How To Turn Your Neighbours On While Raking Leaves

It's a sunny November morning.

You're feeling feisty, and looking for trouble.

What now?

Sexy leaf raking.

Directions:

STEP 1: Go braless. It's 1:00pm on a Saturday, so it's not like you would have a bra on anyway.

STEP 2: Always, ALWAYS be sure to be sporting black socks. As you put on your white dollar-store flip flops.

STEP 3: Pants! Don't forget pants. You don't want to get arrested or anything crazy. My recommendation? A nice, faded navy blue pair of men's Scooby-Doo branded pajama pants. Only you will know that a peep through the men's button crotch holds a Sultry leaf-raking Saturday surprise.

Scooby caught a glimpse. Didn't think he was the pervy type.

STEP 4: Cover yourself up with a dirty burgundy hoody. Great Dane drool on the sleeves is optional. (Depends if you can rock it or not, and only you, dear friend, can make that call).

STEP 5: Grunt. A lot. I really mean A LOT.

STEP 6: Wheeze a bit, and brace yourself on your Scooby-covered knees.

STEP 7: Play with your messy, bedraggled hair. Belch if you so desire.

                   Almost done.

STEP 8: Get out the rake and begin raking. Quit part way through to come inside and eat Halloween candy that you never handed out to the neighbourhood kids.

Grr, Baby. Grr.

DONE.

Also?

You're welcome. Just wait for the date requests and restraining orders to start rollin' on in.


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To Love A Pet

No, not like THAT you sick pervs.

I have done a lot of thinking over the last many years about the family pets we have had the honour of adopting/owning. I have had moments of such unexplainable, limitless joy with their adorable personalities and the love that they have brought into my life.

I have experienced months (okay, maybe more than that) of the deepest, saddest sorrow over losing such non-judgemental, loving, perfect little creatures.

I find that their eyes can be so expressive, their companionship unfailing, and their kisses uplifting even on the worst of days.

The adoption of this new puppy brings the question up to me again - is it really possible to love a kitty or puppy or other companion animal to your very core? To feel like you are an unstoppable duo together, and that their love is one of the sweetest, most unconditional and honest kinds of love out there?

My heart is just exploding with happiness when I am sitting between my two doggies, or when the new pup is sleeping on my legs or giving me kisses. I miss my Scooby, and I always will. At the same time, I am so happy to be able to have the companionship of these doggies.

To the pets that have gone:

Marnie - our childhood cat who was tormented by me and my sister, who was de-clawed and missing teeth and could still catch mice:

Marnie was around before I was old enough to walk.

You were a fighter, and one kick-ass kitty. I loved your unique markings and Elvis sideburns. I'm sorry for any of the unkind childhood things I did to you.

Casey - our first puppy was a learning experience and a sweet little thing. I hope you know that you were loved little fur ball. I am sorry for any mistakes we made with you, pup.

Clancy - our German Shepherd doggy who was gifted to us by my dying grandpa. You were a strong boy. We were fairly new to raising a dog, and Mom and Dad did everything they could to keep your cancer at bay. Everything that was done was done out of love. I remember playing fetch with you on your last day. You were a regal, smart dog.

Brandy - Our German Shepherd girl with her very own La-Z-Boy recliner. Even jumping into it once in the moving van when we were loading in our furniture:

Brandy on her La-Z-Boy. Such a sweet girl.

Those stinkin' hip issues would become too painful for you, even with Metacam pain medicine. You were so loved, and you helped train my Scoobers to be the wonderful pup she was. I love you and miss you, girl.

Murphy: The brown tabby who chose Dad, as opposed to us choosing him, when we went to the Brant County SPCA. Shortly after we lost Brandy, and just after I started volunteering there. You reached out with your claw and hooked into his jacket. He fell in love with you on the spot:

A beautiful brown tabby, Murph loved playing all along the basement stairs.

You were so pretty, and so playful. Ahem, I mean handsome. HANDSOME. You used to torment my blind Mr. Grey by hiding in high places he couldn't reach. You left us at only 4 years old when something went very wrong during a routine dental procedure. I know there's a hole in Dad's heart, whether he admits it or not. I miss you little guy.

Your ear hair was adorable. As was the way you would sip from running water in the sink, or try to jump across the toilet seat when the men of the house wouldn't latch the door. Wetness ensued.

Always an amusing kitty, our Murphy.

Love you guy.

Mr. Grey - I fell in love with you the moment I laid eyes on you in the sick room at the shelter. Your eyes were crusted up and you were wheezing, sick with upper respiratory infection. (It's rampant in shelters, even with strict protocol... they always did the best they could with what they had).

