Fear Cripples.

Well. During my ever relentless search for Good Health and Longevity (which supposedly go hand in hand) I have come to the conclusion that I might need to crack the whip a bit. I admit, I've been a bit lax in the goodnhealthy nutrition and exercise department. Been overindulging in the chocobrowniecakecookiereesespieces and mcdonaldstimhortonswendysbacondoublecheeseburgers a tad and, let's face it, I've seriously plateau'd in the exercise department. I feel it. My body, if I listen closely, is getting a bit perturbed. It's saying "hey, fool, I'm cranky, feel this?!?" Yes, yes I do. I feel icky. I feel I need more challenging training routine, and less self-gratification in the kitchen. More in the bedroom, but that's really another post for another day :P

Hence, my new inspirational mantra: Just Do It, Dumbass. Yoga, swimming, weight training. Less junk food, more chewy goodness. More carroty, lettucy, fruity goodness. More ginger tea. Less salty, sugary, empty carby badness. Less coffee. Ouch. Nevermind, keep the coffee. Just workout more, upgrade the work. Make it hard again. No reference to bedrooms, really.


I should prolly draw up a chart or something. Or maybe not...this is gonna hurt, and I prolly don't want to keep track of my downward spiral into Hell and paination.


Stay tuned for updates on my agonizing return to peak physical condition.

I suck.

Thanks for not Giving me a headache Day.

I've never really understood the history of the Canadian Thanksgiving. It's actually pretty complicated compared to the American deal. But the polite Canadian in me has always deemed it a good idea to be thankful in general, so, what the hell. I can be thankful. Especially since it involves eating really good food, and plentiful amounts of it. So, once a year, I am thankful that I get to stuff my face with really good crap, clog my arteries, bind up my heart valves, and add a good solid ten pounds to my pink-cheeked chilly autumn ass.

For most of my adult life I have been really into the whole theme of it all. I've decorated the table with the pretty squash and dried leaves and shafts of wheat, made a Cornucopia, cooked all the food, baked everything from scratch, cleaned, decorated, cooked, baked, cleaned...after a few days of preparation I was always so exhausted I was just thankful for the energy to to crawl to the table and shovel it all in. Usually took me weeks to recuperate.

I've decided it's time to become wiser, since older is inevitable. Wiser means realizing that the way I've always done things might not have been the most efficient way to go about it all. Wiser means learning from past foolishness, and improving upon my methods. Wiser means delegating responsibility.

So. This year I intend to significantly lighten my work load. Con someone else (my hubby, the Beast) into cooking the turkey. Con yet another (my brother-in-law) into baking all the pies, and con a few others (my children) into tidying the house.

For my part, I will to my very best to show up looking rested, content, and very, very thankful.

Go team... >:]

Weekend Update.

Yay, our new heating system was installed on Monday. I like it. I like it a LOT. I especially like the ability to crank the temp to hellish heights in the bathroom when it's showertime. Toast-ay! And with the new-and-improved plumbing, now there will be no more shivering naked in the too-big bathtub under the 9 foot ceiling in the cold, cold bathroom while the dripdripdrip of water from the prehistoric plumbing system dampens your left foot..nay. No more!!
Now there is water pressure, and heat, and toastiness! No more waiting til spring for a bath while you slowly but surely turn into CroMagnon man (woman) huddled in an icy cave with the skins of dead animals bundled around you and the stink and stench of your own armpits making you want to crawl outside and commit harikiri (ok, seppuku, for you purists) with a three foot icicle.
Finally! We are civilized! It feels so good :P AND I can use my LUSH products right through the winter!

Now to painting. I've begun the front bedroom window. Took one day to scrape, sand and prepare it, and another to paint it. Just fancy enough to keep the wood safe for the winter. Next summer I plan to completely strip, refinish and restore the original wood. That's gonna be some fun, huh Bambi. I hope the weather holds, because I hope to get the livingroom window done next week, same thing, but it might take a bit longer, it has suffered much more weather damage due to its northern exposure. More scraping, sanding, and swearing to come.

*rubbing hands together gleefully* Things are proceeding exactly as planned. Muhaha.

Well. Except for the annoying early morning Heebies I get at three frikkin am, when I wake up in the pitch darkness filled with anxiety, wondering what Incredibly Important Thing I'm forgetting that's gonna show up and bite me on the ass with its dirty yellow fangs. This happens, apparently, as people get older...I can only imagine the Heebies I'm gonna suffer by the time I'm 60, geez. I am sure the upgrade kit for Heebies comes complete with only the best and most advanced, mind-alteringly fearsome Heebie characters ever created in this dimension.

For some reason, the Giant Purple Snorklewacker just popped into my mind. So I went and did a quick Google to find a pic to stash here, but lo and behold...none (okay, one really bad copy, barely legible and not even worth a rightclick). No snorklewackers exist on the Net, unless you are willing to pay for the book, that is. Which, by the way, I already own. In fact, I am the proud possessor of just about every Bloom County comic book compendium ever published. Not that they're doing me any good downstairs in a dusty box. Aren't exactly helping me out online, are they.

Now, I'm down with the whole protected copyright thing, but really. Has the Snorklewacker been dragged out of Binkley's anxiety closet and forced to work as a thug for the Opus and Co. mob? Seriously. I think it's a mighty big bit of suspicious that no illicit websites exist with the Snorklewacker in his full, copyright infringe-ed glory. What is the Internet world coming to when writers and artists can protect their work and keep the likes of me from thievery? Is it not my Dog given right as a First World citizen to break Internet laws? I feel so affronted! Why I might just have to sit myself down in the nearest dandelion patch and have myself a good, old brokenhearted cry.

I miss Bloom County. I might as well haul my collection out of cobwebs and go read 'em in the dandelion patch. The rest of you are just gonna have to imaginate the Snorklewacker lurking behind me with a club and a big shit-eating grin.

Blah blah blah.

Seriously. Nothing has changed. Well. Maybe a few lil things. Got more work done in yonder basement, new windows were installed yesterday. Nice! Got some wicked storage racks in place (heavy duty Gorilla racks, fresh outta Costco) and my prized possessions are now nicely stacked, racked, and organized. Beauty. T'is a sight to behold.

Also, more housework dang went and got all accomplished, windows washed, draperies cleaned for winter. Haven't conquered any closets yet, though. Geeze, people, gimme a break here. New heating system to be installed next week. Thankfully it's still warm outside.

Another car show next week, and an art show I'm gonna miss this weekend cuz I gotta work *grumble* and...AND...a Botheration that I cannot even rant about cuz this is relatively public place and really, people, some things simply must remain private. So just back off, back off I say, stop harassin' me already. Stop that! Iz mah bidness! Leemeealoooooan. Grr. Grrr!

Anyways. I bought a new reef tank, so I can upgrade my current reef tank and have fun setting it up. It's double the size, which will give me more flexibility. Next week, hopefully. Funfun! Well, if you can call wet, slippery floors, dripping t-shirt, salty palms...throw in some sand, a margarita and a cabana boy and I'm all set :P

Speaking of wet, I did my usual gazillion laps in the pool this morning. I love swimming. Problem is I tend to hit the zone and forget to breathe above the surface...maybe the chlorine in my lungs will wipe out any festering viral germs incubating in my lung tissue so I don't suffer a recurrence of last springs nastyass, sinus-rupturing cold..ack. *shudder*

Speaking of hitting the zone, last Saurday night I went to my high school reunion. Had an absolute blast, of course, because the people I went to school with are a bunch of crazy wicked wingnuts. Pics will most likely follow, as soon as someone sends me some :P I promise to only show the pics where folks still got their clothes on and were doing mostly legal stuff.. Plus, I scored a birthday cake! It was way totally cool. Thanks, guys! :)

Speaking of my birthday, I also scored a new screen for my computer, a new sound system, a wailin' new hands-free headset for my cell phone, a really lovely bracelet, some unmentionables, some edibles, more things unmentionable, and some stuff you really don't want to be bored hearing about.

Til we meet again.

Time Flies. Better Than Horse Flies.

Wow, it's been weeks since I last scribbled, err, typed something inane in this little post-it box, eh? My last post was about Lush, and I just got home from yet another visit there. Well, at least I'm predictable :P

I went to the annual tattoo convention last weekend. Always a trip, the artists seem to get better every year. And I am always looking for artistic inspiration. For some reason, inspiration is hard to come by for me these days. *head scritch* Perhaps because I have so many things going on at once which I can barely concentrate on. Which proves to me yet again how our lives are far too, TOO frikkin complicated.

October 4th is the Classic Car Show. Nirvana. One can always find artistic inspiration in the clean, crisp lines of a classic, collectible thoroughbred automobile. Which, by the way, I haven't even posted pics of from the last car show I went to see in St. Catherine's at the end of August. I have been so remiss. Here. A pic or two. Three :P







If you want to see more, you can whine at me by leaving me a message at the bottom of this post. Or I can just add a few more. Just circumvent the whole whinyass message when it's late and I'm irritated and don't feel like reducing, thing :P





Sayonara.

Cleansed Of All My Sins.

Well, maybe not quite :) But my body is cleaner than ever, and boy, do I stink pretty...

