Really Growing Up

I went to a wedding yesterday, it was for a childhood friend I've known forever. We were never close and we don't keep in touch since I left the church but we were from a group that were of the same age and grew up together every weekend that we saw each other. It was a lovely ceremony, there were lots of people there and lots of love in the bride and groom's eyes. I like going to weddings, I like seeing us all grow up and start our own lives.

Since leaving my childhood church I've lost contact with a lot of good friends. Sometimes I miss them, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I miss all the fun we had and other times I think about how much of an outcast I was with the parents because I was different. Memories are like a kaleidoscope, different pieces come up everytime you think back. It's a wonder how much can be forgotten, remembered and forgotten again until the next time the tube spins and the pieces fall together again.

One person I saw yesterday brought up a whole slew of memories. He's 2 years older than me, a real Casanova back in the day. We'll call him Jack. Growing up during the teenaged years was all about having fun and flirting. I didn't usually take all that seriously because I knew it wasn't real, nobody falls in love at the age of 14. Even so, the bantering between friends is fun enough, and this way nobody gets jealous coz we're all doing it. Jack was a ladies' man, he looved flirting and hooking up with girls and having girlfriends and giving the "do me" eyes and making girls want him. He thought he was God's gift to the female race and could have anyone he wanted. He used to tell me quite often that if I was just a year older....

I was always like, whatever. I liked him but I didn't like like him.

So when we made eye contact yesterday after 5 (?) years, we smiled at each other and said hi. Well, actually, I smiled and he gave me the Jack-patented "do me" eyes. It didn't faze me, in fact I actually felt sad for him. There I was with Mr. Stinky by my side and there he was sitting all alone. There is absolutely nothing wrong with being single, he just looked... alone. We tried to strike up a conversation but it wasn't the same as when we were kids. There was no connection and it quickly ended, but not before I asked how he was doing and he said something like, "Oh, I'm hanging in there..."

What does that mean? Is he in trouble? Is it the "line" now? Am I horrible to not inquire further? Whatever the case, we left not long after that and by then I suppose he had meandered somewhere else to catch up with others. It doesn't matter, all I know is that when I think of Jack from now on I'll have imprinted in my mind the memory of him sitting by himself and trying too hard to impress. Still.

Two Field Goals and a Touchdown

As per Don Cherry's comment last night. What a game between Ottawa and Buffalo, 13 goals! I love watching exciting games like that. It's like, what's going to happen next? Who's going to score next? How many more pucks can they possibly put in the net??? I couldn't believe the action that happened within the last 5 minutes of the game; edge of the seat stuff, man.

Having said that, I'm all for cheering for Buffalo and am totally psyched about this series. I think it'll be super fun to watch and they might even take it to 7. I'm even hoping they win the Stanley Cup. If not the (stupid) Leafs, then I'd settle for distance association... and they have a nice arena. I even like the angry buffalo with steaming nostrils and glowing eyes they got in there. And the fans area great too, they don't seem to be of the corporate schmoozing kind that don't care for the game. I like that.

P.S. I love Don Cherry, I don't care what anyone says. He may not always be right but he's always honest. And funny. And cool. And full of stories. And entertaining. So there.

Night Songs

Early this morning I was stirred out of my sleep by a strange sound from outside. It's been warm lately, so the window was opened for some fresh, cool air while we sleep. At first I thought it was a bunch of birds screeching away but looking at the clock, I thought "2:45am? They'd be sleeping right now." As I laid there listening, the sounds became more distinct. Mr. Stinky woke up too and we realized the sounds were made by a pack of local coyotes howling and yipping.

It was really beautiful to hear, wildlife in the City (almost) although from time to time we do see deer around too. Coyotes seem to be a little more elusive to our area.

The sounds came to an abrupt stop and I was thinking they had either caught a neighbourhood cat or were on the hunt for one. Do coyotes sing to begin a hunt or to celebrate a successful one? Either way, I was imagining them running through the bush by themselves and within the pack or gorging in a bloody feast.

A few minutes passed and they started up again. For a second time, we awoke to listen to the "Ooouuu..." and "Yip-yip-yip-yip!"s before they faded away into the darkness again. It was so cool.

Stalker

Saw my old stalker today. We made eye contact, I permitted a quick smile and scurried along. The woman freaks me out, I don't know what department she works for, just that she's in my building. I don't know how it started or ended but I'm glad she's out of my life and I only have to see her once in awhile.