My sister read your name card on the bulletin board. Mr. Grey - so simple, so fitting, so YOU:

I loved your wide pink kitty nose, and your unending affection.

I remember having my sister take a photo of you and I together that I photoshopped, in the hopes we could guilt Mom and Dad into adopting you. I missed a weekend of volunteering (the same weekend BF told me he loved me for the first time), to come back and find you had been adopted out. My heart was sad, but I was happy you found a home.

A happy cat, blind and all.

Well, fate stepped in, and you were returned to the shelter for some lame reason. After observation by the shelter staff, I asked/offered to foster you at my house to see how you did. We figured out fairly quickly that you were blind. We also fell for you hard... adopted you, and never looked back.

You were always willing to snuggle, always happy to greet me at the door. You would meow if we had momentarily forgotten that Scooby was outside the back door waiting to be let in. How the hell you knew that, being blind and having the door closed, was beyond me.

You'd let me pick you up like a child, arms wrapped around my chest and back, legs on either side of me.

Giving me one of your special hugs that you only ever gave to ME. :-)

You were an awesome friend and I am so sad that I had to let you go. What started as a claw infection with Clavamox antibiotics quickly turned into you stopping eating within a day... then drinking. Force feeding at the vet, IV, and emergency visits ultimately resulted in an ultrasound and a diagnosis of stomach cancer. It breaks my heart that you couldn't/wouldn't eat at the end and were so tired. I cherish that last night that you slept in bed with us, and the few minutes of purring you shared with me. I'm sorry your ending was so sad and painful. I'll love you forever, little guy, and I miss you.

Scooby - My "Akita/Husky" cross "free-to-good-home" puppy that turned out to be Great Dane or Lab or some kind of awesome hybrid who was my very best friend in the world:

Scooby Doo - such an awesome, sweet and gentle girl.

She got me through high school, was with me for every high and every low until January of 2010. I made a video for you here, Baby Girl. I will always love you and always miss you.


Never underestimate how much companion pets can mean... how much love and joy they can bring into your life. Animal shelters are so full of pets who have so much love to give....



Back to funny next time....


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For Scooby.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bVUh1Fr57XY

(Click the link above if the player does not work on the blog page)





I've enabled comments, but please leave comments only about her or the video.
And if you leave a comment, actually WATCH the video.

Self-promoting comments, comments that clearly don't "get" my message, or comments indicating this was a "funny post" will be deleted.

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Songs That Move Me (& Blog Reno)

New Site Design - Thumbs Up or Down?

So I decided to change up the ol' blogger background with something more personalized and slightly more creative than the non-customized Watermark template I was using before. Please let me know what you think.

In terms of the colours, it feels almost military to me... can't say why.

Most importantly, though, is the background image. It is Scooby Doo playing in the backyard, when she still had a desire for tennis balls in May of  2008. I love the crazy, playful pose she is in.

I pixelated and muted the image so it wasn't just a bright colour photo. Feel free to let me know what you think about the colours, fonts, layout, etc.  I like the busy-ness of the header (I'm tacky like that, yo), but be honest. I want the site to be user/reader friendly.

On Monday it will be one year without Scooby.

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Here's a good song with some great advice...



Lyrics & Copywrite (not owned by me):


Baz Luhrmann - Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)

Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of ’99
Wear sunscreen.
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. 
The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience…

I will dispense this advice now. 

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh never mind; you will not
understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded.
But trust me, 
in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now, how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked….

You’re not as fat as you imagine. 

Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as
effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum.
The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday. 

Do one thing everyday that scares you.
Sing.

Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind…the race is long, and in the end, it’s only with yourself.

Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults;
if you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life…the most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don’t.

Get plenty of calcium.

Be kind to your knees, you’ll miss them when they’re gone.

Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll have children, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary…what ever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either – your choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s.

Enjoy your body, use it every way you can…don’t be afraid of it, or what other people
think of it, it’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own.

Dance…

Even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room.

Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them. Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents, you never know when they’ll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings; they are your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard;
Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will philander, you too will get old, and when you do you’ll fantasize that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund, maybe you have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one might run out.

Don’t mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen…

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Christmas Adorableness

If you disagree, I will cut a bitch.

Don't think I won't.

Scooby Dooby Doo - August 1996 to January 2010

I bet you were expecting a photo of me, right? Riiiiight?

This is the last photo I had taken of Santa with Scooby Doo at a mall that no longer exists in my hometown.