A month ago I won a contest being given by a store in one of the hundreds of shopping centers orbiting my house. Great store, actually, called Lush. The first time I walked in, the onslaught of scentsation just about knocked me over. And the colors...riotous, bright, retina-scalding color that makes your head swivel and bounce like a bobblehead doll. Color everywhere. I was immediately in love with the store, and am now completely addicted to their products. Just the thought of going on a Lush shopping spree makes me vibrate like a lead guitarist on speed.

And it's practically criminal the way they market their wares. Color, scent, pushing the all-organic, natural, green, hand-made beauty products in a myriad of colors and shapes and viscosities...plus everything you could want or need under one roof.

Anyways, the contest consisted of a model city built entirely out of soap, and the person who could guess the weight of the entire thing would win it all. Having already spent a goodly portion of my disposable income in this store, I accurately gauged how much it weighed just by multiplying the weight of the smaller bars and doing the math. I also managed to figure out the value of that much soap, and was pretty damn happy when I won it all :) :) :)






One of the buildings in the city was made of a large piece of black soap. I think it's called Coalface, but I'm not sure. Anyways, when lathered, it becomes a nice seaweed green. I handed a stick of it to my hubby in the shower and laughed my ass off when he turned green and starting calling himself the Incredible Hulk :P

Anyone interested in natural soaps with smelly-fresh sniffyness, click on this logo and find a store near you. Or order online.




Just my way to say Thank You, Lush, for making me stink pretty. :)

Fine, Thanks, And You?

I don't really relish another month or two passing before I make another Dear Diary entry, so here goes. On my mind at the moment:


Summer is coming to an end. I feel a tad cheated this year, no shimmering, sweltering, blast-oven style heat to make us suffer and dehydrate in mind-altering misery. What's the point of having air conditioning? But the trade off was this: storms. Lightning, thunder, ground shaking powerstorms. Great tunderin Jaysus. Lovely, fierce, guttercleansing storms. The smell, the electric air, the shiny streets, abundant greenery... easy on the humidity, enough wind to keep the smog at bay. Well. Anyways, been a wonderful summer. Which makes heading into winter just that much tougher. Oh, well. I'm Canadian. I can handle it. "Winter" just means it takes a little longer to get to my car in the morning :)


My basement floor is finished. All the cementing and sealing. The new windows will be installed in September. The new furnace also. A few more electrical and plumbing details to be touched up. All that remains is to buy some serious storage units, and start decorating my new art room. And my new laundry room. This, of course, will trigger and entire house re-vamp, including closets, kitchen cupboards, and upstairs storage space, leading to serious fall cleaning, painting, woodwork, and furniture refinishing. I don't do half measures. Of course not.



My birthday is coming up in a few weeks. This is not so much a celebration of my birth, as a celebration of my continued existance despite the odds. :)
I have spent previous years expecting my loved ones to be able to read my mind, carefully ask seemingly innocuous questions, and gauge my wishes accordingly, in order to buy me the perfect gift each year. This tactic has failed me 100%, to the point where it would be sheer stupidity for me to continue thusly. This year, I plan to demand a surprise party. And it better be good!



more animals

Happy Birthday to me. I guess I better haul ass to the store and buy myself a gift, so I can surprise myself :)

August 9, 2008

Please forgive me, it has been two monthes since my last confes..I mean, my last posting.

Summer is a busy, fun time, and since life is short, I've decided to spend my summertime doing stuff what needs doing instead of potatoing away in front of a computer screen. Fun things, but unfortunately, work things, too. Yin, yang... :/

A work update on my doings and goings and hitherings and yonnings: mostly consisting of me slaving like a dog trying to organize all the crazy crap I've collected over the years. Because we've finally gotten around to getting the foundation fixed on our old citadel of a house. Meaning the entire basement needed to be emptied of its contents. Just the sheer volume of crap we've collected over the years would have been enough to incur fear and doubt in even the most serious DoGooder from any of those televised home cleanup crews and freeze him in his tracks. Or her. Fear knows no sexism :)

The basement of this fortress was built to be virtually indestructible. That is, to everything the builders could think of: war, locusts, plague, insanity, famine, earthquake, giant sand worms from Dune, bloodrayne, zombies, and termites. What the builders didn't bank on was that most deceptive of destroyers....groundwater. It has infiltrated its evil way into the cracks and crevices and over time has frozen, thawed, negotiated and insinuated its liquified self into the very soul of our home, melting its way placidly through solid cement. It took years, this patient, pervasive invasion of our space. This stealthy pillagement, this wily violation of our dear home. Maybe not so stealthy, we figured it out years ago. But the time has come to reclaim our castle, take back our territory, and tame the trespassing torrents.

What all that means, is that I've spent the last couple of monthes sorting and packing boxes of crap and moving it all into storage. Years of stuff, some good, some not so much, some useful, some not so much...and either tossing it or hauling it all away and paying upwards of 200 bucks a month to keep it under lock and key and camera surveillance (prolly under the watchful eye of some wanker with a porn addiction and too much free time at work). What remained was a large, empty, slightly damp, sorrowful-looking basement with a badly cracked floor and an aspiration to greater things. And a month without my washer and dryer, a month!! The sheer torment of having to wear the same clothes for days at a time. And they say the pioneers had it bad. Try giving a woman a thousand dollar machine to clean things with and then taking it away from her...folly, says I. Sheer folly. Lucky for them I didn't climb a bell tower with a sniper rifle.

Then the men came with big strong tools (hehe) and jackhammered their way (heee) through our poor, violated floor and removed all the old cement, right down to solid Canadian Shield bedrock. Then they dumped in a gabillion pounds of gravel, re-laid new plumbing and drains, some plastic sheeting, some metal grids, and finally a nice smooth four inch topcoat of lovely grey cement. Spankin!!

Now, we await the resurfacing of the basement walls, the installation of new windows, a new heating system, and then on to my favorite part: redecorating our new space. The washer and dryer have been re-installed in the soon-to-be new laundry room, and the rest of it is blessedly empty. We will probably start hauling stuff back in early September, depending on how fast the rest of the work progresses.

Fun update: In between stuffing boxes and housework, I spent my time wisely. Roller coasters, water slides, shopping, car shows, and movies.

Busy busy busy, a girls gotta bee :)

Yes, I Am A Sick Individual. Snotty to boot.

Who gets sick in the spring? Seriously. A full strength, force ten gale head cold, fully equipped with excruciating sinus headache, swollen glands, bucketloads of phlegm, drippy, red, irritated nose. Put me flat on my back, heavily medicated and wishing for sweet release. No sex involved there, either, more's the pity. Hard to feel sexy with a double lungful of virulent germs and a fifty gallon drum beside my bed for all the snotty, soggy Kleenexs. Ewww. Not to mention the accompanying attitude of "touch me and you die" that seems to come free of charge with all of my head colds/flu's.

Lovely.

And what kind of messed up God is up there, anyways.. Religion is all well and good, but one has to wonder at the cruelty of a celestial being that allows such painful thing. Just downright uncaring. And I've completely missed out on spring. One minute it's cold and windy and I'm hauling myself around all wrapped up in polar fleece, and the next thing I know, three weeks have slipped by and it's 95F and I don't have a thing to wear. Not. A. THING. Except for this raggedy-ass tee shirt that I dug out of the back of my closet, full of holes and practically see-through, that no self-respecting hooker would even wear on a slow night with no prospects in sight.

This is the crux of my problem, really. I've completely missed out on the spring shopping season. On the wonder and enchantment of seeing all the new spiffy spring shades, the fads, the fashions, the flowing, flowery, summery fabrics. And the joy of that first pair of sandals spotted in my fav shoe store...the wonder of it all! All gone. I missed it. Now the stores are full of autumn colors. Autumn shoes. Autumn sweaters...is that...polar fleece I see??? And even if I could find spring clothing, I have nothing to wear to go shopping. Do you see the sick irony here? Dear God, how can you do this to me? What have I ever done?

And what moronic retard fashion expert decided that spring clothing should be sold in mid-winter, and autumn crap sold in spring? Why must women be forced to buy seasonal clothing an entire season and a half beforehand?? What kind of sick, twisted society thinks this is acceptable??? Really.

The horror. The HORROR.

My head is spinning. Spinning, I tell you, from the sheer horror of it all. Or maybe that's just the cold meds wearing off. Hard to tell, really. All I know is, it's hot, muggy, and I'm sitting here typing in the buff because I have Nothing To Wear.

Maybe things will improve and it will rain soon, and I can throw on last years raincoat and go shopping. Obviously, the umbrella ain't gonna cut it. Just hope the cold meds don't cause me to run around flashing all the old men hanging around the mall. Haha. Ha!


*sigh*

More horsepower. One Can Never Have Enough, Really.

Whilst perusing the dailies this lovely morning, I happened across this enthralling article in CAA magazine. Being me, I simply had to add it to my blog, since it directly relates to the things I love and cherish...speed, pretty colors, and leather :P

Article:

Too Fast, Too Luxurious.

The fastest street-legal cars in the world.

By Steve English

Humans have been feeling the need for speed pretty much since we first started walking up-right. From the first domesticated horses 6,000 years ago to the latest precision-tuned super-cars, our civilization’s progress has been measured in horsepower and kilometres-per-hour. The 10 cars listed here represent the pinnacle of personal mobility currently allowed by law and physics. Buckle up, hold on and brace yourself for the g-forces!

All cars are ranked based on posted quarter-mile (0.4km) acceleration times, and only street-legal, full-production models were considered (no customs, no concept cars, no racers).