I visit the washroom every morning after I come in to work. She was always in there. At first she just stared at me when I was at the sinks washing my hands. Then it progressed to "Hi" and then small talk. I didn't mind at first, what's a couple of pleasantries now and then?

It started to get freaky when she began cutting me off before I got to the door to leave and insist on a conversation. Soon she was bombarding me with questions about my private life, my family, clothes and such. Discomfort usually turns on my aloofness and I'd have to politely give some non-answers while purposely making my way to the door.

I endured, I'm not easily scared away so I stuck it out even though there were daily horror stories to share with friends and co-workers. What finally made me throw the towel in, change washrooms and hide everytime she saw me from thereafter was that fateful morning she sent chills up my spine...

So she was there as always, when I entered and did my thing. I noticed when I came out to wash my hands she was just leaning against the counter on the other side of the washroom watching me. O..K... We have wall to wall mirrors so I kept my eye on her while she had hers on me. She stared. And stared. Finally things got vocal:

"Nice pants."

"Thanks."

"You got them at Jacob."

"...Yes..."

"They were on sale for $34.99 and you have another pair just like it in brown."

YOWZA! "....Uh........huh...nnn....."

That's when I broke all laws of physics and got the hell out of there without using the door.

She tried to track me down a few times after that episode but I made a point of ignoring her, staring past her if we met in public and turning away if I saw her trying to talk to me. There was no mercy, I had to do it cold turkey. She got the point after awhile and left me alone. I do wonder sometimes if she ever found a new victim and what became of him or her. If you ever see her, turn around and walk away. Fast. She is about 4'10" and looks like this. Just imagine the hair and glasses rims black. You could recognize her from a block away.

How to Make the Stinky Girl Simper

"Two ten-ride tickets to Union Station please."

"Two?"

"Yes."

*tap tap tap.. tap... several quick glances up from the buttons*

"Are you a student?"

"Me? No................. but thaank youu...."

*smile*

*simper like a lunatic*

Easy peasy.

Moron

Yesterday I was on the RT going to Scarborough to meet up with Mr. Stinky after work. Between Midland and Scarborough Town Centre, someone had flipped up sections of sod to make some kind of message and I wanted to see it. Approaching the spot I could make out "YES". There was another letter in front of it and I waited eagerly to see what it was. Then I saw it, it was an "E".

What the hell? What does E YES mean? Is that a gang name? Is that some kind of gang message? What a stupid name. That's like, meaningless. E YES... I don't get it......... oh... wait........ *siiiiiigggghhh*

Moral of the story? You don't have to be blonde to be a blonde.

0bl!t3r8!ng 0bsc3n!ty*

I often wonder when people are angry or frustrated and they write it down on their websites, why they use symbols and stars to swear. The reader knows of their intentions, the author has made clear what his/her intentions are, it's not like I can be confused when I read "@sshole".

So why the deliberate change? Are they scared of being caught swearing? Is it the childhood guilt of being told that it's a bad thing that they can't quite wash away? Is it the safe way to express anger and still retain a good image? I don't get it. Like I said, it's not hard to decipher "sh!t or f*ck so whether or not you replace the vowels with meaningless symbols you're still cursing. Right?

I have no problems with swearing. It's an easy way to express myself without having to be intelligent. As long as I'm not doing it around kids I don't see why an occasional cuss is wrong. Bad words to me, are for emphasis. I'm not the kind of person who peppers every sentence with fucks, shits and goddamns.

So if you're going to swear, go all the way. None of this halfway cowardly shit. Don't be a pussy, if you want to say fuck then you have the right to do so. If you can't bring yourself to do it then you should just stay away from these bad words completely. Try darn or shucks or my goodness.

I Spy With My Little Eye...

Sharp. Pointy. Painful to watch.

No, not your audition for Canadian Idol. I'm talkin' about women in high heels and stilettos.

Heels give height, they are sexy and eye-catching. They add to the mystique of the feminine form while filling men with dirty and sweaty fantasies. Stilettos are ultra-femme sexy with an edge: "I can balance on 3 inch points and I've got long, shapely, smokin' legs. Don't mess with me, I can circumcise you with my physics-defying toes." If Xena were around today she'd be busting chops with her leather bustier and skirt and knee high stilettos while seducing the handsome hero; she'd totally be every guy's wet dream. Xena: Sexy Warrior Princess. She'll kick ass and get some too.. Hoooahh!

