The things we're most reluctant to see are often those most worth looking at.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
This is FREEDOM!
I love my new MP3 player.
The power to choose from 700 songs while driving...
And to back in to a 10 foot high garbage disposal container while doing it.
The power to choose from 700 songs while driving...
And to back in to a 10 foot high garbage disposal container while doing it.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Well it's been seven weeks since Christmas, and being almost recuperated now, I thought I'd share a little post script holiday tradition in our house.
Every year, after we cook a turkey, Mike and I have the same debate over the carcass. I like to make soup out of the leftover meat only, Mike likes to boil the carcass and pick the bones. Prior to making the soup, Mike, in his mom's tradition, leaves the turkey carcass outside in a pot of boiled water to allow the fat to rise to the top. Maybe it's just my non-Julia Child-ness, but the idea of reboiling a sat-outside, dead, de-fatted fowl in my kitchen just grosses me out.
This year Mike won the annual turkey soup debate and proudly put the turkey carcass outside in a pot of boiled water, strategically on top of the planter (to keep it from the dog) where I grow summer herbs. And all I can say is, it's been 7 weeks and we still haven't made that turkey soup. Last week, feeling a little bored and adventurous, I began to wonder what a 7 week old turkey carcass floating in water might look like. And in case you're interested, it grew this amazing psychedelic purple mold that I would have liked to investigate further but my gag response kicked in. I left the pot, which was borrowed in the first place, (sorry, Scott, from you) on the deck in disgust for Mike to deal with.
A few days later, the turkey carcass pot vanished, much the same strange way laundry vanishes in our house. But growing underneath where it sat on the planter, are these amazing, bright green, summer chives - in February. I guess that psychedelic purple turkey carcass mold growing in the pot had heat qualities that enabled the chives to sprout early beneath it.
Now that I think of it, the pot vanished on the same night the dog was violently barfing in the basement, but isn't it amazing what can grow under a little forced heat?
Every year, after we cook a turkey, Mike and I have the same debate over the carcass. I like to make soup out of the leftover meat only, Mike likes to boil the carcass and pick the bones. Prior to making the soup, Mike, in his mom's tradition, leaves the turkey carcass outside in a pot of boiled water to allow the fat to rise to the top. Maybe it's just my non-Julia Child-ness, but the idea of reboiling a sat-outside, dead, de-fatted fowl in my kitchen just grosses me out.
This year Mike won the annual turkey soup debate and proudly put the turkey carcass outside in a pot of boiled water, strategically on top of the planter (to keep it from the dog) where I grow summer herbs. And all I can say is, it's been 7 weeks and we still haven't made that turkey soup. Last week, feeling a little bored and adventurous, I began to wonder what a 7 week old turkey carcass floating in water might look like. And in case you're interested, it grew this amazing psychedelic purple mold that I would have liked to investigate further but my gag response kicked in. I left the pot, which was borrowed in the first place, (sorry, Scott, from you) on the deck in disgust for Mike to deal with.
A few days later, the turkey carcass pot vanished, much the same strange way laundry vanishes in our house. But growing underneath where it sat on the planter, are these amazing, bright green, summer chives - in February. I guess that psychedelic purple turkey carcass mold growing in the pot had heat qualities that enabled the chives to sprout early beneath it.
Now that I think of it, the pot vanished on the same night the dog was violently barfing in the basement, but isn't it amazing what can grow under a little forced heat?
Friday, February 5, 2010
As promised, I was all ready to post about vaginal farting today but South Park beat me to it! God bless South Park.I had noooo idea tho', and was greatly amused to discover yet another new word!
Queef!
For an exhaustive definition, check the Urban Dictionary but let me use it in a sentence for you first:
'Rumor has it that Thea can queef the alphabet.'
Oh, the limitless pleasure of the English language!