I miss her so much. This will be my first Christmas without her in 14 years. 

She's damn cute. I loved her like a child.

We can't take Schultz for photos because he would   eat  Santa Claus. And all the children would cry. And we would probably be sued.

Who? Me?

That is all.

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Copycat Post

Hi Y'all!

I was snooping around Jumble Mash's (Mashes?) Blog and saw this post and thought I would be a shit and copy cat (with a shout out with love). Jumble seems to have also shouted to Leigh at her corner of the interwebs.

So, without further ado, a list post:

{1.} do you collect anything? if so, what and how long have you been collecting?

 I used to collect anything Scooby Doo, but once BF and I started living in sin, he quickly made it apparent that he was not a fan of bedding/oversized stuffed animals/figurines/tacky shit with Scooby Doo on it.

 I collected from about 1995 to 2007.

I bet the culprit was Old Man Withers BF, who lives down by the "haunted" mansion!

{2.} what is one cleaning tip that you swear by?

Is this question a joke? Do you know I did dishes last night that had been there since THANKSGIVING, i.shit.you.not. They weren't really dirty, but I hate cleaning. BF would probably say my tip to swear by is "leave it long enough and someone else will be so repulsed they will clean it instead". So... yeah.

{3.} who would you call for bail money?

My beloved sugar daddy  uh fine piece of ass I mean BF, of course. If he was away, then THE MOTHER would bail my ass out, stat.

{4.} what is one thing you miss about being a kid?

Not feeling ashamed of who I am. Nope... wait, I felt that then, too. Ummm. how about, playing Barbies? Slutty Barbies. 

Or seeing your parents in super-duper-awesome health and knowing they know EVERYTHING in the world and can fix ANY problem. 

Hi there, seven year olds should play with me.

{5.} name a few of your guilty pleasures.

Gorging on mini-chocolate bars   free online porn   singing Rock Band 2 until the wee hours of the morning   checking my blog stats obsessively (Why?? Dunno.)   sleeping in until noon on Saturdays   drinking an entire bottle of red on a Friday night, alone at times   I can't think of a good answer to this one, I really don't have any guilty pleasures. Sorry.

What? No, I didn't make these a few months ago on the Rock Band take-a-photo-of-your-character online tool. No, I wouldn't do that.... *shifts awkwardly from foot to foot*

{6.} how early do you start your holiday shopping?

Well, before you all hate me and leave me, be warned I have a very bah-humbug-esque post that I have been mentally drafting. That being said, I leave things late, my father always buys himself what he wants beforehand, my niece and nephew get awesome shit I can't justify buying for them (from the grandparents) and I HATE crowded malls. More specifically, mall parking lots. So... very late. And often online.

{7.} what is a family tradition that you would like to pass on to your significant other/children?

Giving the family dog his or her new bone/stuffed animal on Christmas morning, so they are a part of the festivities. Beyond that, sadly I don't know. 

Christmas morning, 2008, with Scooby Doo

{8.} what do you consider your greatest achievement?

As I commented on Jumble's blog...I have no good answer for this one. I feel like I have yet to achieve great things, which saddens me, as I have no plan in place. Actually you know what? Forget that! I CHANGED MY MIND! I was a fantastic mom to my fur-baby, Scooby Doo (a real, live dog), for 13.5 years. She was my world and I loved her with every inch of my being, so I would say - being Scooby and Mr. Grey's mom. They are gone now, and I miss them.

{9.} what do you do to pamper yourself?

Pamper? Hot Epsom salt bath with a frivolous magazine (that actually usually pisses me off because of the fluffy, bullshit content, but... that never seems to stop me). Other than that, I suppose pay too much to get my "hair did" at the salon, but I have long hair, so not much choice.

{10.} if you were to start your own restaurant, what would it be called?

Miserable-Tasteless-Probably-Burnt-Depressing-Gluten-Free-Vegan-No-Nuts/Coconuts/Soy Restaurant. It'd be a hit with the University vegan crowd, and maybe the Emo [EDIT: hipster] crowd. I would serve rice pasta with bland tomato sauce, organic brown rice cakes with organic hummus, and provide an apology letter for the quality and taste with every receipt.

How about you guys? Do the list and post your link in the comments. Also, feel free to tell me how awesome my theft post was. Thanks. *emphasizes sarcasm*

Outtake: Schultz wanted some massive Scooby stuffing action.

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I Burn Shizz

I suck in the kitchen. No, not like that, you perverts. The original title to this post was "I Suck in the Kitchen", but as I wrote, I noticed a different trend.