It's very bad form when I check out a heel-wearing chica and she doesn't flow. Wearing high heels is a skill, balancing on an itty bitty piece of plastic is no easy feat. Not only must you master balance, you must also acquire coordination and walking skills. Pivoting on a dime? No problem. I cringe when I see wobbly ankles, wobbly like they might just snap off at any moment. Precariously perched (alliteration time!), these women look like newborn foals who don't know how to work their legs or 7 year olds trying on mommy's shoes for the first time. Ladies, it's not sexy when you can't walk properly. I don't see femme fatale when I watch you walk like that, I see inverted bobble heads.

You need to practice how to walk in heels at home, away from the critical public eye. If you can't achieve nirvana in heeldom, don't wear them. Try something a little shorter, it'll be more stable. Too many women out there are ankle biters, too many limping around pathetically and the cardinal taboo: bandaids.

EEeeoouuuuww! I don't want to see those! First of all, if you've got on bandaids your shoes don't fit properly. Second, maybe you should be wearing something else while your blisters and scabs heal over. Bandaids don't scream sex, more like pain and pus-y, gaping wound. Sick. You can't hide them either, you might as well have on neon Scooby Doo bandaids on. It's all the same, people. will. notice. And don't think that they can be counted as accessories either. Unless you're a rapper...

Embrace your womanhood, express yourselves and love what you were given. That also means your feet, ankles, legs, hips and back. Your feet are the foundation on which you stand, screw with them and you'll be sorry.

Splish Splash

Let's beat this very dead horse until it turns into a mushy puddle of V8. Why, in this day and age are you still not washing your hands after using the toilet? You think nobody notices, but I'm very astute. I see dry sinks, I notice how little time passes between the flush and your exit from the washroom and I can hear how long the water is turned on and the lack of noise from the soap pump. I've also got spies working with me, we're a tight network and we keep a running list of candidates for grossness. Male or female, you will be seen so beware.

Pumping the soap but not rubbing is not proper hand washing, you're just washing a glob of goo off your palm. It doesn't matter how many times you pump, if you don't rub it doesn't work. I'm not oblivious to your pretensions of soap pumping either while we're standing next to each other and you've got the water on. I may not be watching you but my peripheral vision still works and since I don't hear the pump being used.... And while we're at it, if you're going through all the motions why don't you just do it?!? Lastly, turning on the taps and flicking your hand through the water once or twice doesn't do anything other than moistening your hands.

So maybe you think a simple rinse is enough. Fine. Just do it at home where you can recycle your own germs but in a very public place where the washroom is frequently used, even if you don't pee on your hands there are germs everywhere. Think about the door handle to go into the washroom, the stall door and lock. You have to touch everything twice, once before and once after. You have to touch the taps twice as well. Now think of the daily traffic....

I'm OCD enough as it is already what with the constant hand-washing, paper towel to open washroom doors, holding my breath and running away when people sneeze or cough, econo-sized jug of hand sanitizer with pump action on my desk and another purse sized sanitizer bottle at the ready. I can't even shake someone's hand or use another computer terminal without heading immediately to the nearest sink to wash my hands afterwards. I don't need your help to make me a total hypochondriac, thank you very much. I can do that all on my own.

And for God's sakes, I really don't want to see you come out of your stall (especially after a poopy or during those special 5-7 days of the month), walk out to the sinks and start picking your teeth or fixing your lipstick or rubbing your eyes or anything to do with your orifices. That's just sick.

Mmnnnhhh...

It's dark outside again when I wake up . It's so haaarrdd...














I like doing this much better when it's dark out..

Even Ikea Gives Me Screws

On Saturday we picked up the new island we had wanted since the house was purchased. It took over a year before we even had the means to make this big purchase and now it's just become a part of our overall debt.

It came in a few pieces: countertop, cabinets, bar top and supports. We were delighted that it was finally coming home with us, not too thrilled when we lego-ed it together and found that none of the pieces "fit". Oh sure, we could push them up against each other but the pieces didn't quite line up, weren't flush or level and the worksmanship was lousy at best. Several things were cracked or had obviously been put through some trauma... luckily they were to be hidden so you could argue that it didn't matter that they were damaged. But really, I'm paying with both my kidneys here. I should be expecting nothing but perfection.

What was really frustrating was that we didn't get any screws with our island. We were told "everything" was there but I guess screws aren't part of "everything". Since we're not carpenters or cabinet makers, how besides eyeballing and guessing, would we know exactly what to use to put this thing together? You want to make sure the pieces are secure but you don't want screws coming up out of the countertop either. Luckily we could refer to our existing counter and make some good guesses. We only had to visit Home Depot twice and it took all of Sunday, with a lot of tense, breath-stopping moments but it finally got done. Mr. Stinky even had enough confidence to rectify the crooked drawers and cabinet door the so-called professionals had so badly installed. If you opened the middle drawer it would actually catch the top drawer and pull that out too. Without using a level, you could clearly see how slanted it was.

