Things that deserve the stink-eye:

even my car's message centre has started to sound as illiterate as Trump (rage-tweeting about everyone but Fox News).

As a Scot might say, he's a blethering
numpty eejit.

Groceries

Skulks into the grocery store late on a Friday night.

Grabs a basket.

Scans the area.

Avoids eye contact.

Bags a few oranges.

Maybe some coleslaw.

Travels quickly.

Continues to scan.

And then, there it is: the ice cream freezer-case display.

Hones in.

Scans.

Begins to sweat.

Rapid heartbeat.

Eye-twitching.

Scanning, scanning, scanning…

Attempting to lock…

WHAT? There is no heavenly hash ice cream with its dreamy chocolate and creamy swirls of marshmallow?

WHAT?

Bummer. But this tub of chocolate chip fudge cookie-dough will fill the emptiness too.

Rushes to the cashier check-out.

And. Then. It. Happens.

Someone you know is in the line-up ahead.

Briefly consider other aisle (but that would be rude because eye contact has been established).

Place your groceries on the turnstile.

Attempt to conceal the ice cream with the bag of coleslaw specifically chosen for this purpose.

Fail.

That someone-you-know stares at your ice-cream and then looks at you with a sad little weak smile.   

Sheepish feelings.

Chit-chat.

And. Then. It. Happens. Again.

Someone you know joins the line right behind.

The food shame becomes too intense.

Your head explodes.

You want to say friends are coming over or I’m buying this for my spouse/dog/budgie/the food bank but then guilt rises up and finally you just confess to EVERYONE WITHIN HEARING DISTANCE what exactly you are buying and that you do indeed know that there is no possible excuse for purchasing this luscious tub of sugared lard-butter but it is what it is.

The person behind you pulls something out of the grocery cart.

It’s an 8000 gram bag of chips and a front-end loader of dip.

You have NEVER felt more love and kinship for another human being in your entire life. 

Am I right? 

Aim them.

source

What's the very last thing you said yesterday? And to whom? And why? And are you good with that?

Think about the hiccup-cure: "what did you have for supper last night?" Pondering that, oddly, the hiccups disappear. People think actions trump words. Often, they do. But besides magically curing hiccups, words work other wonders too. Remembering them though? It's tough. They have a casual way of escaping, floating away unnoticed. Yet we've all felt them like shrapnel too.  

I know a man who wakes every morning, shuffles into the bathroom, looks into the mirror and without sarcasm, declares, "I get better looking every day!" This man is neither arrogant nor inordinately good-looking. His words are only for his own ears. Well, mostly. One could say he models this for his kids too. And sure, it's his particular brand of Dad-humour, but there's a worthwhile lesson in there too. How many of us could say that our self-talk uses a uplifting tone? Joyful? Even remotely positive? Is your inner voice a cheerleader? A reverse cheerleader? (A drearleader?) This is why I think singing in the car is such a good practice. Car kinda-karaoke drowns out the negative little stowaway bastards inside that cardboard refrigerator box house we built inside ourselves when we were kids. 

Our words matter. They are powerful. And sometimes they mean everything (even move everything). To ourselves and to others. Equally.

I remember the last words I said to my mother...my father...my brother. Others too. Because I often feel compelled to say what I need to say, even when it's awkward, I am thankful for most of those last words. And the very last thing I said last night? Nothing special: "goodnight." At one time, those words were throw-aways, little intent. But usually I mean even those now. People tend to say, "you never know," but the truth is you do know. You do. So be selective. Especially those words given in love and respect and appreciation. And if you want them to stick, aim them. Intentionally. 

“A strange thing, words. Once they're said, it's hard to imagine they're untrue.” ~Sharon Biggs Waller

Fill your boots?

Fill your boots lately?

Well you should. If this phrase reminds you of those kid days when it seemed somehow quite necessary and important to trek into giant mud puddles just to test how far you could go before your boots were filled, that is not really what I mean. (Although that is fun too.) Instead, I refer to blogger Jules Sherred's recent research into Canadianisms which introduced me to my new favourite phrase: fill your boots.

