Sometimes, you just need a picture of a cow. Thusly, I have provided said cow picture. Moo. Moo, I say! I think the cow picture is going to have to sustain me, like a kind of surrogate Cow Game patch... Because I shall not be driving to Saskatoon this weekend. 'Cause I'm lazy. I'd say it like I mean it, but... you know... Lazy. Like I said. In other news, the Pirating Party went spectacularly well, as was expected. And I got to clean up steadily through the whole evening, which for me, is like Christmas with strippers. "WHOOOOOOOT!!! Swiffers! Awww yeah! That's right, you spill those drinks! Here comes the OxyClean! Awww baby!!!" (I don't really see this as a problem, despite what others may think).

Ahem. In other news, I tried my first, and probably last, Brazilian wax. The only reason I was able to finish, in my opinion, was that I repeatedly passed out from the pain, hit my head on the bathtub, laid unconcious for a few minutes, and then woke with no recollection of how I got there. And then it would be like, "Oh look! Brazilian wax! That looks like a good idea... Doo de doo de doo.... Hmm. It's kinda warm.... Kinda... soothing... Okay... now pull it off in one smooth, pain-free motion... HOLY MOTHER OF CHRIST!!!! AAAAAUUGHHHHH!!!!" [sounds of crashing as head hits the tub]

Repeat as needed.

I'm feeling very close to this poster right now... So close, in fact, I may just have a beer! Too bad we only have rum. Hee. On the topic of rum, me scurilous dogs, I will in fact be calling as many people as numbers I have regarding a certain dapper tall young gentleman's upcoming day of natality, or his b-day, if you will. We going to party like it's his birthday, 'cause, well, it is. Anyhow, I actually haven't started calling yet, but the plans is as follows, in case I haven't got a hold of you land lubbers. Ahem. We be pirates, yo! We be dressing up like pirates, fo' shizzle. And we be floating down the river on rented rubber rafts, or "mighty sailing vessels", as I prefer to refer to them. Um.. I mean, rented rubbizle raftizzles.. Yeah... Okay, that may need some work. In the interests of clarity, I'm going to just speak plainly from here on in. Plainlyish... There will be two "mighty sailing vessels", the Flying Butchman, and the Black Earl. (No Pirates of the Caribbean rip offs here, no sirree). We will spend much of our time on the river trying to board the other vessels (not really) with our mighty cannons (Supersoakers... If you got 'em, bring 'em!) Super cool pirate duds (flotation vests) will be provided. There will then be a rendezvous back at Tortugizzle for grog and victuals. Yummers... If you wants to bring either of the aforementioned items, feel free. And if you wants to chip in for repairs to The Flying Butchman or the Black Earl, it will run about $10 /person. If ye wants to.... However, be warned. Those that don't chip in, run the very real risk of mutiny and subsequent keel-hauling. Maybe. I'll see how I feel about it. So, hopefully I'll talk to you all, but in the meantime, if there be questions, post, and they shall be answered! Or call... I'll be home and stuff.

This... It's just... awesome... Siigghhh. So. Happy.