10. 2002 Lamborghini Murciélago, 11.72 seconds
Named after a legendary fighting bull so renowned for its fighting spirit that it was spared its life, the Murciélago is a powerful beast with slick, movie-star-worthy lines. It really lives up to its namesake, too; incredibly fast, powerful and difficult to tame, the car’s disagreeable handling makes it a tough drive for all but the most experienced super-car enthusiasts. Given its wild styling and (ahem) modest $300,000 US price tag, taming it almost seems worth it.

9. 2005 Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren, 11.6 seconds
Boasting both a powerful supercharged V8 (top speed approaching 333 km/h) and lav-ishly appointed leather-covered cockpit, the Mercedes SLR McLaren is a muscle car with a country-club pedigree. Hand-built at the McLaren plant in Woking, England, the SLR’s lightweight construction—a carbon-fibre body bolted to a largely aluminum chas-sis—complements its robust 617-horsepower pulling capacity. But make no mistake, this car isn’t for the common rabble: the SLR’s $441,000 US sticker price and two-month waiting period keep it almost exclusively in the preserve of high-rollers.

8. 2007 Ferrari 599 GTB Fiorano, 11.3 seconds
Introduced as a replacement for the 575M Maranello, the 599 GTB Fiorano seamlessly com-bines the elegance of a luxury car with the heart-pounding speed and performance of a super-car. All that torque can be tough to handle, but the Fiorano’s semi-active, aluminum double-wishbone suspension gives it pretty decent handling and a surprisingly smooth ride. But off-the-mark acceleration is where its true colours come out. Hitting 100 km/h in a breathtakingly Ferrariesque 3.7 seconds, you don’t just pull out in this baby, you take off.

7. 2005 Ford GT, 11.2 seconds
Inspired by the classic Ford GT40 that dusted everyone in the 1966 Le Mans 24-hour race, the Ford GT is the rarest of rare breeds: an American-made super-car with an almost reasonable price tag ($150,000 US). A handpicked team of Ford engineers designed the new-look GT to directly rival the Ferrari 360 Modena, a feat they accomplished in style. Made of lightweight aluminum—including frame, suspension and body panels—and sporting a set of fat, road-grabbing Goodyear F1 Eagles tires, this sleek 550 hp behemoth is surprisingly easy to drive. Its slick profile practically begs for a pair of racing stripes.

6. 2004 Porsche Carrera GT, 11.1 seconds
The most powerful production-model car Porsche has ever made, the Carrera GT puts even the awesome 911 GT2 to shame. The ultra-light and ultra-rigid carbon fibre body keeps the Carerra GT’s weight down and its acceleration up, but you really have to be out on the open highway to feel the full force of its 5.7L V10 engine. Once it gets going, the car flat-out flies, capable of hitting a top speed in the neighbourhood of 320 km/h and can come to an impossibly quick stop courtesy of its massive 15-inch ceramic composite brakes.

5. 2002 Mosler MT900 Photon, 11.02 seconds
Produced by the little-known Mosler Automotive company in Riviera Beach, Fla., the MT900 Photon takes Mosler’s already deliriously fast MT900S and somehow makes it even faster. Ba-sically a race car with a few street-legal tweaks, the Photon sacrifices creature comforts for awe-inspiring performance and more speed than most mere mortals can handle. The engine roar drowns out the radio and the seats are hard and uncomfortable, but judging by how it eats up the road, you probably won’t be sitting in them long enough to notice.

4. 2003 Ferrari Enzo, 11 seconds
An automaker with Ferrari’s lineage isn’t going to put its founder’s name on just any old street rocket. Produced in a limited edition of only 399 and designed with input from legendary F1 champion Michael Schumacher, the Enzo is, by all accounts, the company’s zenith. Fingertip steering, responsive suspension and precision engineering throughout make it an absolute breeze to drive. But once you let its 6.0L V12 loose, it turns into a snarling beast. One draw-back: the Enzo requires a special (read: expensive) type of motor oil. Average oil change cost: $732 US. Ouch!

3. 2006 Chevrolet Corvette Z06, 10.85 seconds
The Z06 is the super-car equivalent of a welterweight boxer. Generating an impressive 505 horses from its 427ci engine, it packs the mighty wallop of good, old-fashioned Detroit muscle onto a small, light and blindingly fast sporty frame. Lightweight components, including a magnesium engine cradle and an all-aluminum chassis keep the Z06’s curb weight under 1430 kg and help make it the fastest production Corvette ever assembled. All this and a fully appointed interior, too!

2. 2007 Saleen S7 Twin Turbo, 10.6 seconds
It looks European, but the Saleen S7 is 1,247 kg of all-American muscle. Considered the first U,S.-made super-car, the S7 sports a relatively small power plant that packs a mighty big punch, churning out a claimed 750 horsepower and capable of reaching speeds as high as 354 km/h. All that power does come at a price, though. The engine is quite noisy when running in low gear, the shifting is rough and choppy, and the cockpit is a tight squeeze for tall drivers. On the plus side, a one-night stay at the Ritz-Carlton at Dana Point—near the manufacturing plant—is built into the sticker price so engineers can custom-fit the pedals and seat to your exact specifications.

1. 2007 Bugatti Veyron 16.4, 10.2 seconds
With its ultra-limited production run—Bugatti plans to build only 50 of them a year—and a sticker price in the neighbourhood of a $1,250,000 US, the Veyron is destined to be the must-have plaything for the speed-obsessed elite. Cramming 1,001 metric horses onto a street-legal frame, the Veyron is an engineering feat and a half; even its tires had to be specially designed so they wouldn’t disintegrate at top speed. And while you’ll no doubt never get the chance to drive one of these low-slung luxury dragsters, the mere fact that they exist is awe-inspiring enough.

Personally, if I had the option, I'd go for the McClaren. The Corvette, while being GM and therefore right up my alley, still carries the taint of "desperate old guy" car, and while that may sound trite, I cannot help the way I feel. And if I'm spending that kind of cash, I think my feelings require some consideration :P

Also no to the Ford. Sorry, Ford, aside from the AC Bristol Cobra, you have never really impressed me. And this is, after all, all about me. Heh.

Lamborghini, too ostentatious, ditto for the Bugatti. Ferrari, Porsche, ditto. Too much the "hey look at me, I got money so I bought a fast car" mentality for me. Half the owners out there cannot even drive these cars they way they were intended. Losers. You know what I mean.

Yes, I think the Mercedes SLR McClaren suits me admirably well. Classy, lavish, beautiful, tricky to navigate, and fast as hell given the proper circumstances. Yes, in fact, it suits me to a T.

:P

Thank you, all donations happily accepted >:]

Home On The Range.

Okay. Here are some pics of my vacation. Yes, I did fly, and I arrived safely. No thanks to the stanky guy sitting beside me on the flight, try standing a little closer to the soap, pal.

Anywhoo.

So, it's branding time in Alberta.

I took pics.

Here they are. I suppose some commentary will be required, so.

In the spring, ranchers brand all the new calves. While they're at it, they also immunize them, tag their ears, and cut the balls off the boys. All in a days work for these boys, and hey, real cowboys wear baseball caps >;]

The above pictured are the unsuspecting victims. The following pics are the Perpetrators.





Dick, working when he's ninety...hope I will be this energetic. Granted, the man can work cattle all day, but watch him try to haul his ass out of a deck chair...haha!



Ray, time to make the donuts :)

These are working horses. They are professional, highly trained and very good at their jobs. They have to be, they do all the hard work :P

Left over right, or was it right over left....:P










Gotcha!





Been doing this for 50 years. Makes it look easy as pie :)

Just 179 left to go....

Having an off day. Frisky, spirited animal that doesn't want to work today. Same goes for the horse :P

I don't care what they say, this has gotta hurt :/

I think they are planning on replacing branding by switching to using microchips. I hope so, ASAP, but in the meantime, life goes on, and the valuable animals that feed us need to be kept track of.

Do NOT pick me!!!

This is me on Blackberry. She works way harder than I do :P

Blackberry...taking stock.

Haulin' in the goods.

I don't wanna, don't make meeeeeeee..

Well, doesn't this just suck donkey balls. OUCH!

Having ones balls removed. At least the girl doing it is pretty :)

I guess my daily quota for pics has been reached.

More later.

Fly Me A River....

So, okay. What is the deal with the airlines these days? Here I am, packing for my flight out West, and I have absolutely no frikkin idea what I can put into my carry-on bag. Perfume? No, I could use that as a weapon! Stink up the entire plane like a French whore house by dousing my neighbour (who obviously has never heard of soap...the thoughtless, inconsiderate bastard) and set his skanky ass on fire. There ya go, instant purification! HAHA! HA! Go buy some soap, you stench ridden pustule!

How about eyebrow tweezers? Nope, too pointy. Potential weapon. Nail file? Out of the question. A well-armed woman with a nail file can most certainly hijack a plane merely by holding it against the nearest stewardesses perky throat. "Take me to Calgary!!" Uh, ma'am, we're already going to Calgary..."Get me there faster, the guy next to me smells like a goat that just rolled in Chanel Number Two." Uh, yes ma'am...anything else? Peanuts??? Here, try some of our tasty fish for lunch...