Anyway, aside from the stress and frustration we managed quite well and here are the results. We promptly ran out and bought some bar chairs with Mr. Stinky being the eager shopper for once, and had a celebratory dinner on our new island. Come over to check it out, just don't put full body weight on it, the bar top is only held up with brackets. But still. It's sweet.

Williams-Sonoma

I'm grumpy, I'm achy and I'm PMSing. I also gave in to my cravings and bought a jar of peach salsa from Williams Sonoma. I paid more than what a reasonably priced jar of pureed fruit should cost but hey, it's from a posh store and it's friggin' yummy. It's best straight from the jar too.. with a spoon, knife, whatever.

In high school my cravings were pickles, but the sweet kind. When I yearned for that sweet yet tangy crunch of preserved cucumbers we all knew what would soon be happening. I suppose my tastes are more refined and sophisticated now if I'm craving fancy schmancy peach salsa but I sure hope it doesn't become the comfort food. I don't think I could afford a steady craving of this stuff.

Randomosity

I've been at SAP training these past few days and I hate it so I haven't been able to update. Instead here's a few here and there thoughts.

> SAP is one mother-effin' stupid creation, and why it's so popular is incomprehensible. SAP lovers are morons... although once I'm proficient at it I'm sure I'll be just another SAP moron.

> It's pronounced "EN-ti-ty", not "EN-i-ty", you're driving me bananas!

> No food or drinks in the lab? For a day-long grazer, that's just torture! I bought a can of almonds and periodically went out in the hallway to eat them. Like a loser.

> Watching the guy play with his English Sheepdog made me smile. The dog was one big hairy, dirty, bouncing ball of happiness.

> You looked so snappy in your expensive, black suit... until I looked down and saw your brown belt and shoes.

> St. Lawrence Market looks so friggin' dirt, but the inside stuff is cool to look at and eat. And Future Bakery makes good butter tarts. Mmm...

> I'm moving faster in the mornings now. It doesn't take 20 minutes to get out of bed, get dressed and go downstairs anymore. Not since the sun started getting up earlier too.

> There aren't too many smiles downtown, the world is too serious. The only happy faces I see are on the dogs going out for their walks.

> Overheard that every job from which you've ever been fired was due to the boss not liking your rejecting his sexual advances. I'm thinking: a) you're not that hot (at all) and b) every job? Maybe your story needs a little tweaking coz I'm really not buying it...

> Spring is coming! The geese and ducks are pairing off. The mallards are back!

> It's almost sandal season, which means pedicure season, which I really need coz my feet are starting to look like lethal weapons... but not in the Kung-Fu: The Legend Continues kind of way.

> Saw Britney on the cover of a magazine and felt sorry for her. I've never been a fan, but damn... she's really let herself go. We need a side-by-side.
Now I don't mean she's let herself go in terms of pregnancy weight but she's just looking so white trash now. Her boobs are all hanging out but not in a sexy way, her belly's everywhere and seriously, greasy ponytail on top of her head, lighting a fresh one with tacky cut-offs? Sighh.. who will ever look at her like the sexy little pop tart she used to be?

> I need to remember the deep and important things I think about during the day so that they make it onto my random thoughts list instead of Britney Spears.

Happy Bunny Fun

HAHAHAHAHAHA!!

Up Yours!

This is super cool. When I win the lottery I might do this, but not before I steal a bunch of stationery. And my 21 inch LCD monitor. And my very comfy chair with the crotch stain on it, coz whoever had it before me clearly had a coffee accident all over his/her lap. And the behemoth colour laser printer my former manager ordered so that I could put it on my desk even though it would have completely crushed it due to it being about the size of a Mini Cooper. And some toner cartridges, lots of those.

Mutiny at the Cafe

P.S. If my manager is reading this, I'm just joking. I wouldn't do that.

P.P.S. If my manager isn't reading this, paperclip party at my mansion!!

Nuggets of Wisdom

As I am not the driver in the household, I see lots of things. I love ogling and rubbernecking but it's completely OK because I'm not slowing down and impeding traffic. I am the official accident-as-it-just-happened reporter and can tell Mr. Stinky what's going on without him having to take his eyes off the road for too long. The best perches, however, happen to be on streetcars and buses. From the high vantage point you can look down on all the drivers around you in privacy as most of them don't bother to look up into public transit vehicles.

