chairs are uncomfortable and hard so if I fart the sound won't be muffled and they'll  know its me.

#2. How many times can I get up to go to the bathroom without the others thinking I have a coke problem.

#3. I wonder if there's a set aside nap time like in day care?

Oh, I haven't actually done anything to do with becoming a better writer. Pshaaw! Please!

What do you think I'm trying to do here?

Oh...that's right.

We did have a content editor, Netta, skype in to give us some information on some do's and don'ts before sending your first draft into an editor.
She was as funny as church which is a big compliment in my mind.
(Come on, church is hilarious! The guy is up there in a leftover Liberace muumuu  giving us 'the body of christ' to munch on... does no one else want to ask for it ' medium rare please' when he holds it out in front of you? 
Really, no one?)

Do you want mushrooms and onions with that?

So I'm glancing around at everyone furiously scribbling down everything Netta is saying and all I can think is she sounds like Betty Rubble when she laughs and I want to move to St. Louis and hang out by the pool with her telling jokes so she'll keep laughing.

Then she asks if anyone has any questions and of course when I realise that no one else's questions involve  watching either a marathon session of Vampire Diaries or WKRP in Cincinnati  in footie pajamas, I start to panic.

Yay! You picked WKRP, I knew we were destined to be friends!

Of course being the person I am, calm and cool under pressure I did what any normal person would do.

I proceeded to flash her.

------------

A slow motion accidental one but a definite flash none the less.

------------


Yeeeaah....I don't think I need to say how it happened. Anyone who has read previous posts of mine know that the word normalcy is not something ever in connection with mine.


So the thing's I have learned so far at this writer's retreat are as follows.

#1. Every body part of mine is claustrophobic, not just my brain.

#2. The answer is that it is 4 times you can go to the bathroom before they call Dr. Drew.

#3. Adults in footie pajamas who flash people they just met tend to not make new friends easily.


Off to cheat some more, blogarilla's.

Jumping out of a plane and a new asshole all in one day.

I have discovered that I might just have some English blood flowing through me.
Either that or I might have sat on a pointy vertical stick at some point in time.

Neither being very appealing.

The reason I bring this up is that I did something out of the ordinary last week.

I jumped out of a plane.

............?

Yeah, I stated that pretty calmly didn't I?
Which doesn't make much sense to those that know me.
I am a pretty emotional chica.

I get all shouty after the adrenaline of  bootcamp.
I get mega shouty  after the joy of eating french macaroons.
Hell, I used to get all shouty in high school when my period would finally come.( Woohoo! Dodged another bullet!)

But back to my absurd calmness. It started with a simple dinner.
I was visiting the hubby's, aka the frenchmen's, family in Vancouver Island.
I was sitting with my brother and nephew in law who are SARTECHS, which is a short term for Search and Rescue.

They were talking about their weekend doing instructional parachute jumps for first timers.

I of course immediately thought of what it would feel like to have these guys dropping out of an airplane in their bright orange jumpsuits to rescue me.

                    'THANKFUCKYOUFOUNDMEIALMOSTGOTEATENOUTHERE!'
    (See what I mean about being all shouty?)


'Um, miss. You have a blister on your foot and last time I checked butterflies aren't maneaters. You really can't keep calling us whenever you get lost in the parking lot mall anymore.'

Um, I beg to differ

Anyhoo, we were sitting at the dining room table when they started begging me and the offspring to join them at the drop zone (That's where skydivers hope to arrive all in one piece, including bladder intact) that weekend.
I being the brave creature I am said 'yeah,whatever...nothing else going on'.
Then I took off my unicorn horn and floated gently through the ceiling...

Ehm, back to reality
 I overheard them talking about taking a bachelor party out for lessons and immediately thought 'Drunk men plummeting to earth one after the other, this will be like a human version of the WKRP turkey fiasco!  I have to be there to see this!

So did I bud, so did I...

So a plan was arranged.

Later I shot out of bed in the middle of the night frantically shaking the frenchmen awake.
'Whatthehell..?'
'Did I just agree to the offspring and I jumping out of a plane today?'
'Yeah'
'Did I also plan to seek out Ryan Gosling's house and slip in via the attic window?'
'Uh, no'
'Damn it, just checking.'

Fast foward to me (Seriously, am thinking the Muffin Man in the sky accidentally leaned on the fast forward button 'cause I don't remember anything from waking to 6 pm) and the 18 yr old offspring (OS) sitting on top of two men in a 3 * 5 plane. I realize that sounds kind of creepy but that's because...well, it is.

(Note: This is also the day that the news was full of the 80 yr old woman that was skydiving almost fell out of her harness.)

OS was behind me so I couldn't see or hear him but I was told later that he didn't say boo.
I on the other hand, as we were flying up to heights only birds and sherpas should go too, couldn't shut my mouth.

'Oh, that's a lovely view. Where perchance would that be?'
'Oh my, this plane has a lot of stickers in it. What would your favorite one be?'
'When did you know you wanted to do this for a living?

Those were the sentences coming out of my mouth, as if I was having tea with the queen instead of in a deathtrap rattling around at over ten thousand feet.
My inner voice was saying something else entirely.

'FUCKITYFUCKFUCKFUCK!WHATIFTHERESALZHEIMERSINTHEFAMILYANDITSUDDENLYFLARESUPINMYTANDEMPARTNER!'

What came out was 'I'm feeling peckish, wouldn't a french macaroon be good right now?'

Go figure.

Time to jump arrives and I'm watching my OS being leaned out of the plane, He was asked if there was any last thing he wanted to say.
(Instills confidence doesn't it?)
'Yes, just one thing.'
He looks at me and I'm starting to well up wondering what I should say in response to his definite sweet final words to his loving mother.
'So what should I do with my mouth, cause if I keep it open any bug will tear me a new asshole in the back of my throat.'
I felt no qualms in my last words to him being
'Shut your mouth, boy'.

I laughed the whole way down.

I have figured out that with offspring like mine every day is like a freefall skydive.
Crazy and exhilerating but don't forget to close your mouth though 'cause no one needs a second asshole!