Just A Little Off Kilter....

What's a monster's favorite bean? Answer: A human bean. A photographer goes to a haunted castle determined to get a picture of a ghost. The ghost he encounters turns out to be friendly and poses for a snapshot. The happy photographer dashes to his studio, develops the film and…learns that the photos are underexposed and completely blank. Moral of the story : The spirit is willing, but the flash is weak. Why can't the boy ghost have babies? Answer: Because he has a Hallo-weenie. Two monsters went to a party. Suddenly one said to the other,  “A lady just rolled her eyes at me. What should I do?” “Be a gentleman and roll them back to her.” Happy Halloween!

On the way into work this morning I dropped my doughnut on the sidewalk. You read about these things, but never think it'll happen to you. via

Dear Mom, Happy Birthday! You don’t look a day over 40, and you get even more beautiful with each passing year. You are truly the most loving, thoughtful, selfless, compassionate, caring, giving, amazing woman that this world has ever seen. You make me want to be a better woman. You constantly amaze me in the ways that you care for others before yourself. Because I don’t tell you "thank you" enough, I wanted to list a few of the things for which I am so grateful... For sticking with me through those hellacious teenage years that I was horrible to you. For forgiving me in all the ways I hurt you and for not holding them against me. For believing in me and encouraging me when no one else did. For believing the best in me, even when I was at my worst. For supporting my “crazy” dreams, and not just standing behind me in my decisions, but standing beside me, holding my hand every step of the way. For bearing with me through all of the times I thought I knew better. For helping pay

Unaccustomed - adjective - not familiar or usual; out of the ordinary.  That's how I feel about 'good news'. I'm so used to being on the receiving end of bad news that I must admit...I've become very unaccustomed to that magical thing called 'good news' so when I headed to my fertility clinic yesterday afternoon, I was trying to prepare myself for what I was sure was going to be 'bad news'. Bad news is what I know when it comes to the state of my hostile uterus. The last three years plus seem like one big bundle of bad news (interspersed with a spot of two of good - but mostly bad). I shed a tear (or two) in the car on my way to the clinic and I was a bundle of nerves by the time they called me back. It was awful. I wanted to run far, far away from the clinic as fast as I could. I wished with every fiber of my being to be anywhere else but there even as the rational part of my mind told me I needed to be here. This needed to happen.  I walked

I didn't sleep well last night. I blame the appointment I have this afternoon at my fertility clinic for an Hystero Contrast Sonography . This will tell us if my tubes are still open and I hope with every fiber of my being that they are. The alternative makes me sick to my stomach.  In honor of this "sick to my stomach" feeling...let's talk  about vomit. I've got a whole cornucopia of options at my disposal. Here’s my ranking of some common names for throwing up, determined by assessing grossness, clarity, creativity, and general usability. Lose your lunch - This is about as coy as you can get when talking about vomit. Probably if you were hand-painting a tiny, delicate floral pattern onto some china and threw up, this is how you would describe it. Toss your cookies - It always seems depressing to associate delicious cookies with vomit, but this is your only word choice option if you happen to be someone’s wacky aunt. Hurl - It's is a pretty a

Have a spooktactular weekend!

Dear Persimmons, Hi. This is awkward because I don’t actually know anything about you but here is my ode to you even though I think you could maybe be a yellow pepper. Are you a yellow pepper? No seriously, what is a persimmon? I think you are an apple but maybe also a tomato? So I guess you are a fruit. And are you related to the pomegranate? (The pomegranate is a fruit, right? I just think of it as a juice or something that stains everything or like something this weird girl I knew in elementary school used to eat everyday when no one would be eating pomegranate because what elementary school-aged child is willingly eating fruit on a regular basis?). Do you taste like a pomegranate because those are okay. Very messy. I feel like the persimmon is one of those old timey ancient fruits that people in Greece would eat to improve fertility or make someone fall in love with them or give them the ability to shoot lightning bolts from their hands or to make friends with tiny baby angels (my

So we're just gonna walk around pretending it's not weird that one of our hands is just worse at everything?

Why do people look at you strangely when you start talking to yourself? I think the best conversations I have are with myself. I get so much sorted out. Like deciding whether to go completely naked or to wear just two tassels hanging from my nipples as I run around the shopping centre screaming “The mother ship has landed!”.  But I think it’s important to keep people guessing. Will you or won’t you snap and go completely nuts today? But it’s difficult when I start to argue with myself. There is no escaping me.  That’s it! I am off...Where do you think you are going?  I am not finished yet...I don’t want to talk you anymore.  Get your arse back here! No...you can finish this blog by yourself…Yeah, well we all know that I am the brains of this operation. Fine, see if I care cause I can write a perfectly...um, witty eh, thing here...so, excuse me I need to get my...I will be right back. On second thought.

