Cabin (WOOT) Fever

Photo: MJacqueline, stock.xchng

Suddenly I feel like Sally Field when she won the Academy Award for the 1984 film Places in the Heart: "You like me, right now, you like me!"
Best award acceptance speech ever, by the way.
Last night, just before bed, I found out I had won first prize in the Quilt Seams Just Right First Annual Cabin Fever Writing Competition. "You like me!" (I can't stop saying that - I don't think WOOT was invented back then but Sally would have said it, I'm sure!)

Photo: Darktaco, stock.xchng

I seriously didn't think I had any chance, but I'd check back to the Umbrella Lady's blog now and then, just kinda hoping. Kathy (aka the Umbrella Lady) was only posting the three winners and when I saw Laurita Miller won third prize I was like, oh well, there goes the neighbourhood. Laurita will SO kick my sorry butt. You can read her entry, Cabin Fever, here. Also, if you haven't checked out Laurita's new blog, you really should. Calling Shotgun has all the quirky charm and Newfoundland sensibility I have grown to love about this talented writer.
I was really impressed with second prize winner Barbara Bruederlin who wrote a fabulous poem called Barricade.  Barb has a popular blog called Bad Tempered Zombie - definitely worth a read. Not only is she a great Canadian writer, she's a real sparkplug. I always enjoy seeing what she has to say.
When I saw the first prize post last night I checked it out right away, wanting to see who had won. When I saw my name, I started to bawl and was so excited I lay in bed for hours with a stupid grin on my face.
Thanks Kathy. You've certainly made my year.
Hugs to you, Laurita and Barb and everyone who had a stab at this fun little contest.
Best thing about it? One of the prizes is a Tim Hortons gift card!
Now THERE'S something to WOOT about!

Red Shoes ~ #fridayflash

Photo: http://www.datarec.webland.pl/

“Could I have another blanket, please?” 

Through the steel bars of the jail cell, Darla could see a chair piled with six or seven folded blankets. A janitor was sweeping the floor in front of her.

He didn’t even look at her, just kept sweeping. 

“You think this is a hotel?” he said.

“No,” said Darla in a small voice. “I’m sorry. I’m just so cold.”

“We need these for other detainees,” he said. “Only one per customer.” He pushed the broom down the corridor, out of Darla’s sight. As far as she could tell, she was the only person locked up in the police station’s holding cell on this winter night.

She lay down on the hard cot and curled up in a ball. She pulled the singular blanket allotment up to her chin and started to cry again. 

She had been crying most of the night. The only time she stopped was when she drifted into a restless sleep. Blessed sleep, thin as the blanket wrapped around her shaking shoulders. She’d drift off, literally crying herself to sleep, then wake abruptly to the tearful realization that she was still locked up.

“I don’t belong here,” she cried. 

Never having been in trouble in her life, she was now in jail, wearing her pink flannel pajamas, the ones with the little puppies all over them. They’d been a Christmas gift from her husband. He gave his girlfriend a nice watch; he gave his wife pajamas. 

Darla found out about the girlfriend a few hours ago, following a dinner of pork chops, green beans and garlic mashed potatoes. After doing up the dishes, she had changed into her new pink pajamas and stretched out on the couch to watch Jeopardy. During a commercial break Karl came into the living room and announced he had fallen in love with Frankie-Sue at the bowling alley and was leaving. Instead of kissing him good bye she whacked him with the frying pan that was drip drying in the dish rack. Blood flew. He fell to the ground in a silent heap.

Afraid she had killed him, Darla called 9-1-1 and, when an ambulance showed up, so did the cops. Karl roused around and went off in the ambulance with a goose egg. Darla was handcuffed and went off to jail in the back of a police cruiser.

This was not how she had envisaged her life. She thought back to her wedding day when her life held such promise. Karl, handsome in his tuxedo, holding her hand, holding her heart, looking at her with undiluted love in his liquid eyes.

She wished she could go back to that day and warn the blushing bride what lay ahead. 

She wished she had never met Karl. 