I am hopeless in the kitchen. Really hopeless.

I remember being 12 and trying my hand at fudge. I knew the instructions said to be exact in timing, and to make sure nothing got burned, but I felt confident. I am quite certain that was the very first and last time I felt confidence in the kitchen.... and in the end both the fudge and my kitchen aspirations were burned into a pile of lumpy grossness.

Okay, in all seriousness, I just set my laptop down to go start my delicious home-made dinner of olive-oil coated baked okra (which actually isn't bad if the okra is fresh, and you don't eff up a simple recipe like the one here), and I placed my laptop down swiftly, directly and without thought, straight into my glass of expensive, organic, not-from-concentrate (hell no!), diluted-with-water, berry juice. It promptly splattered across the beige carpet below.

I cursed. BF helped me clean it up. Thanks BF. I hope we got it all. The lighting in this room is poopy after dark.

So now I should re-state that I suck in the kitchen and I am hopeless in general with food and drink.

Whenever BF suggests we have someone over for dinner I cringe internally because, for me, dinner = FAIL unless it involves dialing, ordering, driving, serving, and throwing out the containers afterward (have I mentioned that I DESPISE doing dishes, too?). When BF suggests this, I also cringe externally, and I think I disappoint him.

One of the most ironic parts of this is that I love to socialize with friends and family (you know, if they return my calls or emails and reply to invitations - SISTER I AM LOOKING AT YOU). But I get paralyzed at the thought of having to make food for other people, because I know the results will be somewhere on the scale from yucky to catastrophic.

When I do try to cook, I turn into an even bigger stressball, and that never starts off a dinner party evening very well, because we all know that BF takes the brunt of the bitchiness. I just know things won't turn out perfectly, and it annoys me and upsets me to no end.

In my youth, I destroyed a microwave trying to make MICROWAVE POPCORN. They mean that shit when they tell you not to leave things unattended. Microwaves especially. And hairdryers.

Much smoke and parental disappointment followed. Who fucks up popcorn that badly? Sure, we've all hoped for a few extra kernel pops, teetered dangerously on the line between a nice, hot, tasty fairly fully popped bag of corn, and the 'damn-i-pushed-it-15-seconds-too-far' result of an entire bag tasting slightly singed. But destroy a microwave? That takes a certain kind of special.

I'm pretty sure even he is disappointed in me.

My okra is as done as it is ever going to be, and as I sit and type, the smoke detector is buzzing its ass off. I've opened the windows, turned on ceiling and exhaust fans, and sit here listening to it chide me about my cooking. It's like the damn thing knows I am recollecting damaging memories involving cooking and smoke from my childhood and it just wants to laugh along.


Before this stupid diet I am on now (not my choice), I had attempted to make toast in the morning. BF was away, and I decided to save time and brush my teeth while it cooked. (No, I am NEVER late for work, why do you ask?).

You know what that resulted in right? An unattended toaster.

Not only did the smoke detector fail to go off, I had a flaming pile of wheat just billowing smoke in the kitchen and hallway. I feared for my dogs. [side note: Then I wondered why they didn't alert me to the impending fire in the kitchen (hey, Lassie would have, right?). Just kidding, Scooby was sleeping and had surely had enough of my shit after 12 years. lol]. I don't know what I did, but I managed to avert major disaster. But the house smelled like burnt toast the entire week that BF was gone.

Now... imagine more smoke. Much, much more smoke. Image copyright.

That cinched it for me. When the lives of my family members hang in the balance because of my ineptitude with microwave popcorn and toast, I think it is time to step away from any kind of heat source. Any heat source and food*.


This can only mean disaster for my future children. Poor, poor, BF.






*Not sure if microwave popcorn really qualifies as food, but still...


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The Joy Of Pets

Pets can be awesome. Pets can be fun. Pets can try to eat your veterinarian. Occasionally, their own feces. Such complex creatures, they are.

Pets can be special, like Allie's dog Katie. Pets can be more feral than snuggly/domestic, like Jody's. Pets can be a source of joy and boundless love. Pets think you are da SHIT. Well, generally, anyway.

Disclaimer: I have tried to make some funnies here, but truth be told I have a ton of emotions mixed up in all of this... the loss of past pets, the awful experience Schultz had, and lots of other things. So please make sure you take as much of the funnies part as possible.

Our dog was a rescue from Loyal Rescue, after a puppy mill bust in Quebec. Normally, I adopt from my beloved Brantford SPCA, but I happened to be searching for a cat after the death of my inspiring, loving, wonderful blind grey tabby Mr. Grey, and I tried searching for special needs pets on Petfinder.com.

