Hold on.... hold on... something doesn't look right here.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Nope. Not right AT ALL.

Yeah, yeah. Birds pooped on her car. She still has clothes from the 70's. Toilets explode on her.

Hilarious.

Um hello??? Where am I? My photo hasn't adorned this insipid blog for 4 months!

I mean really! She natters on and on about her pathetic life, when instead, she could garner thousands of hits by featuring me and all the wonderful things I do!

Moi!

Time to take things into my own paws and remedy this situation post haste.

Hmmmmm. Now WHAT to write about....

Think. Think. Think.

Dammit. Writer's block.

Well, the next time I do something other than sleeping, eating or... err... napping, it'd better be posted.

And if she knows what's good for her, she'd be wise not to make me look stupid.

Now if you'll excuse me,

*Yawn*

I'm late for my 47th nap of the day.

Ah, Fall.

My favorite time of the year.

The crisp, cool night air.

The crunch of warm-hued leaves under my feet.

The honking of the Canada Geese as they fly low overhead. So close, I can hear the "flup, flup, flup" of their wings as they gather into huge V-shaped convoys.

Hundreds of the majestic birds take to the skies from the lake across the street from our home, covering the sky during their dawn and dusk pilgrimages.

It's beautiful. Breathtaking.

Breathtaking? Yup. THIS sure took my breath away:


Aw, CRAP!

"Damn you stinking birds!" I yelled to the sky, shaking my fist at the noisy flock above.

Then I asked myself why the hell I was facing skyward, mouth open, a perfect target if there ever was one.



Coming quickly to my senses, I went inside for some paper towels, a plastic bag

and an umbrella.


Stupid Fall.

It's really amazing what happens when one steps away from the laptop.

The other evening I actually got out of my comfy blogging chair in the livingroom and went "Outside". You know. That place beyond the front door where Canada Geese are honking overhead, leaves are falling and a breeze of crisp, fresh air fills your lungs.

Shocked aren't you? I was.

Whilst wandering around our backyard, breathing, and pondering my next blog post topic (well, duh, what else?), I was surprised to find our plum tree, which hasn't borne fruit in years, was bursting with bunches of tiny plums!

Well, damn.

Of course, a lot had already fallen to the ground, sweet treats for our bunnies and whatever other wildlife has made our backyard home. (Well, it's hard to keep track of what's going on back there from the livingroom).

But there was still plenty of fruit to be harvested. Of course, being a true-blue blogger, before I plucked clean what branches I could reach, I had to snap a few shots.

Crap.

Now I have to get off the laptop again and make some jam.

I have skeletons in my closet.

Scratch that.

I HAD skeletons in my closet.

Last weekend I purged the buggars out. No seance, chanting or Ouija boards necessary.

Just two huge green garbage bags.

Thanks to my teenage daughter, I have been forced, kicking and screaming gradually updated my fashion style to a somewhat acceptable version of this millennium's look. However, I will openly admit that during this transformation, I refused to relinquish evidence of past fad faux pas; unwilling to rid myself of the disco ghosts of the 1970s and 80s.

But no more.

Gone are the glitsy dresses.

Bye bye satin tops with puffy sleeves!

Sayonara padded shoulders!

But the worst,

absolute worst thing I found stealthly hidden from plain view, tucked away from the light of day ...

... the most horrifying discovery of all.

Not one, but six.

Six pairs of suspenders.

Yup. You read that right.

Suspenders

Pink, grey, red, black, yellow and.... *choke*

RAINBOW.

It's like I stepped out of "Godspell".

(Hey, that was a groovy movie!)



Oh, Gad.

This is more embarassing than ...

well, than anything I have yet confessed here. (Yes, YET).

The only thing saving me from complete humiliation? I couldn't find ANY photos of me wearing these. Hallelujah! A miracle in itself.

So what, dare you ask, did I do with those suspenders?

Throw them out? Hell no.

They're now stored with our Halloween costumes.

Along with my Superman shirt and striped pants.

"Day by day....

Day by day..."

You know what else would be Groovy?
A couple of Smilies...

