Friday, May 14, 2010

what if God was chalet sauce?

BLASPHEMY ALERT? More like BLASPHUNNY ALERT.

Today I got that stupid 'What if God was One of Us?' Joan Osbourne song in my head. This annoyed me at first, but then I started thinking, hang on, me. Whatever God is, it's true that he could be anywhere, or anything. He could even be... Swiss Chalet Sauce.

And then, almost instantly, my brain made up this song:


If God had a taste, what would it be
And would you eat it in your face
If you were faced with it in all its glory
What would you ask for if you had just one dipping option

And yeah yeah God is great tasting yeah yeah God is good tasting
yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah

What if God was chalet sauce
Just a blob of chalet sauce
Just a delicious sauce for chicken
Trying to make its way home
And by home I mean my tummy

If God had a taste, what would it taste like
And would you want to eat
If eating meant that you would have to believe
In things like flavour and in jesus and his special combo of spices

And yeah yeah god is great tasting yeah yeah god is good tasting
yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah

What if God was chalet sauce
Just a blob of chalet sauce
Just a delicious sauce for chicken
Trying to make its way home
Its trying to make its way home
Into my tummy all alone
Until I ate some chicken
Then it wouldn't feel so lone(ly)

-repeat until it gets old-

Because I don't have photoshop right now I can't create a godly bowl of sauce. Otherwise this post is my crowning glory.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

lookin good, Mr. Robin. a little too good...

It's springtime, and I'm in love.

With my family? Yes of course, that's a given. But I'll be damned if those apple blossoms aren't looking reeaal good. The robin on my front lawn? Total stud. The tulips comin' up across the street? Lookin' fine ladies! Barry White has taken over my brain narration, and everything happening outside has been slowed down just enough so that everything is stunningly beautiful in an excessively romantic kinda way.

Every conversation, message, email, or tiniest interaction with another person is punctuated by the Barry White voice saying things like, "that was daaayyymm clever", or "that's the sentence structure of someone who knows how t'loooove", or "a person who can make you laugh like that is a person who can make aaaallll yo' dreams come truuue," or "that kind of eye contact can only mean oonnne thang," or "that doughy office worker is getting lunchtime exercise sos he can hit it laaateeerrrrr," or "that waitress' smile was about more than the biiiilllll," or "that car honk was only disguised as traffic, it was really about yo' fine aaaassssss," or "that lush green grass is juz waitin' for you t'roll aaaalllll up in it," or  "that was probably written without paaannnts," and so forth.

I seriously have about seven crushes on the go right now. All harmless and in no danger of threatening my actual relationship with my actual loverboy (aka: my husband), but silly and light and dreamy nonetheless.

Oh springtime. I would totally tap you.

And now, 8 minutes of a mildly funny Spring Fever themed thing:

Monday, May 10, 2010

double down, down, down...

Everyone has heard about this, right? KFC's 'Double Down'? Today Mike joked that he had one for lunch, and for a second I lost incredible amounts of respect for him.

For a lot of people, the "sandwich" itself probably seems benign enough. Sure, it's incredibly unhealthy to ludicrous proportions, but what many people may not realize are the longer lasting emotional, psychological, spiritual consequences of eating this mitt-full of grease and salt. Let me explain:

If you eat the Double Down, the following things will happen to you:
- you will no longer be able to tell the difference between good and evil. But, seeing as how you chose to eat it in the first place, this may not have been your strong suit to begin with.
- you will no longer be able to feel love. Much, much more than blood will be clogged from entering your heart.
- you will forget most of your treasured childhood memories. The overpowering spice combination plus the trauma of the overall experience will permanently alter your long term memories, replacing every person you ever loved with a deep-fried wad of processed chicken.
- it will become harder to make eye contact with those around you. Others will sense the change in you, and their instinctual impulse will be to respect you less. You'll know this, and while not making eye contact you'll also apologize habitually (more than you already do, if you're Canadian).
- you will never desire sex of any kind again. Every crotch will smell like bacon and pepper jack cheese, and any formerly erotic wetness will be replaced with the Colonel's Sauce. Trust me, it will get old real fast.
- dogs will try to eat you all of the time.
- your eyes will lose all pigment because of the profound loss of your will to live. You also won't be able to see colour anymore because of liver failure or something.
- other people's heads will start morphing into the sandwich, which will further confuse you morally because you are now technically addicted to the sandwich and want to eat it all of the time. When you give in to the urge, people will assume that you are the undead and you'll have to live in a cave somewhere, or start a colony with other "DD'ers" and take the whole "trying not to eat each other's heads" thing day by day.
- when you eventually die you will go straight to hell because you failed to read KFC's fine print that, upon consumption of the sandwich, your soul goes straight to Satan for eternity.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Saturday, May 8, 2010

tables totes turned

Once upon a time there was a girl who was riding her bike to her job/obligation thing even though she had a fever and felt really gross. As she pedalled against the wind along the river trail and thought about her last 24 hours of social interactions in her typically overly self-critical fashion, she approached a small trail underpass. Upon riding through it, she realized, last-minute, that there were 6 mallard ducks sitting in the middle of the path and that they weren't going nowhere. She veered to the side just in time, which brought her closer to the cement wall of the underpass, on top of which a large, hissy Canadian Goose was sitting. The goose's face was uncomfortably close to her own and its hiss was terrifying. She rode past as quickly as she could and proceeded to shudder for the remainder of the ride.

When she arrived (late) at her place of work-ish, her fortunes quickly changed when she realized that due to a slight mix up, two volunteers had shown up to help. What basically happened was, she had wished for someone to cover her SO hard, that it had come true. After making sure everything was good to go, she turned around and headed back home on her trusty junkbike, fever escalating but mood sweetening.