We already had my beloved Scooby Doo, and I thought perhaps she could use a companion.

Instead, a goofy looking ad popped up with a great dane on it, and I thought "Hmmm... I wonder..."


I came across this fellow, and my heart melted:

Severely underweight, abused, scared, scarred, exhausted. And yup, that's his penis sticking out. And his vertebrae.

So we brought him home on January 3, 2009.

Now, when I leave the house, and come back later on (45 seconds if it is to put out the green bin and recycling, 15 minutes if I am going to the gym... haha just kidding...    We all know I don't go to the gym.) my boy is so bloody happy to see me, it's like he was certain he was abandoned in the house, all hope was lost and he was destined to spend eternity in a comfortably air conditioned house with easily accessible dog food and lots of places to pee away from his own bed. The horror!

Now, let's face it, when I leave, BF is like "hey... yeah, have fun, don't rush back, we're good here. You gone for a few hours? Days? Have fun with that." Whereas Schultz (the dog) is all FREAKIN' PUMPED when I walk back in because I forgot my sunglasses!!

"Oh hey, hey mom, hey, hey, what's up, you're back, yay! let me watch you type on your laptop while I lay on my one bed or maybe my other bed. hi mom! here's a stuffy (stuffed animal), I don't mind sharing, since you came back and all, hey, hey mom, hi! how are you! you came back! I have a stuffy! let's go pl...."  (then he sees BF and loses interest in me, but still, I relish those 20 seconds of being adored by Schultz).

Kind of like this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q8FWzLMobx0

(Okay, BF never acts like that, but I was trying to emphasize the juxtaposition between the two mentalities of male vs. pet)

For a year, Schultz shared company with my beloved unknown-mixed-breed, my 13 year old girl, Scooby Doo, who I miss terribly. She was an excellent friend who fought hard to be strong for me 'til the end. She did her best to stick with me, but I absolutely had to let her go in January of this year.

Before he learned he could overpower 4'-0" high chain link fence.

Before he knocked her over one time too many, they did play in the back yard and it was precious. (Grainy, using my digital camera, but precious).

See them here:  http://www.youtube.com/v/vrK4YAytYMQ?fs


Just imagine the world for a dog:

• Genital licking - accepted, if not expected, by society in general
• Ability to fart shamelessly, anywhere, any time
• Smaller carbon footprint - no toilet paper
• Happy to eat just about anything, including (but not limited to):
• tubs of margarine (yes, my sister's dog Kody has done that)
• baby socks (Kody left them processed but intact in the back yard),
• scrunchies (Kody)
• shaving razors (that was a fluke, Schultz is nuts, my suction cup fell off the shower wall and he somehow felt the need to try to eat it - which he didn't do, but damn, he tried)
• cat food
• cat feces
• cats
• foam bedding
• chocolate (this is toxic to dogs, but... apparently Kody has a high resistance to toxic items.... uh... good boy?)
• anything with stuffing or strings that will cost $100 for the vet to say "keep an eye on the coughing"
• soap. that had to be brought back up by the vet. after feces had been eaten. the pregnant vet and techs were all either also vomiting, or near vomiting. (Schultz is such a charmer).
• occasionally dry dog food

• SQUIRREL! (no, no, not to eat, see how the bullet point is back out there at the main list??)

Schultz has lots of issues once he gets out the front door or is at the front door. Being restrained seems to trigger something awful in him, which is saddening but also hard to manage. I have to take him to the vet tomorrow, wish me luck. Last time he bit me hard, twice.

So... yesterday I was in a somewhat serious meeting with my boss and a colleague. We were discussing an issue that could potentially be brought to litigation. What did I do while feeling uncomfortably scrutinized and cold in the overly air-conditioned office? Be serious and calm? No. I saw a squirrel outside his window and, in keeping with my professionalism and appropriateness-at-all-times, I spurted out "SQUIRREL!" and laughed to my colleague. Yup.

The Joy of Pets.

Pretty sure I was the only one amused. And the only one who wasn't questioning my sanity. (Well, 'cause I know it's already teetering).


SIDE NOTE:

We are 99% certain that Schultz is the large breed dog discussed in the July 2009 issue of Reader's Digest (Titled "Canada's Puppy Mill Scandal" by Ray Argyle, but I can't find an active link). My mom gave me the hard copy but I either misplaced it or recycled it (which is not like me). He even had to have tail surgery where it had split open. He's been through a lot.

Happy now. :-)

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