Since I am prone to requiring medical assistance after thrill rides (okay, okay...perhaps even after not-so-thrillish rides), I have become "The Official Holder-Of-All-Things-That-Shall-Propel-From-Your-Pockets" when our family visits an amusement park. So it wasn't surprising to anyone that during our recent trip to Valley Fair I was planning to relax with both feet safely planted on terra firma whilst hubby and daughter made it their mission in life to ride every damn rollercoaster on the premises.

Once I staked out a hard, albeit immobile wooden bench in the shade, I attempted to pass the hours immersed in a paperback novel.

But soon I became distracted into observing the crowd flowing to and fro before me. Oh, the variety of people was entertaining, and the snippets of conversations I was privy to sometimes intriguing, but even better was the population explosion of large husky dogs being carried, toted and dragged along everywhere I looked.

I don't think the state of Alaska has as many of these canines as Shakopee, Minnesota.

Okay, maybe that's because they were the stuffed-variety of Husky, but they WERE large.

Erm, actually "gigantic", "humongous" or "titanic" are more apt descriptors.

So I had mixed reactions whenever someone paraded by with one of these trophies... both impressed by their obvious carnival game skills and amused at the ridiculous prizes being lugged around all day.

Perhaps I was simply jealous... hubby was too busy defying gravity on the rides to play even one carnival game and win us a mammoth stuffed dog.

Nah, I didn't want that.

*I* wanted the purple bunny with the four-foot floppy ears....

Which we didn't win either.

"Sir! The possibility of successfully navigating an asteroid field is approximately 3,720 to 1."
That wasn't sand.

Or gravel.

Those were ROCKS. Propelling out of the truck bed, bouncing off the highway and smacking into our candy-apple-red rental van.

With every strike to the windshield, I cringed; certain it would shatter at any moment.


Like Leia to Han*, I ordered strongly suggested to Hubby to back off and somehow get into the slow lane. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally squeezed in between the convoy. But we weren't out of the schrapnel field yet. Even though the couriers were providing some protection, we were still being hit with debris.

Bastard!

Of course, after we pulled into the right lane, traffic behind us began to advance and take our place behind He-Who-Does-Not-Know-What-A-Tarp-Is...

...and each one soon realized what a terrible mistake that move was. Car after car swerved and braked, attempting to avoid the onslaught onto THEIR windshields.

The only way out was to speed up and overtake the truck. Gritting his teeth as a John Williams soundtrack swelled to a crescendo, Han, er Hubby finally had a chance to pass HWDNKWATI.

We did it!

As the white truck, now devoid of his load, faded to the horizon behind us, we worried about the next "dent" we would have to endure. The one Enterprise** was going to ding our credit card with when we returned the rental. But when we made the obligatory IHOP Stop at Fargo, we examined the 2008 Grand Caravan and to our relief, no obvious damage was done.

Talk about beating the odds.

Hah! Take THAT, Goldenrod!*

* (With deep apologies to those that cringe when I admit that yes, I AM a Star Wars geek, thankyouverymuch).

** It is therefore ironic we should have rented from a company naming itself after a Star TREK ship; however, I can appreciate that naming your business "Death Star Car Rentals" really wouldn't be a shrewd marketing decision.

I'd Rather Be pelted with a bunch of Smilies...
click on the happy face below
and get me out of 165th place over at Humor-blogs.com
Thank ye.

Scratch that.

We do eat ham and jam.

But NEVER Spam.

Ick. Ick. Ick.

That title is the line from "Monty Python and The Holy Grail" movie that inspired "Spamalot". Even though I've been a MP fan since the 70's, I still will not eat Spam. Not even if they sing about it.

I may receive Spam.

I may delete Spam.












But I will not EAT Spam.

Someone must.... because THIS is a Lot Of Spam:


THIS is A Spam-A-Lot Spam:



But THIS!

Now THIS is SPAM Nirvana!!!
(as the brochure states)

How the heck did we miss out visiting one of Minnesota's biggest attractions while we were there last week?