>:/

Nevermind, I saw the movie, I know the pilots get food poisoning from the fish. Haa. They will not be forcefeeding me their toxic waste cleverly disguised as food. Nay. Not to be. But dammidall, it's a 5 hour flight, which means I'm gonna starve. I will bring my own, thinks I! And therein lies my dilemma...what can I carry on board?? I DO NOT KNOW!! Twinkies? Prolly not. I am sure someone can figure out a way to hijack a plane with a Twinkie. *sarcastic tone*

How aggravating it is to travel. I don't know what to take, what is allowed, what is not. How much luggage, what color?? Must the pieces match? Are there other restrictions now? The rules seem to change so fast. The last time I flew was a whole year ago..what if they won't let me board because my outfit doesn't match my carry-on bag? What if my M&M's are seized and I am forced to mail them back to myself at 4 times the price they cost me?? What if I cannot get thru the metal detector because of the 9mm Beretta I crammed up my ass? In a plastic baggie, people, geeze, I'm no fool, I watch the movies, remember? Wet, nasty guns don't fire! Everyone knows this.

And to amuse myself...a CD player?? no, CD's are metal and a)won't make it through the metal detector, b)have been replaced by MP3's, please try to keep up, and c)could be used to hijack a plane if snapped in two and flung with the deadly precision of a boomerang. Beheadings at 30,000 feet! What a cool movie that would be! I wonder if Samuel L. Jackson would want to be in it..?

And how about a book to read? NO!! Paper cuts...a brand new page could potentially be used to slit someones throat with. I've seen Jackass, The Movie. Well, okay, heard about it. Who watches that crap anyways? I heard about a scene where one guy gives himself paper cuts between his fingers. I mean, really. The gene pool needs to be drained, hosed down with gasoline, filled with sagebrush and set on fire. A book is a lethal weapon in the right hands, though....like mine. :P

When did normal, useful items pertinent to our comfort and daily living suddenly become so threatening? Is an Advil considered a life saver, or a life taker? If fired out of a slingshot made with pantyhose, could an Advil be shot with enough speed to enter the cranium and exit the other side? Or would it get lodged halfway through? Or would it simply bounce off and put someones eye out???

I DO NOT KNOW.

Will the insanity ever end?

Counting..

..the days until I leave for my vacation. Which will be a complete relaxation fest, with as little planned as possible except for whatever it will take to avoid inconvenience. I truly do not understand people who work harder to plan and execute a vacation than they do to work for a living. The goal is to remain/become stress-free. Why invite trouble? Bookings, plannings, itinerarys, ticking the boxes, herding the family around like so much prodded cattle, all the while yapping at their heels that they may have forgotten the sunscreen/camera/tickets/passports. And scrambling to get to each destination on time and bustling through it, onwards to the next...all the while missing 80% of the fun while running in circles in total panic mode over each little detail possibly overlooked.

Hell, I'm mentally fatigued just typing that crap out. What nonsense. Why can't people just learn to relax and chill? What has happened to us? To our society? Why the constant need to be bombarded with information, sights and experiences until our overloaded brains just want to cringe and whimper and curl up into tight little fetal positions at the mere thought of the next days Joyfest of Adventures?? That wonderful haphappy List of Things We Absolutely Will Be Doing No Matter What Cuz Dammit I Paid A Fortune To Be Here And We're Gonna Have Fun If It Kills Us!!!!!

To all that foolishness, I say: bother me not. Give me a nice, relaxing visit with friends and relatives, with people I do not get to see often. To go to those places that I want to go to but never seem to have the time. Give me the time spent chatting over simple, everyday things, and enjoy the daily pleasures many of us so often overlook in our haste to get things done. Take the time to look around, see things you normally don't. The sheer luxury of taking your time to experience...whatever catches your fancy. Go to local places you never have time for but keep saying you should go to. Go to places that don't even look like they would interest you, but you will probably love the experience.

Half of us could have incredible vacations in our own cities and don't even realize it. Because of the mythological lure of distance and travel. It's the glamour created by airlines and travel agents....the mystique of Far Away Places!! Exciting...because they tell you it is. But it's your money and your time being wasted on hurricane season and language barriers, the frustration and exhaustion of travelling. How about using your time wisely and staying in your own country? How about the allure and mystery of finding things in your own city, how about spending money to support your countries own tourist attractions and restaurants and culture?

And does anyone even know what quality time is anymore? Perhaps only those of us who find beauty in dandelions as well as orchids. Who find magic in a conversation with a child as well as the celebrity. Quality time is a catchphrase that has come to mean "cramming as much into as tiny a time allotment as possible." This was never how it was meant to be. It does not mean running your children like pony express carriers in order to finish touring places they won't even be able to remember because it whipped past them so fast. Slow down, take it easy, and chill the hell out. This is my advice to you all as vacation season approaches.

Well then!!! Planetary Alignment, or, Things That Go Bump In The Night..

I hate to jinx myself, but things have been going so positively lately that I just have to revel and bask in the sheer joy of it all..



*revel*

*bask*



The planets must finally be aligned properly. Either that, or God has finally decided I might be worth loving :P Fickle being, God. I should buy a lottery ticket, seriously. The problem is that I'm superstitious enough to believe that all this sticky, gooey, sugary goodness cannot last, and that any moment now a radioactive meteorite is going to come crashing thru my ceiling and obliterate all my happy thoughts with blistering Armaggedon and armies of brain-chewing zombies that can only be killed by slicing their heads clean off with machetes that have been blessed by the Pope himself. Or at least Mick Jagger. Assuming Mick can bless anything. At this point, who knows. LOL
Well.
Then!
To begin with, my basement is finally going to be finished. At long last!! After ten long years of patience and martyrdom.. And without going into the dreary, depressing details of this debacle, I will simply assure you that this is the moment I have been waiting for since forever!! THANK YOU, THANK YOU GOD, or, well, thank you Planetary Alignmentation :P :P :P Woot!
I will have my finished basement! And a huge, sick, major league, kickass coral reef tank to boot. With an automatic waterchange system, computerized nitrate, pH, redox, hardness, salinity, and timed lighting system, designed by me, thank you very much :) Kalkwasser reactor, ozone, phosphate reactor, calcium reactor. Yeah, baby! Hmm, along the lines of 300 gallons or so. I do not ask much for my patience and perserverance >:] Okay, so don't look at me like that, I could be asking for a 1970 convertible Jaguar XKE >:] But I'm a simple girl, with simple tastes :P Hehehe.
Next, I am actually being allowed to take a vacation. For some reason, my boss is singularly opposed and resentfully resistant to me leaving work for any period of time. A day off? No. An hour off?? NO!! Must be some kind of mental imbalance. But finally I am free! And thus will I fly out West to visit relatives, bask in relaxation, look at fields full of gentle, brown-eyed cows and flowing fields of golden wheat, or whatever it is they grow out there. And!! soak up some good old fashioned honky tonk music in some of Calgarys finest honky tonk bars. Go, Cowboys, Go! >:] (Also looking forward to triple grade A, Alberta beef, dear Lord(or plantetary align...?), dear someone, meat should melt in your mouth like this all the time!

Also! I heard from some long lost friends. What a pleasant surprise to see them again. Some people really are worth knowing. I have missed you guys. I promise to be more forthcoming and contact you more often.

And now...off to buy lottery tickets. Wish me luck :P

More Ranting, or, Saving Mankind From Itself.

Thank Dogness for Blogger, is all I can say. It's almost cathartic, this ourpouring of angst. Sadly, this is the only place I can speak my mind and not have to listen to some do-gooder try to set me straight...according to them. Ever notice that? All you want to do is unload your mind, release the pent-up frustration, in your best "cry me a river" whine, and people suddenly feel they have to remind you how good you got it? They don't even let you build up steam before attempting to shame you into silence. How bad you are to feel so overwhelmed and underappreciated! How could you! Look around you, you ungrateful louse, you have money, goods and chattels, health care, a great job, family, friends....electronics. The list of things we all have is endless. The fact that we bang our heads daily in frustrated attempts to be heard seems to fly right over some peoples heads. I assume these folks simply have no desire to improve their lot in life.

Well! It may be that we have everything we need. But, do we? If we do, why do we constantly aspire higher? We do live in a great country (Canada, OH) and we do have jobs, and disposable income (sorta) and we have free healthcare (for now...til the powers that be fuck it all up for everyone, give it time, do not get me started...) and so on and such. The do-gooders usually fail to realize one small thing, however. The human condition. Do these people really not understand how and why we have evolved? Do they think we've evolved by taking whatever comes along and being grateful, accepting our sad fate and lying back and letting the dingos eat us?

Oh, hell, no. We evolved by venting our wrath, taking our anger and using it to forward ourselves..to charge fearlessly into new locations, situations, adventures, using the power of our emotions to build new lives, to invent new things, create better ways. And what is up with doing things the same old crappy inefficient way because "that's the way we've always done it"? What is that bullshit? What you really mean is, that's the way we've always done it because no one could be bothered to think about it until now. Just drone along, accepting the difficulties in life because, well...that's how we've always done it. Plus, the ever-present fear of change.

No. This is so wrong.