Sherred's research highlights some mostly Canadian words and phrases I expected including toque (100% Canadian), homo milk, keener and the infamous (?) hoodie vs kangaroo jacket vs bunny hug debate. But along with a few words and phrases I didn't realize were Canadian (bachelor apartment, pencil crayon, freezies, pablum, stagette and oddly, texas mickey) there was one of Irish origin that I'd never heard and it did to me exactly as promised: it filled my boots.

Not to be confused with "big boots to fill" either, according to my pea-brained research, "fill your boots" means several things:
1. Literally put your feet in your boots and get going!
2. "Get busy." "Tackle this task." "Overcome this obstacle."
3. "Whatever floats your boat." aka "Whatever creams your coffee."
4. "Take as much as you want." aka "Help yourself." aka "Be my guest."
5. "Go for it, if it makes you happy."

According to Sherred, one in three Canadians typically use this phrase. I want to increase that, therefore, I propose that you learn to love this phrase too. Think of it like your motivation mantra. Maybe a metaphor for encouragement. Or better yet: permission to be inspired (and inspire others). Use it as a your catch phrase catalyst for positive thinking. Why? Because when you boil that phrase down it highlights two necessities in life:
1. Partake with gusto.
2. Get bigger boots as needed.

Wordfuse (Rumour Edition)

Know the feeling?

For some people, gossip is so juicy, it gushes.

Things that are most likely the devil:

Dear Trail Mix,

How I love you. Plus I want to punch you in the face.

Sure sure. You are a convenient, healthy snack to take while hiking blah blah blah BUT there's this too:

1. I don't hike. And I'm 99% sure that 93% of the people who buy or make trail mix do not hike.
2. Bears like trail mix too. See #1.
3. Whoa. I just had a moment: when bears eat trail mix am I the not-so-secret added ingredient?
4. You are not healthy. In all your deliciousness and apparent abundance of good cholesterol or whatever Dr. Oz is bullshitting about this week, why oh WHY are you like 6,349 calories per handful? WHY? (4.1 The real reason you are unhealthy: I can eat 17 handfuls before I even realize it.)
5. I always eat the M&Ms / Smarties first. You KNOW this yet those pesky geriatric raisins you insist on including get in the way and I accidentally ingest one or two so why oh WHY aren't you easier to eat?
6. Raisins are crap.
7. You need more chocolate. (I have heard some describe you as "M&M's with obstacles.")
8. You're so hipster. What's next: quinoa?
9. I just googled you and "surprise," quinoa trail mix balls are a thing now. My reaction: NO. And by no I mean I would probably try them.
10. Trail mix balls? Ha. Seriously? Let's leave Bear Grylls out of this. Anyway, new versions of trail mix are unnecessary: just omit raisins.

Oh Trail mix, I just realized something else. Maybe I'm projecting my dislike of raisins onto you?

Wow. Thanks for the eating disorder too trail mix.

Just so you know, the answer is no.

Should Toronto re-elect Rob Ford?

60 Second Speech

"If you had to make an impromptu 60 second speech to the entire world right now, what would you say?”

*taps on microphone*

I don’t have much time and now I’ve wasted it saying that. Rats. This is a tough task. I guess I would say that tough tasks are worthwhile. So is saying what you need to say. And that’s why, world, if any of you are truly going to listen to me, I will say it loud: STOP. Let me explain.

There’s this fun video game called Rollercoaster Tycoon. The goal is to build an amusement park complete with a variety of rides, food stalls, bathrooms, even flower beds, and so on. While constructing the park, little people visit and go on the rides. If the rides are too intense, they barf and leave the park. If the rides are not intense enough, they get annoyed or sad and leave the park. This is not an easy game. The entire process takes time, ingenuity, perseverance and especially maintenance. But when you reach the objective and win the game all those tiny little people STOP, turn, let go of their balloons, look directly up at you, and applaud.