Instead of depositing large chunks of moola at the Mall of America or losing our lunch on the rollercoasters at Valley Fair, we COULD have gone to Austin to see


THE SPAM MUSEUM!!!!


Crap! Crap! Crap!


Perhaps it was the numerous few Mojitos we had partaken of, but when we saw this flyer in the hotel lobby on our last night of vacation, daughter and I were just rolling on the beds in fits of laughter reading this.... so hard we were crying trying to figure out if this was an actual place or just a joke.

It was real alright.


Dammit! As we perused the pamphlet looking for directions to Austin, I discovered we ALSO missed out seeing "The World's Largest Stack of Empty Oil Cans" in North Dakota!!


Now we're going to have to return JUST to hit these world-famous tourist attractions.

Then again. Maybe not.

I got the weirdest reaction at work Tuesday. When asked what I did on my holidays last week, I told my co-worker that I travelled hundreds of miles to meet a man I met on the Internet.

That stopped her in her tracks.

Eyebrows raised.

Her mouth dropped open, but words failed her.

I was so tempted to regale her with a story of lust and daring... Man! If I only had the guts, I could have spun such a tale:

"Oh yeah. After numerous messages sent back and forth between us for months, I left the country to finally meet him face-to-face. When I arrived, I recognized him in an instant, waiting for me beside his motorcyle..."

Nah. I couldn't.

No one would believe it anyway.

In reality, the only lust and longing on the trip was from my seventeen year old daughter as we headed to The Land of Hollister, Abercrombie and Fitch. After five days of a gluttonous spending spree, I nearly had to drag her, kicking and screaming out of her shrine called The Mall of America.

Or, as hubby would refer to it: "The Temple of Doom".

But I did meet a man.

And his wonderful daughter and wife. On the trip down Sunday, our family had the extreme pleasure to stop in picturesque St. Cloud and meet Jeff from View From the Cloud, his sweet daughter and fantastic wife.


Two hours flew by in an instant; you would have thought we were old friends the way all six of us were gabbing, laughing and sharing lunch together.

I so wish we could have stayed longer, but Albertville was beckoning daughter to the Dark Side. After contributing significantly to the town's economic prosperity over the next few hours, we headed to our final destination of Minneapolis. I dare say there were a few tears shed when we left the MoA for the last time Thursday.

Tears from the retailers, that is.

Yes, we brought a LOT home (more, dare I say, than Canada Customs will ever know).

But more importantly I brought home wonderful memories of that afternoon tryst at Five Guys Burgers and Fries.

For you see I fell in love.

Those incredible hamburgers will always hold a special place in my heart...

It's my first day back at work after a week of R & R.

As I needed three cups of coffee just to stay awake this morning, a bathroom break was in order.

After locking the door in my "usual" stall, I note that the water level in the bowl is low.

Very low.

Hmmmm... that doesn't look right.

I ponder whether to stay or use one of the other two available units.

Instead of moving on, "Smart Me" decides to remain, but to first check its proper functioning before using it.

Hah! I am soooooo smart!

So Smart Me bends over the bowl and presses the handle for The Test Flush.

And Smart Me is drenched with a veritable eruption of water straight up.

Straight up like Old Faithful.

Straight up onto Smart Me's clothes.

Straight up onto Smart Me's freshly-shampooed hair.

Straight up into Smart Me's face.

All I could do was stand there, dripping, arms extended in a pose EXACTLY like Kristin Davis at the end of the Seinfeld episode "The Pothole".

After the shock wore off, Smart Me made her way to the sink and weighed the pros and cons of actually scrubbing her lips with disinfectant soap.

Smart Me did.

After washing her face, drying off her head, glasses and jacket, Smart Me does what she SHOULD have done in the first place.

Smart Me uses the next stall over.

And ponders once more whether to report the dysfunction (she did), to blog it (she is) or simply save some semblance of dignity and keep quiet, go home and freak out (she didn't).

Luckily, it was just water. It could have been worse.

Much worse.

At least Smart Me was smart enough to do a Test Flush.

Yup. I am sooooo smart.