Why not be brave, be courageous, be pioneers, explorers, inventors, adventurers. Be like Abe Lincoln. Like Malcolm X. These people took their anger, their fear, their shame, their failures, their wrath, even their jealousy and pain, and turned it into positive, life-affirming things that have furthered us, given hope, and created a better society...and I refuse to let some "do-gooder" remove the hope of an even better society from my future just because they fear change. Let me have my angst. Let me use it. It moves me forward while you stagnate in your apathy. It is what my forebears would be proud of. Did they really suffer and die to create a new world just so we could sit here and let it languish in its own indifference? I hope not. I think not. We are not done yet. Our society still needs so much work.

Henceforth shall I rant, complain, think, dream, contemplate, plot, create, conspire, and unleash myself onto an unsuspecting but foward moving world.

Onwards, people. Time's a-wasting.

More My Bad.

What was I thinking? Extreme sport?!? As I sit here, veins happily pumping caffiene to my englightened brain, I ponder the human ability to reduce oneself to the depths of despair and wallow in the slime of low self-image for absolutely no reason. Okay, well, maybe caffeine withdrawal is a bit of a reason :P But really! Was I actually comtemplating cosmetic surgery? Was I that desperate, in my hour of withdrawal and Starbucks need? Did I become temporarily insane? A boob job? A friggin BOOB job?? Dear God, the horror!! What Was I Thinking?!

Thankfully, my sane mind overrode my insane mind before bad things could happen. But this is the kind of stuff that happens to people on a regular basis. Temporary insanity, for whatever reason. Beware out there!! It's all around us. The guy who goes to the dealership to check out this years Honda hybrids and ends up with a gas guzzling Hummer. The woman who simply wants new slipcovers for her sofa but ends up with a 25 thousand dollar remodeling bill :P

What motivates the human mind? What makes otherwise sane, normal people lose it and do drastic things? Guilty things. Things that haunt you. I was lucky, I was stopped in time. But others...they may need help. Friends, family, co-workers. It's all around us, people with perfectly good plans that suddenly go madly awry.

I feel the need to warn you all. It's a jungle out there, beware! Watch out! You could lose your mind ANY minute now and do something crazy. If you cannot stop yourself, at least have the common sense to videotape it and put it up on YouTube. If you're going to be crazy, might as well share it with the rest of us. We need to live vicariously, apparently.

:)

My Bad.

Like, the weirdest crap happens to me at 3am. Some kind of epiphany thing. Back when I was more romantically inclined, I would call it Twilight Wolf time: the time of night when nothing moves but the yellow eyes of the wolves as they roam the deepest night thru moonlit glades. When I would awaken, mind brim full of wondrous ideas and wayfaring plans, I would revel in the magic, pondering the universe in the silver, wolf-filled moonlight. Most of my ideas would be completely forgotten by morning, when reality shines it's cold, stark logic over all dark yearnings. So I learned to write things down, and have kept a pencil and pad of paper beside my bed ever since. Granted, nowadays, it's just that annoying time of night when I wake up with a bladder full of hot pee and the dog hogging all the damn space in the middle of the bed. And the only things epiphanying are the nagging thoughts of all the things I have forgotten to do during the day, for which I am surely going to receive hell for, and which I am completely unable to do anything about as I perch shivering and half asleep on a moonlight white bowl of cold, swirling water.

Anyway, there I am, at 3am the other night, plunking my warm cheeks down onto an ice cold toilet seat, when it occurred to me...I hadn't gotten around to writing about my Extreme Sport of Choice. In all the excitement of my Caffeine Might Actually Be Good For You discovery, it got tossed by the wayside. I would have to correct this little oversight ASAP. Thank God for 3am. And paper beside the bed.

During my process of elimination thing, I started to realize just how few interesting sports there are out there. And what law says I gotta choose some lameass thing that someone else already invented? Why not invent my own sport? After all, I've been doing just that, inventing sportlike ways to risk my life, and really, none of barely scare me. What would I need? And, in fact, why does it have to be a sport? What's with the word sport, anyways? And what would it take to surpass the ahhh, sports I've already eliminated? What would it take to actually scare me? Aside from the startling appearance of a 6 inch fish with a parrotlike beak, that is. Something that even I would never joke about, that even I would not be able to look back upon and laugh about, something really, really scary. What is the only thing that scares me? And then it hit me..

Cosmetic surgery.

So, here it is, in my usual grand style. I do not do things halfway. My extreme sport of choice would of course have to be something dangerous, something life-threatening, something that not too many people have the balls (haha) to endure. And something completely unrequired. That's right. Breast augmentation surgery.

You got it, people. I am going to have my boobs done. Just up a cup size. I don't want to be Pamela. I do not need to look like I have canteloups duct-taped to my chest. Also, a bit of re-shaping, plumping up, like a pillow. I want bigger, shaplier boobs than I already have. I will undergo the horror of some Barbie Doll doctor cutting into me with scalpels and stainless steel, rearranging my interior, molding me like so much Playdoh. And then ensuing problems. The risk of dying under the knife at the hands of a novice anaesthesiologist. The risk of becoming addicted to painkillers and requiring a nice stay at the Betty Ford clinic to recuperate. The risk of my body rejecting the implants. The risk of...*gasp* puckering, scarring, one boob hanging lower than the other...nipple size way off, the color of cheap putty and not the nice sassy pink I specifically requested with the computer program.

Just thinking about it scares me witless..I don't know if I have the guts. The sheer bravado, the fortitude, the charact...oh wait. I don't have to do this..! That's right, I forgot, I have a CAFFEINE ADDICTION! I can have a nice hot steamy cup of molten caffeine, yes I can!
No need to get all crazy. No need to lose my mind. No need whatsoever to get all stupid and shallow and caught up in my appearance. Well. appearance, now that's another post for another day.. :)

When Hell Freezes Over...

So, thanks to my new and improved outlook on caffeine, I'm back on track. Feels pretty good. Like I should dance, or something. But whoa, not so fast...before I start getting all positive, think about the past few days. Weeks. Think about the amount of energy I've used to shovel myself out of the snow and to the edge of hell. To the precipice of insanity. The brink of mindlessness. The abyss...the verge...bah, you know what I mean.

March in Canada. Those three words spark horror into everyone who lives north of 45 degrees latitude. The sheer volume of snow this year has been mindboggling. People are cursing. And swearing, sobbing, vehemently shaking their fists, and bawling tortured tirades against the snow Gods. At least we're not bored. We don't have the time. The snowfall has been overwhelming, and the city keeps posting No Parking signs for the snow removal teams who don't even show up. Just when you think you have yourself a nice cozy parking spot, you gotta find another, sucker, cuz here comes the damn snowplows. Complicating things is the fact that this is a densely populated area, so any available parking spots disappear faster than M&M's at a PMS party.

I saw one poor guy trying to carve himself a nice spot into an 8 foot snowbank across the street from my house. The snow had been placed there by the local plow, a guy we neighbours collectively hire to dig out our lanes and plow our private parking areas. It was packed pretty solid. About halfway thru, he lost it and started smashing his shovel maniacally into the solidified snow until it literally broke in half. Poor, poor bastard. He got back to his car and drove off, defeated. I removed the battered and broken shovel, jumped into his spot and kept digging. Albeit a tad guiltily. But hey, the job was half done, I'm not digging myself a whole new pit when this one was sitting there.

I do feel badly for the snowplow guys, though. I've heard they've been overworked to the point of exhaustion. Buck up, boys. Summers coming, so we can all sit around the outdoor patios down on St Denis street, ogle each other, and drink excellent microbrewed beer while griping about the heat and humidity :)

In the meantime, it's snowing again. Seriously, I finally understand why people go south to Florida when they get old. Shoveling this crap when you're 70 will kill you. And no one wants to die shaking their fists at God.

Caffiend V

So, just as I'm deciding what sport to traumatize myself with, to replace my caffeine addiction, I find this article in the news. I will quote the entire article here instead of posting a link, because it might be removed from the MSN site in the future.



Quoted directly from MSN Health and Fitness:

The Caffeine Advantage.

Everything you need to know to think faster, exercise harder, and live longer.

By now you'd think scientists could close the book on caffeine and move on to other mysteries, like why anyone would ever order a chai latte. After all, coffee and related beverages have been revving people up since, oh, the 15th century. And in the past 60 years, researchers have conducted more than 21,000 studies on our favorite stimulant. That's an average of one new study a day through all of those decades. (Those nutrition scientists may have gotten into their own stash.)If we don't know caffeine by now, you may well ask, when will we know it? And do I have time for a fix while I'm waiting?Make it a venti, and sit down.We'll explain a few things. First off, caffeine is a complex compound. And it's made even more so by America's preferred delivery method,coffee. For instance,caffeineraises blood pressure, but habitual coffee drinkers are half as likely to die of heart failure as those who don't fill their mug daily. And while caffeine spikes blood sugar, a java habit may help you dodge diabetes.
Confused? Then use this primer to learn how to consumecaffeineto your advantage — at work, in the gym, and for overall health.


The Biology

To understand how a double espresso can take you from dead tired to completely wired, you first need an introduction to the compound adenosine. Right now, adenosine is coursing through your veins, and its job is to put the brakes on your central nervous system. You might call it nature's chill pill. That's because as your day progresses, adenosine builds up naturally in your bloodstream, causing you to slow down and become sleepier — a convenient way to let you know it's time to turn off Conan and recharge your batteries.

Adenosine accomplishes this total-body shutdown by plugging into adenosine receptors — like electrical cords into outlets. "These connections inhibit the release of neurotransmitters, which are chemical messengers that control both brain and muscle function," says William Lovallo, Ph.D., a professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at the University of Oklahoma. "As a result, both your mind and your body slow down."

