We used to have 6 fish: 5 various types of mollies and 1 fancy tailed guppy.
One day, when I was looking across the room I noticed the water was getting green. I also noticed the guppy seemed to be missing.
I walked closer to the tank and couldn’t the little blue guy anywhere. 2 weeks later when the water was more like pea soup I cleaned the tank. There wasn’t even any evidence of his bones. Did he disintegrate or did he get eaten? Did he become weak and get sucked into the filter? I know the cats didn’t do it because there’s a glass top on the tank all of the time.
I’m suddenly addicted to raisin toast. I’ve always liked it, just haven’t eaten any for a while. Boobs, Mrs. Loo & Mrs. Muffin & I usually go out for breakfast on the weekend and for whatever reason I changed from my usual rye toast to raisin. It’s buttery, crispy, cinammony and sweet…(I had 3 pieces for lunch yesterday, limited myself to 2 today).
I have no idea why but raisin bread is the only way I’ll tolerate them in baked goods. They have no business being in cookies, butter tarts, covered in chocolate, nor will I eat them out of a little red box.
This picture illustrates exactly how I feel:
You can actually hear him hiss the word: “Raisins”.
I do anyway.
I’ve had this happen to me before. It is SUCH a major letdown. I bought 2 cookies at a fancy bake shop (all their other stuff I love) and was pissed that I’d mistaken those dark bits behind the display case for chocolate. You’re all excited about eating a chocolate chip cookie but then you’re immediately angry and feel duped.
I’m going to go hug my loaf of raisin bread and tell it that I love it.
Ah, the regift. What reminded me was shopping at Winner’s today. I picked up a kinda cool looking zombie (MH knockoff) that was on clearance but the package was opened (albeit carefully). I turned it over and there was still a piece of Christmas wrapping paper on the back!
Sister in-laws regift. Pretty sure it was something someone at her office had given her (maybe the boss?) and she was having none of it so decided to pawn it off to me. A wooden birdhouse outdoor decor thing (that I chucked) and a tin of Werther’s Originals (which I eventually consumed). OR maybe she was getting me back for the very first gift I ever gave her – after knowing her for about a week, mind you: a what I thought was delicious selection of chocolate covered chips from a fancy chocolate store in Mapleview Mall. At least I put some thought into it and thought it was unique.
Oh! Remember those black and white photographic prints Ikea used to sell in the 80s? We got one of those from her too once she decided to move out of town. And that was around Christmas too now that I think of it! We chucked that too, thanks anyway. Update: I finally found one similar that someone was trying to sell on a FB group:
I like recycling, upcycling and donating stuff, but ask someone if they want something first before you try to pass it off as something you carefully selected and decided to call a gift.
Huh, I was actually wondering about this just this morning. When I was about nine I made up a pen name for myself. I drew people with huge heads and tiny bodies and signed them all as “Margaret Moondown”. Okaaaayyy.
I also made up a really short tune on my aunt’s organ but everyone found it annoying. It could have been a great back beat to something. I didn’t have a pen name for my music writing career though.
If I needed to use one now it would be a pretty plain one, but I can’t tell you what it would be. You’d have to read an article by me (well, secret me), except you wouldn’t know that I was the one who wrote it. But sometimes that’s the whole point.
Nicknames are different. In our family there’s: Boobs, Ms. Lou, Ms. Muffin & Tits McGee.
Check out what Freelancewriting.com has to say about the issue! Pen names, not nicknames…
For some reason I’ve always liked coming up with beginnings of fictional stories but never follow through on the endings. Maybe the beginning is the easiest part to write and since I’m not a novelist I never sit down to work through a story to put together the entire sandwich.
Here’s one I wrote when I was probably about 16 (a guess). Looks like an incident at a car wash or garden hose was on the brain:
He grabbed the nozzle from her, despite the fact that it was on high pressure. Not thinking, he blasted freezing water at her, pelting her eyes, nose and ears and slapping her good work clothes to the sides of her thin body.
“Shit, Mark!” she screamed. “You fucking blasted my contacts right off my eyes!”
Walking home, tears streamed down her cheeks. Blurred memories and vision (that asshole) made it even worse to see where she was going. To the fucking eye doctor for shit’s sakes to get more contact lenses. Why did he do things like that, she wondered. Shit.
As an (occasional) advocate for IBS sufferers, I think people/companies should rethink their bathroom policies.
It’s funny when a store says to you “We don’t have a bathroom” when you ask to use it because your 3yr old has to go and you know for a fact that they do because you’ve used it before.
I wasn’t in the mood for a debate. I could have asked, “Does the store not allow its employees to go pee either if there’s no bathroom?” Where do you go when you have to go – to the store next door? Maybe Starbucks? The gas station down the street?”
BUT if that’s their policy, whatever. Sure, my wee one could have gone at Children’s Place like the rest of us because they understand things happen. They understand shopping with kids. That reminds me, Future Shop seems to understand all of its customers too, which “has a bathroom”, where Grace left a hammer.
I guess stores that cater to people who wear Bluenotes (ahem) think their customers can hold their bladders longer ….
Going back to IBS issues, what do we need to do in order to break through that iron curtain of a we-pretend-we-don’t-have-a-bathroom-because-it’s-policy thing? A special bracelet? A pass card? A doctor’s note?
Deep thoughts over the last little while as to why I don’t clean as often as I should. It’s really been weighing on my mind lately. Uh, ya.
Truthfully though – it’s from being disorganized. My cleaning stuff is all over the house: there’s a bucket of some things in the ensuite, a tub of stuff in another bathroom and some cleaning appliances are in the laundry room but the vacuum could be anywhere, as in it’s on whatever floor I vacuumed last. I had to scramble this morning for my (newly hired) cleaning lady to gather up all of the things she’d need in order to work. Sheesh. Boobs will sometimes ask where the vacuum is (because he says he’s a better cleaner than I am and maybe that’s true because I don’t feel like moving the furniture from one side of the room to the other to get under the couches).
So without resorting to Pinterest, even though I probably will anyway, I’ll resolve to keep everything in one container which can be lugged from room to room. I bet it’s something you already new how to do, but I’m all for procrastination.
When I was driving home from Homesense today, I saw a lady walking down the sidewalk who’d stopped and trailed down to a part where the weeds and wildflowers were. She started pulling off tufts of fluffy seeds from what I’ll assume was a milkweed and was tossing them into the air.
Was it an urge she had or is she an errant human pollinator?
Soph was playing while waiting for her appointment (which resulted in the finding of her 2nd cavity in a row. Hmm.) and I was thumbing through gossip mags. My realization came from People magazine – the issue that had all the Oscars coverage.
Boobs’ sister has a double. Named Johnny Weir. They look scarily alike but she’s in no way as talented, well made up or fashionable as he is.
Here’s a picture of Johnny Weir:
Actually the more I look at the picture of Johnny that reminds me of Stinkhole (the sister) I also realize they both look like Peewee Herman.
Once again though, both Peewee and Johnny wear makeup and are more well-groomed.
Oh, I forgot. You’re probably wondering what she looks like right? Here:
Ok, so I modified the picture a bit but I’m sure you get the idea.