Tears puddled on the coarse cotton sheet as exhaustion carried the troubled woman into a troubled sleep.

She dreamed of red shoes.

Holy Crap They're Good!

HOOOOOLY MOOOOLLLLY!

Big wootey-woots for this year's American Idol contestants. There isn't one of them I'm dying to ship home. I can't even tell you the name of last year's winner and don't get me started on that Chris guy beating out Adam Lambert the year previous.

All of those guys, ALL of 'em, would have had their hands full on 2011's stage. They're just crazy good and I'm having a hard time picking one favourite.

So far, though, it's gotta be James Durbin. Man, that guy can sing. His whole presence has strength. His hands don't flail about – he holds them close and I can feel the man of him coming off those arms in waves. He owns the stage and tonight he slammed down a McCartney song the same way he slammed down last week's metal. 

But I'm also smitten with Casey Abrams, Pia Toscano and Jacob Lusk. 

Casey, wow, he makes me cheer for him out loud in the living room. I love the fearlessness of this guy and he's easily the most musically experienced kid on the show. 

Pia - she reminds me of Linda Ronstadt and I'm such a Ronstadt fan. 

And Jacob - unbelievable the pipes on that kid. 

I also like the deep voiced country kid, Scott McCreery, but he needs to inject more emotion into his songs. And take a lesson from James - quit flailing your hands around!

Who you liking so far, dawg?

WHAT IDIOT WRECKED THE GOODIES?

Photo: Steve Ford Elliott via stock.xchng

I just went over to the wood stove to dampen it down and walked past a brown flat object on the floor.
Immediately I picked it up, with a Kleenex, and smelled it.
When you live in a house with messy people, a wood stove, two cats and a little dog, there are a few things that brown flat object might be.

1. Dinner from last night (or last week, if I'm being honest).
2. A wood chip.
3. Animal excrement.

See, because we live in a recycled world, I have to know what the flat object is because that determines if it goes in the garbage, the recycling bin, the wood stove, or the toilet. Not being able to see close-up because my reading glasses are hibernating in the bottom of my Dorothy-from-the-Wizard-of-Oz bowling bag, I have to rely on my sense of smell. No, I don't bowl.
Once I picked up a flat object in the house and smelled it, only to discover it was a dead baby bird, with all bulgy eyes... kinda like the balut they're talking about over on Bye, Bye Pie. Don't go to the balut link I put there. Don't. I swear, your eyes will burn out of your ever-lovin' head.
(You went, didn't you? I bet you don't listen to your mother, either.)
This time around, I got lucky. The flat brown object went into the wood stove.

***

Dammnit, I can't find it.
Oh wait, there it is. This afternoon I googled "did Goodies candy change?" because I bought a bag of Goodies the other day and they just SUCKED. And lo, I found a blog by another Ontario Goodies lover who was bemoaning the huge change in this beloved candy coated licorice treat. Of course, tonight I couldn't find it... but finally, I did. And here's the link to DMC & ME: Sucking Large: Hersheys' Goodies. You can pretty much tell by the title that we're of like minds when it comes to Goodies suckage.
These little pretties used to be hard-as-my-Grade-Two-Teacher licorice, a narrow tube of it, much like her lips when I got sent out to the hall for talking too much. (Obviously something I've never been guilty of). Covering the licorice-teacher-tube is a layer of coloured candy. Unless these babies were fresh, you could break your teeth on them. But that was their charm!
This new bag I bought – oh, man, the Goodies were SPONGY inside. Like somebody stuffed a Big Turk spirit guide chocolate bar into them. Gag me, tender! To be more specific, they taste almost exactly like Good 'n Plenty, the pink and white American version of the treat.
I'm willing to bet Hershey figured it was cheaper to make one product for all countries... and they're probably made in India, for all I know. *checking bag* YES! It says they were IMPORTED by Hershey Canada. Bastards!
I complained about this on facebook and my cousin Julie Hooper said Smarties have been fecked with, too. "They taste like flowers, now," she said.
That's too much. Smarties like flowers?
The world is going to hell in a handcart.
Anyway, I sent an e-mail to Hershey and told them they SUCK.
Haven't heard back yet. Go figure.