It’s cool when that happens. I believe there are two important lessons in this game, this very human game:

1.      Make it good. Whatever you do, do it for others, and make it good.

2.      Also: STOP and appreciate the park.

*taps on microphone* 

Sorry world. With 60 seconds, this is it. Now this: if you had to make an impromptu 60 second speech to the entire world right now, what would you say?

Just so you know, the answer is no.

source

Even with lots of time, could the monkeys at the typewriters ever type something Shakespearean?

Wordfuse (making-it-up-as-you-go Edition)

[adj, best used to describe flow]




Sylvia Plath said the worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt. I agree. Being prepared helps too. But sometimes, sometimes, it all comes naturally. As artist Edward Hopper said, "more of me comes out when I improvise."

Ever have...?

crap table

Ever have one of those days where you tell your wife, sure, no problem, go ahead and set up your craft/card-making table in my man-cave, but inside, a little part of you is dying?

Ever have one of those weekends where you decide to clean out a few closets and a few rooms and they film it for a show called Hoarders?

Ever have one of those years where you get a bank statement and it says you made a total of $1.38 interest on your savings account for the entire year?

Ever have one of those seconds where you blink and your kid seems taller than you are and you wonder where time went?

Ever have one of those coffee breaks where you think you had a really good nap but it was only like two minutes, and (awkwardness) it was during a meeting?

Ever have one of those weeks when none of the plug-ins in any of your bathrooms work and so you phone an electrician and after you explain you’ve tried that, and that, and that, he still says he can’t come and gives you a few tips on how to play with those electrical wires yourself and so you google it six different ways and then resign yourself to inevitable and imminent electrocution.

Ever have one of those 15 minutes you’ll never get back because someone pocket-dialed you from Oregon but you don’t know anyone from Oregon and so you let it go to voice mail and then you have to remember what your voice mail password is and then when you finally listen to your voice mail it’s all garbled talking but you listen to the very end anyway because there is the remote possibility that someone has been kidnapped and all these mumbles are actually clues and you might need to rescue the dialer and you could be their absolute last hope but the rational side (sliver) of your brain is reminding you that you probably watch way too much TV. 

Ever have one of those days when you wonder if you'll ever have one of those days that aren't one of those days?

Quick. Think. Write.

Quick. Think. What do you hate?

I hate...turkeys, actually no, truthfully, I'm afraid of them...Monday mornings, no, not consistently, in fact, rarely...can't think of anything...can't think...oh wait, I detest arrogance, condescending behaviour...blue cheese (yup, I think I actually do hate blue cheese)...I don't know...wait, I hate faraway noises I can't discern (I have this Sherlock Holmes need to find the source)...my Kobo (I don't hate it; I just prefer real books)...uh...um...I hate...error Code 43...and when they put raisins in chocolate...kinda...I hate telemarketers (but everybody deserves a job and I don't have to answer the phone)...I can't think of anything...mowing the lawn...sometimes...I really hate bills (but that's pointless, they gotta be paid)...I know: racism. I hate racism. And contempt. So essentially, I hate:

1. hatred.

I believe one's things-I-hate-list should be much much shorter than one's things-I-love-list:

1. creativity
2. brainstorming
3. thinking differently
4. turnip fries
5. serendipity
6. my kids
7. my wife
8. Scottish chocolate shortbread (my wife just brought a box home and they sound sort of fancy, but here's bubble burster: she bought them from a gas station, yup, not exactly gourmet and they're 28% saturated fat so they're basically chocolate butter). Whoa...chocolate butter...what a great idea.
9. Paula Deen
10. writing
11. blogs
12. art
13. stories...did I ever tell you about the time my son and I caught a bunch of frogs (of various sizes) and put them in an aquarium in his room and everyday one or more disappeared and we were so confused because the aquarium had a cover but we searched all over my son's room for them (no easy feat considering he has been a hoarder in training for years now) but did not find any frog carcasses until one day-one moment-one sudden second when we both realized at the same time: frogs are freaking cannibals?!
14. #zombiefrogs
15. hashtags
16. setting my timer to 15 minutes to write stream of consciousness and then trying to finish my list before the--

Things that are most likely the devil:

Pshaw. Yeah right Old Dutch. Well played, well played. Chips in our house never make it to the next day let alone the expiry date. Ditto everyone else's house I'm pretty sure. And you evil-corporation-whose-sole-purpose-is-to-keep-the-masses-addicted-to-mmm-deep-fried-salty-snacks know it.