Thursday, February 4, 2010
The Politics of Exhaust
Well, now that I'm on a streak, (no, not a brown one, hahaha) and desperately trying to distract myself from mammogram result terror - and I share the family appreciation of all things fart, I thought I'd outline, (since it's likely not been done before) the politics of exhaust...
Rule #1 - Do Not Eat in the Bathroom
When R & I were young, we were mentored by the master of exhaust, my dad. My dad was a machine. Like clockwork, at 6 am every morning, he headed to his ensuite with a bowl of corn flakes, or a jam and baloney sandwich and the Sun for his morning ritual. I won't go in to deep detail, but we were used to a daily Hiroshima like explosion. Powerful, deadly and omgosh, it made us run. All of us in the family are early risers. I think this might be why. No one wants to get caught around a Hiroshima... Someone else I know, (not that I'd say who it is) often heads to the washroom with a bowl of cereal. I seriously have never understood the pleasure of eating and expelling at the same time, and find it quite repulsive, but you know what they say about girls marrying men like their fathers...
Rule #2 - Grown Men Should Never Fart Under the Covers
Now I don't mean to pick on my dad, but you know, home is where you spend your formative years. Weekend mornings, R & I would jump in to bed with dad, always forgetting that the highly enjoyable games of Tickle Spiders and Willy Lump Lump would eventually deteriorate into the fart game. Few things matched dad's pleasure in the game of trapping us under the covers during a big one. We never won. Not once.
Consider this advice, guys, especially if you hope to have sex with a woman. Many untold women, (who now may be your wives) have been traumatized by this game. And having been victimized for so many years, have now earned the right to let loose themselves under the covers at their leisure. But don't for one instant however, consider you also have that right. Men's exhaust is structured different molecularly than women's. Men's has substance. Oily substance. Women's is a simple, light aersol and they usually have the consideration to aim toward the outside of the bed, with the covers lifted.
Rule #3. Never Ever Stick Your Finger Behind Your Unwashed Ear, Then Loudly Proudly Proclaim, 'Smell THIS! It didn't come from my bum!'
I don't think one needs much more explanation.
Rule #4. Manage Fletch
Years ago, when i was about 20 and Xavieira Hollander was writing sexposes (you know, sex-po-says) and I was still interested enough to read them, she told the story of a male lover who left 'fletch' (beautiful word) marks on her satin sheets. At the time, I'd never heard the word and as you can tell, have never forgotten it. In fact, I had hard time when my kid's elementary principal was named Mr. Fletcher. Kind of like when learned that the word 'Johnson' had a double meaning, and it was also the name of my gynocologist...and have I ever mentioned my psychiatrist's name was Dr. Misery? (Bet you never suspected I had a psychiatrist, did you?)
At any rate, I could go on here, but I just looked at the clock and it's been a whole 2 hours since I last worried about cancer.
So I should probably get my shit together.
Tomorrow I'm going to discuss vaginal farting. Til then!
Rule #1 - Do Not Eat in the Bathroom
When R & I were young, we were mentored by the master of exhaust, my dad. My dad was a machine. Like clockwork, at 6 am every morning, he headed to his ensuite with a bowl of corn flakes, or a jam and baloney sandwich and the Sun for his morning ritual. I won't go in to deep detail, but we were used to a daily Hiroshima like explosion. Powerful, deadly and omgosh, it made us run. All of us in the family are early risers. I think this might be why. No one wants to get caught around a Hiroshima... Someone else I know, (not that I'd say who it is) often heads to the washroom with a bowl of cereal. I seriously have never understood the pleasure of eating and expelling at the same time, and find it quite repulsive, but you know what they say about girls marrying men like their fathers...
Rule #2 - Grown Men Should Never Fart Under the Covers
Now I don't mean to pick on my dad, but you know, home is where you spend your formative years. Weekend mornings, R & I would jump in to bed with dad, always forgetting that the highly enjoyable games of Tickle Spiders and Willy Lump Lump would eventually deteriorate into the fart game. Few things matched dad's pleasure in the game of trapping us under the covers during a big one. We never won. Not once.