Ahhh... Another trip to Saskatoon, another round (or 5) of the Cow Game. Different rules. Same champion. Me. HOOO WAAHH! (This was actually supposed to resemble the Marine chant, but looking at it makes me think of a cute anthropomorphic chipmunk with a speech impediment doing a cheer. Right before it's devoured by hungry, hungry wolves. Or neighbourhood cats, I'm really not too picky.)
Ahem. Anyway, it was a fairly interesting trip. You may hear other versions of this story from other people, but rest assured, mine is the most accurate version of events. So I'm driving, right? And I have two gentlemen with me, both highly intelligent, dapper young men of the highest quality. Available for a limited time on e-Bay. Your choice of blond or brunette. I'm veering wildly... from the topic. Anyways, I ask these two fine young men to be the official navigatory bodies in the Stroniach Bland Slam, as it hurtles its way towards the sunny shores of Saskatoon. We're going north, on Highway 2. Next thing I know, I see a sign for Red Deer. (the following is a dramatization and may not have actually happened. Certain events have been made up. Okay, nothing in this conversation actually happened, other than us going too far north. Which is kind of funny, too.)
"Umm... Guys?" [sounds of two grown men having a spitting contest in the car]
"Guys?" [which has apparently escalated to a nipple twisting contest in the last two seconds]
"Isn't that a sign for Gasoline Alley?"
"Uhh." "Yeah." "Weren't you watching the road?"
"I asked you two. You have the map. You are in the navigator seat. You agreed to be the navigator."
"Hee hee hee...Hyuck... Pwoot." [sound of resumed spitting contest]
"Guys?"
"Guys?!?"
"sigggghhh...."
So we go through Red Deer, find a road that connects to Saskatoon. It's very pretty and scenic, with valleys and fields and trees. I'm enjoying myself immensely, thinking, "Well, it's a longer drive, but at least it's beautiful. Yup, this is pretty sweet."
Then we hit the tornado. I can now say that I have been driving through the prairies whilst a passenger comments "Does that look like a funnel cloud to you?", and have it not be a joke. At least the driving rains got all the dead insects off the windscreen.
Then, we almost ran out of gas. We sputtered into a gas station in Handel, which I think is in Saskatchewan. It was closed, and it was one of those co-op, pre-purchased gas bars anyway. So I lost it. I started screaming, and kicking the front fender of my Bland Slam, recklessly endangering the lives of my passengers, as this action has been conjectured to be a signal for the Bland Slam to explode in self-defense. Fortunately, a very nice farmer drove up (in a lovely car... Not a Stroniach) and let me know that there was an open, payable gas bar at the other end of town. I wept a little, I think. I hope he didn't notice. Long story short, we arrived in Saskatoon about 9 hours after leaving Calgary city limits. The rest of the weekend was kind of a blur, as I had a beer pushed into my eagerly grasping hands the minute I pulled in. I know I had fun, 'cause I have a new tattoo. Apparently, I "heart" boobs. I must have found it funny at the time... I don't know how it's going to go over at church.

Here's a query .... How come cigar tobacco smoke smells so great wafting through the air, but it leaves you smelling like cat butt?

I've been on a binge for the last few days. A job hunting binge. I only took a break to buy cleaning supplies and clean the apartment, which for me is like crack cocaine. More about this later. As I was saying, I have become fairly disillusioned with my job lately, for the sole reason that looking for a cure for cancer pays nothing. Well, almost nothing. Also, my landlord raised my rent, so ppblltthh... (verbal equivalent of sticking your tongue out). That pretty much clinches it, I thought, looking at my bills, and deciding to once again put off going to the dentist. HA! I've foiled the evil dental overlords again! I guess the situation isn't all bad... Oh crap. I think I feel a twinge in my tooth...
As I was saying, I've been on a resume/CV submission binge the last few days. I half expect to wake up in a ditch with a cover letter stuck to my face, toner streaks in my hair, clutching at vaguely relevant business cards, with no clue as to how I got there. I'm pretty sure there will be some form of wildlife chewing on my fingers, too, but this may be the pessimist rearing its ugly, depressing, non-potential realizing little head.
Also, I'm starting to have conversations in my head at night. It makes it hard to sleep.
"Must... Find... Job..."
"But you have a job, silly."
"Must... Find... Better job..."
"But you want to do a post-doc."
"Can't... Afford... School..."
"Live with it, you big goober. So you eat no-name macaroni for a few more years... wait a sec..."
"Hate... Macaroni..."
"Yeah, wait a sec, I hate it too! You should start looking for a better job."
"Shut... Up... Or... Get... Poked... With... Q-Tip..."
"Ha! You can't afford Q-Tips right now! Nyah, nyah! You're so poor! Ha!"
"Damn... It..."
Siiiigghhh.....
On the plus side, as I mentioned before, I got to clean the apartment yesterday. Those of you who know me know exactly how bizarrely happy this makes me. I was actually singing to myself while I was figuring out the best organizational layout for the storage cupboard. I think maybe it's time to change medications. But not until I get the storage locker downstairs. Oh, and before anybody offers, I do not enjoy cleaning other people's houses. Okay, yes I do. I really, really do. Ask K. Donovan. But I will not clean any one's house right now, until I clean my mom's. 'Cause I love her, and she makes me pancakes and criticizes my choice in men, and really, is there a better combination in life than a mom who loves you that much? You know what, maybe I can supplement my income by cleaning friend's houses. That will be a good use of the master's degree. And at least I'll have fun...