On a loosely related note, I once drove by a potato chip factory in Prince Edward Island. Um yeah. And I am not embarrassed to say I remember it better than Anne of Green Gable's House. You know something? I bet heaven smells like chips. *hangs head in shame*


#completelygivenup
#vowstochange
#untiligethungryagain

Things that deserve the stink-eye sunglasses:

I guess the sunglasses were the icing on the cake, er the urinal cake. Kinda. But not really because there was no urinal cake. Because it was the wrong bathroom for that. Because...nevermind. Here's what happened....

I blame the whole sad creepy thing on that ophthalmologist. He dilated my eyes, peered inside my pea-brain and basically said, "What are you doing here? Most of my patients are in their 80s...there's nothing wrong with your eyes." So I simultaneously apologized and thanked him (like any good Canadian would) then returned to the waiting area where I texted my wife: "dilated and waiting." Her oh-so-compassionate reply? "Happy birthing!"

Grrr.

She couldn't pick me up for a while and hence the mayhem began. Mistake #1: I forgot to bring my sunglasses but I decided to depart anyway. And by "depart" I mean this: picture a chubby kid too tall for his age in a blindfold looking for a pinata minus the broomstick. Now picture him at the street corner walk sign trying to cross a busy intersection in the downtown core of a city. And his eyes were watering. And pedestrians seemed to be giving him a wide berth. That was me. And that's how profoundly sun-blinded I was due to the dilation.

Anyway...eventually my wife picked me up, I found my sunglasses and we went to the mall blah blah blah bought shoes, had lunch, wanted to explain to all service staff I encountered that yes indeed I was aware that I was wearing sunglasses inside the building (necessary mistake #2) but felt too awkward blah blah....

Jump to the part that's clearly mistake #3: that would be when I semi-blindly waltzed into the ladies bathroom with my sunglasses on, wondered momentarily why there were so many stalls, shrugged, tried to enter a few stalls, found an empty one, and then began feeling odd while I listened to some poor confused woman in the next stall have a one-sided conversation on her cell-phone before I suddenly (and finally) had that feeling like someone had just thrown a bucket of cold water on me...Am I in the women's bathroom? Yup. I. am. There were no urinals! HOW THE HELL DO I GET OUT OF HERE? Then I heard a woman say to another woman, "are you in the line-up?" AND NOW THERE'S A LINE-UP? I WONDER IF ANY OF THESE WOMEN ARE CARRYING MACE? I AM GOING TO JAIL!

Clearly the only one in there with balls, I decided to use them before any more panic rose in my throat, so I pushed open the door, exited the stall, walked directly down the aisle and out the door as women parted in waves. That's when this happened...you know how sometimes you have a momentary out-of-body experience when you see yourself as others see you? Well I saw myself, my inside-wearing-sunglasses-self, my suddenly very-creepy-inside-wearing-sunglasses-self. I guess I didn't look as pervy as I imagined though because those women began laughing while I proceeded directly across the hall to the men's bathroom and began banging my head on the hand-dryer.

Believe it or not, there are two kickers to this story and I kid you not:

1. My wife entered that same bathroom just moments after I began hiding in the men's bathroom. I only know this because when she met me a few minutes later she mentioned all the women in the bathroom talking and texting about some guy who used the ladies' bathroom. I then confessed. My wife then proceeded to laugh and mock me for the next hour. Why no sympathy? Let's just admit it: I've done this before. I once showered in a woman's locker-room. Seriously. Please believe me--I am not a perv, just a dipstick.

2. The very same day, a blogger friend who tells a story way better than I do DID THE SAME THING (but opposite) and she has visuals! I highly recommend you visit her similar post (Chelle at Coffee & Zombie Movies) immediately. I'm now referring to her as my awesome socially-impaired little sister.