Consider this advice, guys, especially if you hope to have sex with a woman. Many untold women, (who now may be your wives) have been traumatized by this game. And having been victimized for so many years, have now earned the right to let loose themselves under the covers at their leisure. But don't for one instant however, consider you also have that right. Men's exhaust is structured different molecularly than women's. Men's has substance. Oily substance. Women's is a simple, light aersol and they usually have the consideration to aim toward the outside of the bed, with the covers lifted.
Rule #3. Never Ever Stick Your Finger Behind Your Unwashed Ear, Then Loudly Proudly Proclaim, 'Smell THIS! It didn't come from my bum!'
I don't think one needs much more explanation.
Rule #4. Manage Fletch
Years ago, when i was about 20 and Xavieira Hollander was writing sexposes (you know, sex-po-says) and I was still interested enough to read them, she told the story of a male lover who left 'fletch' (beautiful word) marks on her satin sheets. At the time, I'd never heard the word and as you can tell, have never forgotten it. In fact, I had hard time when my kid's elementary principal was named Mr. Fletcher. Kind of like when learned that the word 'Johnson' had a double meaning, and it was also the name of my gynocologist...and have I ever mentioned my psychiatrist's name was Dr. Misery? (Bet you never suspected I had a psychiatrist, did you?)
At any rate, I could go on here, but I just looked at the clock and it's been a whole 2 hours since I last worried about cancer.
So I should probably get my shit together.
Tomorrow I'm going to discuss vaginal farting. Til then!
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Got a new mattress this week, big event actually after 22 years on the old one. My brother, who bought a new mattress, passed his newer than mine one on to me. Normally I wouldn't be much of an advocate of used mattresses, you know with imaginations of bed bugs and every manner of bodily leakage but this one came all in the family, so how bad could it be?
My old mattress, my daughter described as a 'brown mattress'. Not as in colour, but as in race - and this isn't a derogatory inflection. Brown people, apparently like me, buy rock hard mattresses. We like them that way. Rock hard mattresses however, have different heat retaining qualities - as I've discovered this week. The loft and foam of the new mattress retains heat - whereas my old one was more like sleeping on the floor.
Not having much of a life at the moment, this has been a big topic of interest to me and I even emailed my brother with my discoveries - to which he promptly responded:
'The warm bed effect… I totally understand it. As a matter of fact, I am an expert on the subject. The bed is warmer because of stored gas. Let me explain....J was excessively farting all night, every night. Her excessive fart gas was being pushed (under pressure) into the mattress and stored for future use. When you toss and turn during the night, the stored gas is released and heat is created. Too many blankets on the mattress, keep the heat from escaping into the atmosphere. The warm bed/too many blanket effect is very similar to global warming.'
Man it's good to have heat science properly explained. My youngest son, who deeply appreciates all things fart, thanks you also, R.
My old mattress, my daughter described as a 'brown mattress'. Not as in colour, but as in race - and this isn't a derogatory inflection. Brown people, apparently like me, buy rock hard mattresses. We like them that way. Rock hard mattresses however, have different heat retaining qualities - as I've discovered this week. The loft and foam of the new mattress retains heat - whereas my old one was more like sleeping on the floor.
Not having much of a life at the moment, this has been a big topic of interest to me and I even emailed my brother with my discoveries - to which he promptly responded:
'The warm bed effect… I totally understand it. As a matter of fact, I am an expert on the subject. The bed is warmer because of stored gas. Let me explain....J was excessively farting all night, every night. Her excessive fart gas was being pushed (under pressure) into the mattress and stored for future use. When you toss and turn during the night, the stored gas is released and heat is created. Too many blankets on the mattress, keep the heat from escaping into the atmosphere. The warm bed/too many blanket effect is very similar to global warming.'
Man it's good to have heat science properly explained. My youngest son, who deeply appreciates all things fart, thanks you also, R.
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