While on the road I look at licence plates a lot, banners on stores advertising the latest sales, the feature movie in the minivan up ahead, roadkill, whatever and people. Oooh... I love watching people in other cars. So much goes on, I can give them my full attention!

One thing I notice is that when we are in our cars we feel protected. I don't mean because of the cages of steel around us, but we treat the inside of our cars as our homes, our private sanctuaries. We are surround by glass but somehow it doesn't always compute, it's like the door closes and "Shields up!" I have seen sooo many people picking their noses it can't just be a coincidence. Today it was a guy scraping about with his thumb, it must've been a stubborn cling-on that he needed the extra thumb power. But oh, think of the nostril! It must be hard on your nose to jam something so big up there and have it wiggling around.

There was this one time I was sitting in the streetcar, idly watching the guy in the car next to me while we were all sitting at a red light. I noticed he was a well-dressed man, suit and tie, well groomed and dignified looking. Then he reached up and stuck his finger in one nostril. Hmm... After he swished around for a bit the finger popped out and went in his mouth. Gaaaeehh!!! I think I might have banged on my window in disgust, I don't know why... maybe if he looked over I would've made a face and tried to shame him. Eating boogers?? What are you, 6?

People, we need to remember that glass is see-through! Pick your nose at home or in the washroom. Heck, duck into a corner and use a chisel if you need. Just make sure no one's around, coz sure we all do it but I don't want to see you pull anything out! And use a kleenex for Pete's sake, don't do the "pick and flick" coz you can't aim those little buggers and you don't want to be embarassed later when someone sees that hairy snot hanging on your shirt or on the professionally printed and bound reports you worked on all by yourself!

Go home, pour that glass of wine, put your feet up and give your nasal passages the time and care it deserves... away from the window. After you've cleaned house, take a deep breath and enjoy. Then toss out the boogy rag and wash your hands.

State Says...

I've been following the ongoing issue of abortion rights in the United States lately and I am disheartened. It seems there are some who oppose the law that resulted in the internationally known case of Roe vs. Wade (1973). This law states that the choice to have an abortion belongs solely to the woman, it is her constitutional right to exercise. Now it seems South Dakota has declared abortions illegal, in effect overturning the previous law, and no exceptions will be made unless the mother's life, not health is in danger. Beware, other states will follow.

Children born of rape and incest will be raised into adulthood because that is their right. They and those around them will also know how they were conceived and they will carry the stigma of being outcasts in the society. Women must now carry and give birth to these children sown by hate. The purists have spoken: you are no longer in control and life choices will be made for you by the state.

I am a pro-choice woman. I don't believe that some politician sitting in the senate knows or cares about what is best for me. I don't believe in this nanny society where we are increasingly relying on an oligarchy to protect and impose their will on us. If I have to wear a helmut while rollerblading, will they decide next that we should wear it while walking across the street or down the stairs? If I am in my childbearing years will they tell me when and where I will have a baby?

Pro-choice does not mean pro-abortion. I personally don't think it's a solution for unwanted pregnancy but it's good to know that ultimately the choice lies with me. If you're going to "do it", then you better know the risks and responsibilities involved. If a woman has sex without protection and uses abortion as her contraceptive, I might want to slap her for being so selfish and stupid but it's within her rights. If a woman who uses protection but carries some kind of genetic condition which would impair quality of life for her child, gets pregnant anyway and decides to abort it's a logical choice, it's also her choice. If a woman is the victim of rape and becomes pregnant because of it, I'd completely understand her decision to abort. Some stranger sitting on the Hill has no business interfering with my life or my decisions. My body, my choice.

When do we stop making decisions? When do we hand over our lives to the group with the loudest voices and the biggest signs so that we don't have to think anymore? If you were to live your life as the Pro-Life extremists dictate, you'd be wearing a seatbelt but not a condom. Does that make sense to you?

Canine Dreams

In once upon a time land I could afford all the stuff I fancied, like a house in the boons with a ton of acreage and all the dogs I've ever wanted. I love large and giant breeds, and would love having a doggy ranch with monsters running around. My preferred breeds are from the Mastiff group. These are solidly built dogs with heavy bones, pendant ears, short and well-muscled necks and a short muzzle. They are also magnificent droolers, not a quality many people like but I suppose if I'm out in the country I could use them to water my fields.