But as it turns out, caffeine is an excellent adenosine impersonator. In fact, when the two rivals jockey for the same parking space, caffeine wins. "If caffeine is plugged into the adenosine receptors, adenosine can't do its job," says Lovallo. "And this causes your central nervous system to run at a faster rate." Thus you experience the classic and often sought-after caffeine jolt. Here's how to make it work for just about every part of your body.

Be smarter for life: Refill your cup three times a day. Harvard researchers have determined that men who drink 4 cups of caffeinated coffee a day are half as likely to develop Parkinson's disease as those who skip the java — presumably because caffeine keeps dopamine molecules active. What's more, blocking adenosine may slow the buildup of amyloid-beta, a toxic brain plaque that's associated with Alzheimer's disease.

Your Brain

The Science: Soon after your first sip, caffeine begins to work its magic by causing the release of dopamine. Dopamine is a brain chemical that stimulates the area of your gray matter responsible for alertness, problem solving, and pleasure. "You have that feeling of being activated, sharper, and on the ball," says Lovallo. "And you can also experience a mild mood-elevating effect." All of which goes a long way in explaining why there are around 9,000 Starbucks outlets in the United States, and more opening every day around the globe.

Be smarter instantly: Down a cup of joe just before your next meeting — it'll boost your mind power for about 45 minutes, according to a recent Austrian study that directly measured the impact of 100 milligrams (mg) of caffeine on brain activity.

Be smarter for life: Refill your cup three times a day. Harvard researchers have determined that men who drink 4 cups of caffeinated coffee a day are half as likely to develop Parkinson's disease as those who skip the java — presumably because caffeine keeps dopamine molecules active. What's more, blocking adenosine may slow the buildup of amyloid-beta, a toxic brain plaque that's associated with Alzheimer's disease.

Your Heart

The Science: Adenosine helps blood vessels relax. But once caffeine infiltrates the receptors that line vessel walls, your arteries constrict, causing your blood pressure to rise. In fact, research has shown that blood pressure may increase by as much as 10 points in nonhabitual drinkers. Yet when Harvard researchers tracked the coffee intake of more than 128,000 people, they determined that drinking more than six cups of coffee a day didn't boost the chance of developing heart disease. And last year, scientists at Brooklyn College found that men who drank 4 cups of caffeinated coffee daily had a 53 percent lower risk of dying of heart disease than those who never took a sip.

"If you don't have hypertension to begin with, the temporary blood-pressure increase from a cup of coffee isn't a problem," says Matthew Sorrentino, M.D., a cardiologist and professor of medicine at the University of Chicago. "Plus, the impact on blood pressure tends to be smaller in habitual caffeine drinkers because their bodies become somewhat tolerant to its effects."

Take your health history into account: If caffeine makes your heart race or skip beats, you're probably genetically sensitive to the stimulant. "Although this may sound serious, symptoms such as palpitations are actually considered innocuous, unless you've had a recent heart attack," says John Kassotis, M.D., a cardiac electrophysiologist at SUNY Downstate, in Brooklyn. Still, Dr. Kassotis suggests playing it safe. His rule of thumb: If you think you're caffeine-sensitive, consult your physician to determine if you should limit your intake.

Stick with antioxidant-rich java: Scientists aren't sure whether it's the caffeine or the antioxidants in coffee — or a combination of the two — that provide the aforementioned cardiovascular benefits. But unless you're caffeine-sensitive, go with the leaded variety. Research shows that antioxidant levels are decreased by about 15 percent in decaf.

Your Muscle

The Science: Because caffeine revs up your central nervous system, it slightly increases your heart rate and breathing rate, both of which help prepare your body for peak performance. Caffeine may also have a direct effect on your muscles. Here's how: Calcium must be released within a muscle fiber in order for that fiber to contract, and caffeine may block the adenosine receptors attached to muscle fibers, triggering electrical activity that prompts bigger bursts of calcium. "The result is a stronger muscle contraction," says Terry Graham, Ph.D., a professor of human health and nutritional sciences at the University of Guelph, in Ontario.

Jumpstart your workout: Studies show that consuming 140 to 400 mg of caffeine 30 to 60 minutes prior to exercise can improve both speed and endurance and make your workout seem easier. But to achieve those effects, researchers have used either caffeine pills or caffeinated soda. The reason: "Many other chemical compounds in coffee appear to counteract caffeine's ability to impact your exercise session," Graham says. Now you know why energy drinks were created. Looking for a boost? Try Celsius, which is sugar-free and contains about 200 mg of caffeine per 12-ounce can. To determine if it's enhancing your performance, be sure to monitor how it impacts your exercise session both mentally ("My workout seemed easier" or "I felt like I was dragging") and physically ("I completed more repetitions" or "I didn't improve").

Use caution: If you have heart problems or a family history of heart disease, avoid high-caffeine energy drinks for 4 hours before exercising. A 2006 study in the Journal of the American College of Cardiology determined that 200 mg of caffeine decreases bloodflow to the heart by up to 39 percent during exercise because it constricts coronary arteries.

Your Liver

The Science: When your central nervous system is activated, so is your body's fight-or-flight response. This causes the release of stress hormones such as cortisol and adrenaline. These in turn signal your liver to pump sugar into your bloodstream. After all, had you been in a truly stressful situation — say, face-to-face with a cranky barista—your body would need that sugar for quick energy. But in everyday life (read: sitting at your desk), extra blood sugar is the last thing you need, because it signals your body to store fat and increases your risk of diabetes.

Keep your blood sugar in check: Forgo the sugar in your coffee and you'll actually reduce your risk of developing diabetes, according to multiple studies. For example, in 2005, Harvard University researchers determined that drinking 5 cups of coffee a day cuts in half the risk of developing diabetes. Scientists aren't sure why coffee may have a protective effect against diabetes, but credit its high level of disease-fighting antioxidants. While visiting Starbucks, we recommend a Caffè Americano, which is coffee at its finest: strong and flavorful, but sugar-free.

_______________________________________

Interesting article, yes? After reading that, I think I'll put aside Extreme Sports for the moment. I must re-think my stance. Weigh the pros and cons. Is caffeine good? Caffeine bad? With all the damn studies going on, who the hell knows? Is it worse than killing myself by attempting to climb a bunch of rocks with nothing to hold me up but a nylon rope and some metal clips? Or should I just relax and sip my nice, hot coffee and let Wonderbra hold me up instead? Nylon and metal clips...with hot coffee, OR nylon and metal clips without hot coffee. Just icy wind and black, jagged rock. Not a very tough decision, when I look at it from this angle :P Coffee!! I might get the sporty Wonderbra, just to make myself feel like I'm not missing out on anything. Maybe I'll even get energetic, and watch sports on TV while wearing my sporty Wonderbra. The sky is the limit, really.

Caffiend IV

Today's Runner Up:

Highway 40, The Met.

Pah, how bad can it be? A road as an Extreme Sport?? Well.. Here's the thing. I live in a major Canadian city that is quite old. And this old city has some equally old roads. The antique highway I speak of was built in the 1940's. It was created to carry cars that had an average speed of 40mph and no suspension to speak of. And far, far fewer of them. Now, whirl this old ribbon of asphalt into the year 2008, where my car abides, it with the comfortable cruising speed of 80 to 120mph and the ability to run circles around it's own sassy self should it choose to do so. Thankfully, this ability saves my ass on a daily basis. I use it to avoid being crushed to death by tanker trucks and to avoid being flipped over cement walls.

The highway, for most of its inner-city length, is suspended about 20 feet in the air. This makes the asphalt colder, icier, and far slipperier than the roads connecting to it, giving one a false sense of control as one rides up the on-ramps. Once you leave the relative safety of the side roads and hit the raised section, you realize that up here all bets are off, careless drivers abound, and your life hangs in the balance. Your tires lose traction faster. Your escape routes are non-existant. If someone cuts you off, there is not much you can do about it, swerving means certain death if you hit the ski ramps. More on the ski ramps soon.

This raised highway to hell is called The Métropolitain by the locals, and consists mainly of three narrow lanes in both directions, with cement medians preventing you from falling off of it. No shoulders to pull over onto, should the occasional fool run out of gas (weekly) or have car trouble (bi-weekly) or become involved in an accident (geezus, people). The resulting backlog has to dribble around the offending automobile(s) until the police and 15 towtrucks show up, slowing traffic considerably, raising stress levels to match. Independant towtrucks, fortunately, are never too far away and are quick to remove the offending vehicles. I don't know how they manage to show up so fast, I think they hover like buzzards around a dried up watering hole, invisible until something looks like it's gonna die.
Like buzzards, they are quite efficient at what they do, which is fine by me.

The rainwater that falls on this highway is supposed to run off through an antique drainage system that leaves a hell of a lot to be desired. The drains seem to be constantly blocked. This results in large puddles of water collecting in splashy pools along its entire length. Try hitting a 4 inch deep body of water when you are doing even a mere 30mph on black ice. Montreal drivers have nerves of steel.

On a side note the Decarie section of highway is below sea level, and one day water levels rose higher than the hoods of peoples cars after an afternoon storm. Some poor guy drove a wheel into a sewer after the manhole cover was pushed off by the force of the water coming up from below. He was angry. :P So were the people sitting on the roofs of their cars waiting to be rescued. The towtrucks would not venture anywhere near them and rescue teams had to be sent. I'd have been pissed, too, but I can swim, so no big deal. Montrealers took it in stride, and kept on truckin.

