Things I Saw What Made Me Laugh

I was trying to figure out what Cinny, the 'smart cat', was doing. Then she ate a piece of tape.

This was seen while travelling in the States. 'Nuff said.

HOLY SHIT HEADLESS LADY ON THE BUS!!11!!11

The doors had 'Slide to Unlock' stickers over the handles. I got a hipster rash because I walked too close to it.

I hate shaving my legs.

I hate that in order to be perceived as pretty and feminine, I have to shave my legs.

I would like to wear shorter skirts, but those scraggly little black hairs stop me.

I hate everything about shaving my legs.

I hate razors.

I hate shaving cream.

I hate soap.

I hate the first shave after a long time.

I hate having to shave my legs twice in one week.

I hate shaving my legs in the shower, and all the soap runs off before you can get anything done.

I hate shaving my legs in the sink, standing on one leg and lunging like some sort of over-compensating rocker.

I hate twisting myself into a pretzel in the bathtub, trying to reach that elusive bit on the back of my upper calf, only to have my heel (which is braced on the soap shelf) slip at the last second, sending me spinning in this horrid, luke-warm soapy bathwater like Alan Moore did in his grave after seeing the movie of League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.

I hate shaving my legs.

On a related note, I hate waxing my legs.

But ask me sometime about the time Tyne and I tried waxing Chad's chest.

I rather liked that.

YOU FREAK OF NATURE!

So my mother called today, as she often does on a Sunday, and we started talking about DEATH.

(You have to say it like that, DEATH, with wide serious eyes.)

(DEATH.)

So we started talking about DEATH. My roommate's mother is dying, and her father died a couple of years ago (at almost the same age as my dad is now), and my parents' neighbour just died, and their other neighbour is not long for this world.

We were also talking about DEATH because a couple of days ago my parents phone was off the hook....ALL DAY. Now, as the child of now officially elderly parents, I had a little bit of a freak out and called their (still alive) neighbours to go make sure they weren't dead.

They weren't dead. Their phone was though.

(They made fun of me a lot. With their caps lock on and lots of exclamation points. Elderly jerks.)

And we started talking about my dad's folks, who died Way Back in the Day. His dad died in his sixties, and his mom in her forties.

The conversation then took this turn:

"Well, you know honey, your dad should be dead right now. His parents both died young. By all accounts he should be dead by now--WHY THE HELL ARE YOU STILL ALIVE YOU FREAK OF NATURE?!"

To which I could hear my father distantly chortle: "....hurrhurrhurrhurrhurrr..."

At which point my mother politely told me she needed to go because her friend was singing in a choir and goodness look at the time...

In which I completely fail at being a wife

So there I am, on the train, heading down to meet Kevin and Tracy so we can go to the bar. Because we're going out, 'on the town' as the kids say, I'm dressed up really pretty. Lips, eyes, stockings, the full deal.

So on the train. I'm sitting right up front, because seeing things from the very front is still a novelty to me, and this fellow sitting near by leans into my field of vision and says:

"How's it going?"

"What?" I say.

"How's it going?" he repeats.

"Oh, good," I say.

Small talk goes on like this for a few minutes. I find out his name is Dana ("Like Dada, but with a N."), he's from Tanzania, and studied law in England (though you wouldn't be able to tell by the level of his English), but wasn't practicing in Canada. He finds out I'm off to visit friends and I'm from a small interior town.

"So what's in that town?" he asks, angling. "Family? Parents? Boyfriend? Husband?"

"My parents live there," I say evasively. I know what he's getting at.

 "You are very pretty," he says, reaching out and almost touching me. "And clean," he adds, approvingly, and withdraws his hand. "I like a woman like that."

"....thank you," I say.

"Husband? Boyfriend?" he asks again.

I smile a little and look at him sideways. "That's none of your business."

"Awww, come now!" he says.

"Nope," I say.

"But I need to find a good woman! I want to have babies!" he exclaims with despair.

"Well," I say reasonably, "have you tried internet dating?"

"Oh, no, I don't do internet dating," he says, and leans in conspiratorally. "They're all SERIAL killers."

"...women you meet on the internet are serial killers?" I ask.

"Yes! They meet you and then they kill you, and then they plead insanity and spend two years in a mental hospital! Then they go free, and I'm still dead!"

"I seeeeee..."

"I need to have babies..."

~

In other news, I made baguettes!

And by 'I made baguettes' I really mean 'I completely failed to make baguettes'.

Note to self:

When making bread, do not get distracted.

For a whole day.

That would probably help next time.

Anyway, I decided it was Dwarven Fighting Bread. It was certainly hard enough to be so. I ate some of the soft bits out of the middle and it was actually quite tasty, but yeah. Hard. It would have been a good bread to drop in soup.

As it was, I dropped it in the garbage.

So...yeah. Never gonna be a French housewife.

Sorry, Dana.

What will I put in my gin?!

"I threw out your lemon," said Gareth.

"You threw out my lemon?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, "because it was moldy."

"...no it wasn't," I said.

"Yes it was," he said.

"No it wasn't."

"Yes it was."

"No it wasn't. I just used it."

"You just used it? In the scones that I'm eating?!"

"Yes," I said. "And it wasn't moldy."

"Then why was it covered in white powdery stuff?!"

"Because I just zested it," I tell him.

"Oh," says Gareth. "So anyway, I threw out your perfectly good lemon."


~Rosemart.

So hard his pelvis breaks.

At the bar with Steph, flipping through karaoke books.

Robbie Williams. We both take a moment to appreciate mental images of Robbie Williams.

"I would SO do Robbie Williams," says Steph, wistfully.

"Me too," I agree. "I would touch him so hard he would have an innie."

Pause. Steph looks at me with growing horror.

"...THAT WOULD BE BAD, ROSIE," she says. "WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?"

I grin, shrug. "I would then help him fix it?"

She looks at me with squinty eyes. "Whatever," she says. "I'm going first."

And now a picture of Cinny, casually sitting on the fridge. Where the cat treats are.

Holy shit!

So I'm walking down the street with Brian today, and he was telling me about stuff.

"--so as I was walking here," he was saying, "I was just telling myself to breath. In with the good, out with the bad. Release all the negetivity, release all the bad stuff, release everything..."

"So," I said, "what you're saying is...you shit your pants?"

"Well..." he said. "Yes."

I laughed, and then I told him about this graffiti I'd just seen while I was waiting for him.

If you can't read the scrawl, it says: "You are going to outlive your dog. Love it while its still alive ASAP."

"It's a good point," I said. "Love while you can."

Brian was silent for a moment. Thoughtful, I thought.

"But seriously," he said after a minute. "I'm gonna need new pants."

And that was my day.