My favourite, Dogue de Bordeaux:
Look at the wrinkles! Look at the chest! What a beefy boy, huh? And so red. I love this dog.

At a close second is the Great Dane (like Marmaduke):
I used to work at a shelter where an elderly dane resided. He loved to be with people and was super affectionate. I've been crushed numerous times between 'Andy' and the wall because that was how he cuddled. Sometimes he'd step on your foot and not realize it even though tears are streaming down your face, he just wanted to be touching you. He was a gentle giant who would sit on your lap if he could figure out how to make himself fit.

I'm also big fans of the Irish Wolfhound, Bullmastif, Great Pyrenees, Olde English Sheepdog and English Bulldog:

Heee... look at the tongue! That pillow is going to be soaked!

Sigh... so many breeds... the Wolfhound and the Sheepdog aren't from the same group as the rest. Do you remember the Mr. Muggs readers in elementary school? Eeeee!!

We wouldn't be able to afford all these dogs if we weren't filthy, stinkin' rich because large and giant breeds tend to have health problems due to their sheer size and weight. They don't live as long as smaller dogs either so they're definitely not animals that come by cheap.

If I win the lottery and you come visit my palatial digs in the countryside I hope you're not scared of large dogs, or dogs for that matter. I might just sit on my porch to watch you figure out how to get from the car to the inside of my house without being swarmed and licked... just for hell of it. ;0)

And drool. Can't forget the drool.

My Best Friend

There are few people in life you fall in love with and never want to let go, not many you would die for or give anything to see them happy. You create relationships that endure so that at the end of time when you look back and see how much you've gone through together you're so happy you want to go back and do it all over again. I'm not at the end of my time yet (knock knock) but I'm pretty confident that I can say all this when I do get there. Among the few there is one I want to share with you, my best friend: Emma.

We met in grade 5 for Play Day. We were in different classes but put in the same group for that day of fun. Our group leader wore his pants baggy so that his boxers showed, he was ahead of his time. We found it hilarious having never seen a boy's underwear before and stood together pointing and laughing at him. This was back in the day when everyone at school knew each other. He might've been older and cooler but we were also friends and he would occasionally come over and talk to me during recess when our paths met. He let us laugh at him but after awhile he had to separate us because we got too distracting but everytime he turned his back Emma and I would run back to each other and resume the laughter.

We went through high school and university (sort of) together. We hung out all day at school and when we got home the phone would ring and the conversation would continue. We were inseparable, physically and in thought. The whole thing about finishing each other's sentences and such was totally us. Girls hated us and guys loved us. The girls hated us coz we were tomboys and thus hung out and related to guys with ease. We were two of the boys and for this we were reviled but also feared, those chicas knew we could kick their asses any day of the week if they wanted a fight. The boys loved us coz we could go out and play ball with them, we didn't prance or squeal like you see those girly girls doing. We didn't like girly girls; it was us against them.

We're not huggers but we're as close as two people could be. Nothing and nobody ever got between us, although I don't even know if they tried. I'm more confrontational and blunt, she's more diplomatic and giving but she's also tough. I've seen her weather some trying times with grace and strength. I've watched as she juggled multiple flaming torches with poisonous barbs sticking out of them and surrounded by killer bees without missing a beat or complaining about the load on her shoulders. Emma is fierce.

Even thought we're both older now with our own busy lives she is still my best friend. We don't see or talk to each other as much anymore but I know that she's only as far away as my phone. I enjoy hearing about what she's up to and what she's doing next. There have been relationships, good and bad times in each of our lives and we've always been there for each other. I plan on calling her my best friend for the rest of my life... that's why they're called "best friends", right? I plan on us being there for each other, seeing each other's children, complaining about wrinkles and growing old together. She already knows all this and hasn't said anything to the contrary so I suppose that's what will be.

To Emma, you are the bitch. Here's to you, babes.

Couch Potato Kitty

Something we've discovered lately is that Iggy likes watching television. Certain programs will catch his eye, especially ones with animals and he'll sit on the floor right in front of the TV mesmerized. It's not a passing fancy either, he'll have his butt planted and just watch. We'll be watching him and it's really amusing to see him follow the action on the set coz you can see his little head moving along with the picture.

Today I was watching a bit of Top Dogs, and they had the frisbee competitions where the owner and the dog dances, and tricks are performed with the frisbee. Iggy sat and watched, occasionally getting so excited he'd squirt up closer to the TV and then carefully paw the dog or frisbee behind the glass. It was a total Simpsons moment when Homer yells "Get that cat out of the way!"

What a cute little devil.