***

Yes, I'm ranting.
Where IS everybody in blogland these days?
There were only a few comments on Laurita Miller's Brain Droppings blog and it's going the way of the do-do bird... she's replacing it with a new one Thursday. I'm not sure if the link will stay the same but I'm hoping because my brain drops at the very sight of new links. It's HERE if you want to say your sad farewells. (Also, she's losing the hair on Saturday. THIS SATURDAY! I hear the name of her new blog is going to be Hair Droppings. Either that or Bald Brain. Jest saying...)
Also, Lou Freshwater posted a poem of mine with a classic piece of art and only one person commented! Guess who that one person is? Here's a hint: she is an awesome writer, is very good looking with fresh blonde hair that bounces. Lou has been putting out some trés interesting stuff lately.. go check it out. Oh, and you can start with my poem. Yah, it's one you read before, but so what? Lou has also started up an editing business and she's looking for work. If you'd like someone to fix up your flash story, or your novel, book report or even university thesis, Lou's for you.

***

OH! I almost forgot what I really wanted to rant about - I have so many things I can't keep track.
Here in the District of Muskoka our councillors, our part-time councillors, have allocated $38,000 of taxpayers' money to buy themselves laptops.
SERIOUSLY!
And not just any laptops, no... they went all fancy and got monitors, docking stations, extra keyboards and mice and cats and kitty litter and stuff - to the tune of approximately $1,700 each!
First of all, I do all my blogging on my laptop and I NEVER use a docking station (WTF is that???), an extra keyboard or a mouse or a monitor. THE LAPTOP HAS ALL THAT JUNK. I mean, come ON!
Second, you can go to Scrawl-mart and buy a netbook for $400. Seriously! That's all they need!
Third, and most important, I don't think they have any damn business buying themselves laptops! Let them buy their own, for crying out loud! Everyone else does! And if they do, they can write it off as a business expense at tax time! (I know, either way we're screwed.)
And THEN I heard local Huntsville councillors have decided to earmark money so they can all buy themselves an iPad if they want!
BUAHAHAHAHAHA!
(Sorry, I'm laughing hysterically, here.)
Now, just to be clear, my cousin John is a Huntsville councillor and I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that John was among those who turned the iPad/laptop/docking orbital space station down because he is good with money and good with people and he would never do such a thing. Yes, there were individual councillors who realized it wasn't a good idea. (Yay John!)
But a word to the wise to the rest: when times are tough; when people are losing their jobs, IT DOESN'T LOOK GOOD TO GO AND BUY YOURSELF AN IPAD!
Instead of spending money on laptops and iPads, why not go fix some bloody potholes?
Better yet, hire me to make PR decisions for you because it's clear you do a rotten job of it yourselves!
(Oh, if I get hired, do I get an iPad? How about a Blackberry? Maybe a new car?)

***

Did I mention my jaw locked on the weekend?
I seriously could not close my mouth.

I Just Love Simon's Cat!

This is, very possibly, the funniest cartoon I have ever seen about cats.
I find it especially funny because Dave is just like the guy and our cat, Ben, is just like the cat, who will drive you to absolute mind-altering distraction if his bowl is empty.
Not even empty – Ben gets yappy if he can even see the bottom of the darn bowl.
Dave isn't much of a cat lover and Ben is not the most endearing cat. Thus there are many sleepless nights for Dave, who chases the cat around the house armed with a spray bottle of water and wearing nothing but his skivvies.
Simon's Cat is the brainchild of Simon Tofield, a British animator who has created an immensely successful comic franchise based on his own crazy life with four, count 'em, cats.
Angus, Sam and I spent a happy half an hour or so on the weekend watching all the Simon's Cat cartoons online. Dave wouldn't even come over and watch it – he just doesn't see the humour in a fat cat who destroys everything he touches and will do anything, absolutely anything, for food.
I'm posting my favourite here but you can visit Simon's Cat yourself to see what all the purring is about.