Back to the ski slopes. In winter, the cement medians along the raised section get snow packed up against them, melting occasionally, re-freezing, creating little ski-jump slopes along the entire length of the highway. Someone sued the city once because their families car lost control and hit one of these icy snow ramps and shot up over the cement wall, flipped in midair, and landed upside down 20 feet below on the service road, killing all inside instantly. The public was enraged. Complaints were made. The city learned a valuable lesson. Now every month the entire highway is closed off so the city workers can clear the snow away from the cement walls to prevent such a thing from happening again. In the meantime, we gotta take the side streets. This inconvenience has resulted in people get their panties all in a bunch, even though they were the ones complaining about the risks. Fools. Speaking of courtesy, and I must, I notice that driver courtesy has slipped in the last few years. Sad thing, if you ask me. Now people just cut you off without so much as a middle finger salute. I miss that. It meant they were aware I existed..now I just feel invisible. Kinda scary, but I guess I'd make a good towtruck driver :P

Back to the driving. Now let's discuss the bigass trucks blasting along at 70mph in lanes only one foot wider than the average car. The speed limit along this patch of highway is only 50mph...out-of-town truckers do not seem to realize the danger they are in and whip along at the speed of light. If a flatbed truck happens to be hauling a bulldozer, you ain't passing it unless you use up a lane and a half to go around it. And if the driver can't stay in the middle of his own lane, he'll take up some of yours, but that's okay, more Montrealers need to learn how to share, anyways. If a truck decides to change lanes, you better haul your ass out of the way, cuz he's coming over whether you like it or not. And whether he sees you or not..and whether or not it involves crushing you up against a cement wall or running you up onto a ski slope take-off, giving you enough speed to make Don Garlits proud.

If you can survive the trucks, do not underestimate your fellow drivers. The angry, stressed, frustrated, irritated, late-for-work, rude-ass drivers on their way through town on a highway that was never intended to support this kind of traffic in the middle of a busy city. My favorite part is where the highway splits in two directions, leaving the driver in the middle lane to decide which way he is going...left, or right? Sometimes they cannot decide, and pull back in front of you just as you speed up to pass them. Lovely! Thereby forcing you to head straight for the icy ski ramp in the middle of the road and the inevitable lift-off... The last time this happened to me, things were complicated even further by the huge truck beside me that splattered my windshield with icy slush, blinding me completely and forcing me to turn the wheel and follow the curve of the road using only memory. Having traveled this highway a million times, I managed it. I can only hope such a thing never happens to someone without such experience, they'll be flipping in midair and collecting a nice tidy sum from the city.

We take our highways in stride, but you can tell when out-of-towners are driving along. They go too goddamned slow. I remember years ago one of my boyfriends telling me he would not even drive on this highway, that it was a nightmare and a death trap. And that he would not come to visit me because of it. I had to go pick him up and drive him into town! Hahaha! What a pussy. Well, what do you expect, he was from Toronto. >:]

When it storms, the plows don't bother with the Met, they know we can plow it ourselves by building up enough speed on the on-ramps and immediately throwing our cars into well-controlled, ice-enabled Tokyo drifts. Hands down, this highway is an Extreme Sport. I risk my life every single day just driving to work. Piece of cake, baby. Piece of cake. Granted, if I ever stop blogging, you'll know why: the ski slopes got me.

Might as well go out screamin.

Caffiend III

Today's runner up:

Snorkeling.

Again, you say, such a sissy sport. To which I must reply, HA, just try it. And no, not in your backyard pool, fool. I mean out there, in the deep blue yonder. The big, blue wobbly thing. The real ocean. The one with the sharks and rays and jellyfish.

Hawaii, in fact. Home of the 30 foot skull-crushing killer wave, the guardian of the sea. To get past it takes a certain amount of bravery (stupidity) and sheer physical ability. Even balmy day, teensy little seven foot waves are strong enough to knock you off your feet and drag you under, roll you around like a mean-ass swamp gator, slam you into the sand and the rocks, saltwater invading all your orifices. Then the roaring in your ears hypnotizes you and your petrified brain starts to hallucinate from the lack of oxygen, tells you to relax, just breathe in...you want to, right? You want to just close your eyes and breathe... you can, yes, you can, breathe...underwater. The ocean says so. And you feel so drowsy and just want to breathe in the pretty ocean. And you want to take a nice long nap. Hahaha! No wonder men believe in mermaids :) Hell, yeah, the ocean is a she, and she will Do You In if you trust her, do you in and suck you under and make you hers, oh hell yeah, in a New York minute. But I digress.

Once past the waves (and the accompanying undertow strong enough to light an entire village for a year, if only such raw power could be harnessed and diverted to Hydro Quebec so we could sell it right back to the States and make a killing...so to speak) it's pretty easy from there. We managed to find, with some local help, a nice, sandy, safe bay in which to snorkle without fearing that the next wave would drag our waterlogged, hallucinating bodies a thousand miles south to Fiji. In this wonderfully protected lagoon the lifeguards only had to worry about the little old ladies falling off their little old floating foam boards and getting stranded on the slippery rocks, their gargled squawks for help competing with the childrens happy laughter on the shore as they search out seashell treasures. And the blub-glubbing of snorkelers paddling about, distracted by the pretty porites and not paying attention...

So into this idyllic, picturesque day go I and the girls, all fitted out in our snorkeling gear. Off we swim into the crystalline blueness. We paddle joyously about in 10'-25' deep, crystal clear water, diving occasional to the bottom to check out interesting coral formations (damn them porites) that resemble giant scoops of glistening pink ice cream. Sea turtles swim by lazily, safe in the knowledge that it is illegal to pester them.

I see Rockmover wrasses flipping rocks over on the bottom of a particularly nice porites formation, searching out goodies to eat. So I dive down to check them out. A flash of color catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. I turn my tunnel-vision mask, intrigued, only to find myself staring straight into the demonic eyes of a Picasso triggerfish. A mere six inches long, with the regal bearing of Hawai'is State Fish, and every majestic inch of her is quivering with righteous indignation and smouldering anger at my trespassing upon her breeding ground. I freeze instantly. The part of my brain that still functions tells me that I cannot outswim this angry, torpedo shaped creature with a jaw strong enough to crack open clams as though they are made of eggshells.

Thus petrified, I stare stupidly at her like a deer caught in the headlights. Freshly released urine warms my legs. I blink, then flinch, and the action moves me closer to her. Undertandably, she takes this as a sign of aggression on my part, and starts swimming menacingly towards me. Suddenly my feeble brain kicks in (survival! thank you, ancestors, for giving me sheer gut instinct!) and I turn my back on her in an attempt to mollify her by showing her that I am now taking my leave of her royal court, as she is way too much fish for me, thank you very much.

I glance back only once, hoping that she will be satisfied and will not rip my left asscheek apart with her pitbull Jaws of Death, Doom, and Dismemberment. But she does indeed seem to be mollified by my retreat. Perhaps my size helps...5 foot open ocean predators are not exactly notorious for stealing the castles of triggerfish, and she heads back down towards her kingdom. Err, pile of rocks.

I honestly did not know, until that moment, that I could sweat underwater.

Caffiend II

After some serious pondering and deep, methodical thinking, I have decided upon my Extreme Sport of choice. But beforehand, I would like to list the runners-up, and my reasons for disqualifying them.

Todays Runner-Up:

Tobogganning.
Sure, you say. What a totally sissy sport. But notice that kids toboggan, and adults do NOT. I discovered why the hard way. Picture this: A bright blue sky, a lovely snowy white hill, laughing children. A nice, long, steep, snowy white hill. Beautiful sunshiney day. Children laughing! and sliding! Tumbling and falling, running back up to slide again...wheee! Looks like fun!
However, few people stop to consider the math. The average tobogganing child weighs approximately 80 pounds. Multiply this by the surface area of the toboggan, and then the slip speed. Slip speed varies from vehicle to vehicle...a wooden toboggan has a much slower slip speed than a piece of convex plastic sprayed with Pam. If you double the weight of the rider and factor in the surface area and slip speed, you go from having a cute photo op to watching a potentially lethal weapon wipe out everything in its path.
In my case, in my path loomed a solid wall of hay piled neatly along the edge of the park. Some city-slicker park employee must have decided that a wall of nice, soft hay would prevent people from sliding out onto the street. What city slickers do not know about baled hay is that, once wet, it will freeze solid into a two-foot thick wall of unassailable, bulletproof granite. Obviously, no one was ever meant to get anywhere near these deadly bales of hay. Because hitting one would be bad. It would be really, really bad. It felt, in fact, almost like I was hitting a solid, unassailable, bulletproof granite wall.
So. Factor in my weight, my daughters weight (95 pounds) and the slip speed of an over-inflated three foot inner tube. I saw it coming in plenty of time to turn us around so that I hit the wall instead of her. She bounced harmlessy off of me. I, between her weight, our speed, and the frozen wall, was popped straight upwards at the speed of an unladen swallow. I flipped in midair like the most delicate ballerina, then belly flopped onto the sidewalk with the same splatting sound that pigeon crap would make after falling from the height of a 50 story building.
Thank God for the Poop-n-Scoop laws. Seriously. Thank you, God, that I did not land face down in a nice, steamy-on-the-inside, frosty-on-the-outside, winter pile of Great Dane crap. Might have softened the blow, mind you. But then I wouldn't be able to do this neat trick where I can see my vertebrae where my belly button used to be.