Once back on the river path, her mood continued to improve to the point where she happily hissed at a random gross goose on the side of the path, sending a message that she hoped he'd pass along to his disgusting gaggle of assgooses. The message apparently wasn't received (or maybe it was), because when she came back to the underpass, there were the same six mallards and the one hissy goose, now at sidewalk level. They were well off to the side of the path, however, so she didn't anticipate any trouble.

It was at precisely that moment of letting her guard down that one of the female mallards (let's call her... a ho) decided to fly straight into her face. It was freaky and weird and as she once again dodged those f*cking ho mallards, she veered too close to the hissy goose. He hissed at her ankles as she passed and then she proceeded to get the hell out of that crazy ass underpass.

BUT, she was now riding with the wind, the sun was shining, and she had a cozy naptime awaiting her. These facts crowded out the creepy ho-bird experiences and as she passed the city workers filling the Memorial Dr. meridians, she came very close to shouting "looks great, guys!" She didn't though, because that would have made her look crazy.

Then she pulled up to her house to find her landlord putting the finishing touches of awesome garden dirt in all the spots she plans to plant in this year, and she came inside to find that her husband had saved her favourite kind of chips for her, and then he made her a delicious sandwich and she felt so awse that she had to write about it.

The end.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

now this should happen...

Here's how my day would go if everything happened exactly as I wanted:

After cleaning up breakfast there would be a knock at the door. It would be Marry Poppins and she would actually be answering Vera's wish for a non-grumpy caretaker (probably expressed in the form of a charming song which I grumbly asked her to sing quieter). After examining Ms. Poppins' paperwork and identification, I'd invite her in. I'd go have a shower and get ready for the day while she cleaned the entire house with magic and sang cheerful songs that taught the girls to respect their mother and be tidier. She would also zap away the zit that I went ape-shit on yesterday.

After a quick lecture to Ms. Poppins on how adding spoonfuls of sugar to everything actually causes diabetes, I'd head out to have a fancy free day on my own. The weather would instantly clear up (and apologize) and I'd hop on my bike, the city my oyster and I, a clam-opening wrench thing.

Along my ride I'd spot a hundred-dollar bill on the street. A nearby policeman would confirm its non-counterfeitness and would also wink and say "looks like it's your lucky day". We'd laugh and high five, then I'd continue on my way. The first place I'd go would be Another Dimension Comics, because I haven't been there in a while and it's an easy stop on my bike ride. I'd buy the latest and funnest looking books and as I was paying they'd offer to deliver them to my house so that I didn't have to carry them around all day. I'd graciously accept the offer.

As I left the store I'd realize that I'd just spent my hundred dollars, but at the very same moment the policeman from before would pop over and hand me a roll of hundreds. "It's drug money, what are we gonna do with it?" he'd say. I'd give one back to him appreciatively and tell him to buy himself something nice. He would go and do that.

Then I'd pop by Ginger Group for a haircut. They'd trim up my mop and also try out an amazing new perm product that responds to my moods. All I'd have to do was think of the hair that I wanted, and it'd do it. I'd leave an extra big tip. Then, on my way to the pub, I'd run into a few super fun friends who also had the day off. We'd have lots to talk about so we'd all double on my bike to the pub. I'd get a bufford's deluxe with au jus and yam fries, and a pint of traditional amber ale. We'd talk about awesome stuff and make crass jokes that would make us hemorrhage with mirth, and then David Bowie would come sit with us and offer to buy any building in the city for our own fun and creative purposes. We'd choose the King Edward School and Bowie would be like, "let me know when you need more funds". Then we'd sing 'Life on Mars' until we all transcended into a higher plane of brain power, and we'd leave the pub with the ability to manipulate time and space.

Then I would stop time and beam myself to every interesting and exotic locale on the planet, and I would also be able to sense and envision every habitable planet in the universe. I'd relay this knowledge to my pub friends who would have already thought about it as well, and we'd begin formulating lists of who to relocate to which planets. There would be plenty of planets for everyone and we'd only choose ones that didn't already have established inhabitants. Obviously, all the jerks would go to one of the shitty planets.

Then I'd be tired, so I'd start time again and come home. Ms. Poppins would have cleaned and organized everything in our place with perfect intuition, and wouldn't be offended when I told her that we were all going to move away anyway. I'd give her a bunch of money and she'd happily sing a song about the winds changing while I led her to the door and ushered her out.

Then I would again stop time and have a long, uninterrupted nap. When I woke up I'd rearrange time so that Mike's day would have still been passing, and he'd get home right away. Then I'd explain the cool new planet I'd found and who was going to go there too, and we make arrangements to leave. Naturally, I'd fix earth as best as I could before we left. Then all of our friends and funnest family would all move to the wicked new planet, and because of mine and my friends mind abilities, we'd set everything up and live totally comfortably. Whenever we realized we'd forgotten something or someone, we'd alter time and space to retrieve them.

Wait, the ability to manipulate time and space is blowing my mind. The possibilities are actually too crazy. But, assuming that my new incredi-mind would be able to handle it, I'll stick to this plan. But then again, the idea of altering my physical self just popped in, and hooo boy, that's tricky stuff. Tighter tummy, cuter busts, slimmer nose, thicker hair, taller bod... it's a spiral of craziness.

Huh. Maybe the mind powers are too much. Everything else, though – I'm standing by it. Wrap it up with a bath, some wine, and a few episodes of an awesome show... that'd be an AWESOME day.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

TACOS FOR EVERYONE!

It's Cinco De Mayo today, and if you aren't celebrating by eating tacos and watching 'The Three Amigos', then you are no friend of mine.

Just kidding, we can still be friends. But at least watch this:




Are we cool? Yes, we're cool. Now pintarse de colores!