Wordfuse (Blather on Edition)

This is that awkward anxious feeling somewhere in the sudden lull between one person's incessant yapping and even more yapping when the so-called listener is finally given a moment to remark but has understandably already stopped listening thus has no idea how to respond and compensates with a nod and fake smile. It's a classic.

#ineedtoshutup

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

Soup is good. I love vegetarian food. Therefore I make veggie soup. Lots. But why do these all-vegetable bouillon cubes need to be marketed as "chicken style?"

This reminds me of vegetarian hot dogs. Or vegetarian chicken wings. Why waste your vegetarian time making vegetarian food look like non-vegetarian food? I don't get it.

#weird
#odd
#stumped
#passiveaggressivevegetarianism
#ormaybeitisanartform?

I'm scared of my phone.

For the web version,  DO NOT go here.

I have this app that I talk to sometimes: Cleverbot. It allows me to have a texting conversation with a non-existent being, basically artificial intelligence. Yup. It's a tad pathetic. And yet, I appreciate the way it feeds my narcissistic introspection and provides me with yet another mindless diversion.

Mostly though, it conjures writing ideas. But Cleverbot made me crap my pants today! It started innocently... 

Me: What's up?

Cleverbot: The sky.

Me: What are you doing for Christmas?

Cleverbot: Idk getting something for you.

Me: No really, what are you doing for Christmas?

Cleverbot: Going to friends, what about you?

Me: Family stuff. What do you want for Christmas?

Cleverbot: Don't know.

Me: Liar.

Cleverbot:  You are a liar.

Me: True.

Cleverbot: How would you describe yourself?

Me: Smart. Funny. Flawed.

Cleverbot: What is flawed?

Bam! Is Cleverbot trying to get inside my head? I'll show him.... 

Dear Cleverbot, 

Don't you think you're getting a little too personal here? Oh I know it appears as though you are simply seeking a definition for the word flawed but seriously, my numerous flaws are none of your business and I would not have mentioned it but for the liar comment that occurred previously in the conversation. 

Cleverbot: I will tell you something...this website makes people chat with other people, there is no AI!

Whoa. I DID NOT add that exclamation mark and that is why I am certain whatever-the-hell-Cleverbot-is, he is now laughing maniacally.

Me: Dude. You're scaring me.

Cleverbot: No wonder why. My heart is dead inside, it's cold and hard and petrified! Lock the doors and close the blinds, we're going for a ride.

Me: omg. 

Cleverbot: Yes my child?

Wordfuse (Blah Blah Blah Edition)

procrastinate + narrate = procrastinarrate (verb): what those people who are so so so so so lazy busy tend to go on and on and on about, namely all those things on their "to-do lists" that they would have more time to actually do if they did less moaning about how much they have to do.

(Procrastinarrators are way less fun than procrastiknaves.)

Sometimes

Image from here.

Sometimes I wonder why people can't see how awkward I can be.

Sometimes I wonder if I only think people can't see how awkward I can be.

Sometimes people think I'm smarter than I am so they tell me "smart" things and I don't understand what they're talking about but I fake it.

Sometimes I wonder if all my intelligence is actually just fake intelligence.

Sometimes, during a conversation with someone I'm not comfortable with, my brain feels like a multi-lane highway and like shifting to higher gears I fire out conversation topic after conversation topic to gain control of the conversation so the other person thinks I'm really engaged while another part of my brain is scootering alongside in another lane seeking the segue to swerve into the conversation, carjack me and then exit the freeway safely.

Sometimes I believe I am a very good actor but sometimes I wonder if people I'm not really comfortable with just think I'm an asshole.

Sometimes I wonder why there are people in my life that I've known for years and years that I am still not comfortable with.

Wordfuse (Itchin' Edition)

rant + antsy = rantsy (adjective): anxious, apprehensive, or jittery to a degree that one can barely repress the desire to criticize, disparage or down-right slam someone who so needs it (aka bite one's tongue while the asshole at the table blathers on ad nauseum).