Come On, Harding. Play The Game. Play It!

Yes, another incoming mindless rant. Not everyone has the time, talent, intellect, or imagination to create a nicely done blog, I continue to see. Granted, there are enough crappy blogs out there to make people think twice about having one of their own. But as far as I'm concerned, that should only make people to want to create better, nicer blogs to outshine the icky ones. Not enough just to Keep Up With The Joneses, let's outshine them.. Distract the eye from the unsightliness of the rusty trailers and piles of old tires in the neighbourhood, and such. Ya know? Clean it up. If you are not part of the solution, you are part of the oyster. I mean, the world is your problem :P oyster. Solution. Fucking clichés.

Granted, not everyone should create a blog. I've seen proof of this with my own two blackened, still smoking, blistering eye sockets, which is what's left of my eyes after reading some of the radioactive crap out there.

I think people need to be braver. Do not fear the written word. Just do it. Let go, release your inner creativeness. But dammit, do it well! We demand quality! We demand fun! Laughs! Guffaws! We demand something be done, because until some decent blogs come along to entertain us, you all just gonna have to put up with me entertaining us with my ranting, slavering, drooling blog. HA HAA! HAAA!

I know. It seems strange to be asking for quality, while urging every Tom, Dick and Hairyass to start a blog. I just figure that at some point, the lottery factor will kick in and we'll find a winner hiding behind the radiactive glow of those 50 gallon drums of toxic blogness.

It saddens me, the lack of fun. People have to stop taking life so seriously. Drink a beer. Run with the HHH. Write a blog. A funny one! You, with the graphs, pay attention damn you!

Please don't bring me flowers....anymore.

St. Valentine's Day. Men hate it because they are smart enough to know that no matter what they buy, they're gonna screw up. Women know that no matter what they ask for, men will screw up. How such an incredible lack of communication can continue to exist year after unholy year between couples that have been together since the dawn of time I cannot understand.

My husband is the perfect example of this communication malfunction. For years I have been adamant in my insistance that he not buy me flowers. They die. The pretty petals fall like snow onto the tabletop and lie there, stunned and confused. Terribly sad thing, the death of a beautiful flower. Painful to watch. Like plants >:/ He buys them anyways, the poor deluded man. Why? Because he has been brainwashed with sex by all the women before me, and apparently, that works. No matter how I try, I cannot convince him that flowers ain't cutting it for me.

Why does our society place such importance on watching beautiful flowers die a slow, wilting death, anyways? And by flowers, I mean the more they cost, apparently, the better. The more exotic, the more artistic the arrangement, the more the female of the species becomes intoxicated. I just do not get it. Why do men buy them? Well, duh. Why do women want them? Seriously. WTF?? One of my girlfriends once tried to explain to me that the beautiful flower symbolized his and her beautiful, sexual relationship. I asked her what it meant when flower petals immediately started hitting the table like dead flies, and she gave me a dirty look and stomped off in a huff.

So I continue to ask people...how does this translate to romance?? How is watching something spectacular wilt and wither and wail in silent sorrow supposed to be romantic? The metaphor is way lost on me. What I see...."Hey, honey, check this out! It's a hundred dollars worth of death! It symbolizes my dicks reaction to your controlling, manipulative ways, you antagonistic bitch! HAHA! HAAA!"

Really, what are people thinking??

Know what women should be saying? "Buy me jewellery. How's that for manipulative? That way, I can hock the damn thing after I catch you cheating on me, you thoughtless, insensitive bastard. HAHA! HAAA!"

What. Just sayin.

Happy St. Valentine's Day, people. I think..

Caffiend

Like most people, I love a nice hot cup of coffee to kickstart my day with. Or two. Or three. It's proving to be a bit difficult to control the addiction, though. By the time I get to work I'm so wired I'm bouncing. Which is okay, I mean, I have stuff to do, so I can burn that bounce right back down. After about three hours, when the bouncing has reduced itself to merely vibrating, it's time for a refill. Or two. Or three. And thus, the downward spiral into madness, mayhem, and serious addiction continues.
I have tried all the usual methods to control it. You know, alcohol, recreational drugs, electric shock therapy, heavy gambling. To no avail. Then I tried prescription drugs (side effects may include respiratory distress, heart failure, brain damage, spontaneous combustion, aggressive sexual predation...) to no avail. Then I got inventive, and tried acupuncture. Yoga. Herbal tea. Incense. Meditation. Bed of nails. Nothing helped.
Sheer desperation has resulted in my latest brainstorm...taking up extreme sports. My logic being to replace one rush with another. Wisely, I've decided to approach this idea with caution. Introduce myself gradually to the world of Extreme Sports. Which Wikipedia lists as any activity that results in death if an error is made. Right up my alley!!
Thus, I shall do a bit of thinking, and figure out what extreme sport suits me best.

Color me cloudy.

I have to say I'm getting pretty sick of the color grey. It's everywhere. The sky, the ground, the trees, the roads. The sidewalks. The buildings. All grey. Gloomy grey.

Sometimes pretty white flakes fall, and disguise the grey temporarily, but it's still there. Underneath. Waiting to show itself when a bit of warmth tries to cheer me up and instead, melts the pretty white away. The grey attacks my senses with its brooding bleakness. With its neverending nothingness. With its morose melancholy. Oh, the depressing desolation of it. Enough to make the brain want to lobotomize itself.

This is why cars are so important. They come in spicy, cheerful colors. And car washes exist to keep the penetrating grey away. What the hell is it with people buying grey cars, anyways? And silver ones. Silver is a just a fancy way of saying grey. I notice that 80% of the cars on the road are a dismal, dispirited grey. Why do people buy cars the color of the most depressing time of the year? What the hell is wrong with them? Do they not understand? Do they do it on purpose, to torment me? Or are they just so monochromatic themselves that they choose their cars to match their characters? I feel like slapping them out of it. OUT! Out of the deep grey funk you're in! Life should be filled with color and imagination! What the hell are you thinking, a grey car? Dude. Get real. Are you afraid to break out of the greyness? Why even bother with the paint, just throw some clearcoat on that bare metal and have at it.

Seriously. How sad. What's wrong with pretty colors? I want to see pretty colors. I want to see sky blue. And forest green, and aquamarine, and hot fireman red. And sunshine yellow. My car is burnt orange. No matter how much the weather tries, it cannot change the color of my car. It is determinedly bright and perky. Citrus-y, tropical, vibrant. Plus, I keep it clean. It sparkles, it shines, it glows with rich, inviting, glorious color. Winter will never beat me. The sight of my car on a dreary, bleary, ice cold winter day brightens my outlook for hours. Why can't other people understand this? Are they really so masochistic? Oh, look at me. My car is sad. I'm sad. Winter is sad. My fugly grey car reflects my negative, downtrodden, sulky outlook. Feel sorry for me!! Or wait....are they sadistic? How brilliantly evil of them. After all, they can see my happily hued car, but I'm stuck looking at theirs. Bastards! Monochromatic grey bastards!

Well. I'll fix them. A few dozen cans of bright yellow spray paint and a black ski mask, and my winter is about to become a hell of a lot sunnier.

Vandalism. The guy with the grey car made me do it.

I Am A Killing Machine.

Every once in a while I wander through the greenhouse at my local Home Depot. It's so peaceful in there, so many pretty species of luxuriant, tropical paradise plants. I think to myself, "Self, maybe I could just have one, and try to..." and then cold reality hits, and I respond, "No, fool, Just Say No, RUN AWAY, RUN AWAY!".
My track record with living, breathing plants is abysmal. Lower than abyss-mal. It's pretty much a 100% death rate thing. No one is so completely sucessful at killing as I am. Sometimes I kill them quickly, sometimes I take my sweet time. Years, even. I had an umbrella plant that survived through sheer will alone before I hexed it with mighty mites and it died a parasitic death. Well. I needed that corner for something else anyway.
Plants are like people. Each has it's own personality and idiosyncrasies. Issues, even. Some are pathologically self-destructive, and I believe that these are the ones that call to me as I pass by, enticing me with their beauty and lushness..."pick me...pick me...". Most of the time I can resist the call of nature, but sometimes I am weak and cannot control myself and the next thing you know, I am the proud posessor of an emerald and ruby hued jewel of an azalea bush.
My killing method is simple and requires no great amount of planification. It consists of initially giving the plant a perfect place of honor, in full view of visitors. Gradually, as it weakens and becomes more and more beaten down and listless, it gets moved further and further from view, until at last it withers and sulks in a forgotten corner, yellow and dry and completely forlorn.
This saddens me, because it was it's own damn fault. If it hadn't been so beautiful in the first place, and enticed me with it's sinful, glorious beauty to buy it, it wouldn't be dead now, now would it? This is why, in countries where they understand such things, beautiful things are coveted so much that they need to be kept hidden.
Thus, from now on, I shall not cast my gaze upon such sinfulness, but shall keep myself holy and pure by not allowing myself to be put into the position whereby I am weakened and the sin of possession takes hold of me.
And now I must go look at pictures of rose bushes until the blackness goes away.