In the past, I've always come here to honestly vent my feelings. Something about wrangling my thoughts into concise sentences has always made them feel more real, more tangible, and thus more manageable. It's the cheapest form of therapy, really. But lately, I've felt paralyzed. Frozen. The overarching issue currently is the state of my uterus...which while empty, is in no way doomed. Trying to conceive is a private, personal thing; almost impossible to accurately portray to a third party without over sharing. And so I'm left unsure of how to handle this little space of mine on the internet. Somehow, posting entirely silly stories, pictures and my Funny Face Friday's; seem shallow and fake, as though I'm trying to maintain a 'perfect' facade by not divulging the full context of my life. And yet I still want to share those things. They're a form of therapy as well; small instances of creativity and creation amid what could be a very sad chapter in m

I think I'm starting to be afraid of being  happy  because whenever I do get too happy;  something bad always happens. I just don't have words at the moment so I will let the silence speak when words can't. by Promopocket via Etsy

I'm in a slump...it's been an incredibly long, confusing and frustrating week (I'll fill you in as soon as I have some answers) but in the meantime... You know how, when you're wearing a skirt on a fall day (and not a particularly warm one at that I might add) and your thighs get kind of swollen (due to heat) and sticky (ditto)? And then they kind of smack together when you walk, making you feel very, very big? Well, as I've just recently discovered, the most depressing thing in the world is when you trip over your own thighs. That is all. Via

Unicorns are really just weaponized ponies. Savvy’s Awesome Unicorn

It's lunch time. I'm hungry. I did not bring a lunch today. There is fry truck around the corner. Here are some things I could do with my french fries I am about to go and get... Eat them like a French poodle. Tape them under your nose, so that you look French. Make the Eiffel Tower out of them. Play 52 Pick Up. Toss them at mimes. Have a sword-fight. Dip them in wine. Put an abnormally large amount of French Fries in your mouth and attempt to say "Bonjour!" Use them as band-aids and put them on boo boos.  Paint a picture of the Louvre using a french fry as a paintbrush. Use them for acupuncture. See how long you can have a French Fry in your nose before you get tempted to eat it. Hand them out to French artists in the park. Use them as darts and throw them at a target. Make a French robot. Disguise them as French bread. Wear them on your head like a beret. If you have any other brilliant ideas of ludicrous things to do with French Fries, or wo

Happy Weekend my friends!

Most of the time I bring a lunch to work (most of the time) but today was not one of those times. It’s a beautiful day out, unusually warm and sunny for this time of the year, so I decided to walk to Tim Horton’s up the road for a sandwich. As I neared the front of the coffee shop, I noticed a man sitting on the curb…he was unkept, shoulders slumped with a frown on his face. It was pretty clear to me that this was a man who was down on his luck. There were a few people in front of me heading to the front door, who I’m pretty sure noticed the same thing about him that I did. They were very clearly trying to avoid looking at him, even more so when he meekly asked if they had any spare change for food. Not one of those people in front of me acknowledged his presence, let alone made eye contact with and answered him. Unlike the people in front of me, I didn't look away. I answered him. I told him that I did not have spare change but I did have my Tim Horton’s card with me

There are times when I wish I were a superhero. I'm guessing a lot of people feel that way sometimes. I mean come on, the ability to fly, shoot lasers from your eyes or run at the speed of light would be pretty epic. What if one day you had the ability to chose one super power that you could have for the rest of your life? But unlike most, I have no delusions that it could ever work out. Not because superheroes don't exist. Instead, because I'm an idiot. I've read the comic books, watched the shows and cartoons, and even seen the movies which were adapted from cartoons which were adapted from shows which were adapted from comic books. I've seen every super power ever dreamed up, and I've witnessed the awesome and formidable power those powers have conferred to various do-gooding dandies. And I know just exactly how I'd accidentally muck each one up. Observe, fair citizens... Flying - Let’s start with flying, this one would be a popular choice of many

Hate when I eat the last bite and didn't notice it was the last bite so I couldn't mentally prepare myself and get any closure. via   edibleperspective.com

So, I'm afraid of a lot of weird things. But... Let's just say that I've gotten over most of my bizarre phobias. Of course, for every one that I conquer, two or three more slither in to take its place. I'm doing my best, but my brain is hard-wired to worry, and I'm losing the battle. I couldn't possibly make it through the whole list of things that keep me up at night, but I thought that sharing one might help you understand the screaming willies that I'm always just that close to having. One woman's bundle of nightmares is everyone else's evening entertainment, right ? In any case, here is one thing that I worry about on a daily basis, submitted for your snorting pleasure. I've given it a name, to help us talk clearly about it. (Or to help you describe my various forms of dementia to the men in the white coats when the time comes. It's all good.) Anyway...enjoy.  Nasofolliculophobia - I've stared, transfixed and powerless to look a

Crying (also called sobbing, weeping, wailing, whimpering, bawling, or blubbering) is the shedding of tears in response to an emotional state in humans. The act of crying has been defined as "a complex secretomotor phenomenon characterized by the shedding of tears from the lacrimal apparatus, without any irritation of the ocular structures". A related medical term is lacrimation, which also refers to non-emotional shedding of tears. Frequency of crying - According to the German Society of Ophthalmology, which has collated different scientific studies on crying, women cry on average between 30 and 64 times a year, and men cry on average between 6 and 17 times per year. Men tend to cry for between two and four minutes, and women cry for about six minutes. Crying turns into sobbing for women in 65% of cases, compared to just 6% for men. Until adolescence, however, no difference between the sexes was found. 30 to 64 times a year...it feels like I've cried that in a week

Happy Friday...Happy Weekend

Just for funsies, somebody please explain to me why there's Christmas stuff in stores and it isn't Halloween yet. And for even more funsies, somebody please explain why I bought an advent calendar from one of those Christmas displays, while simultaneously appalled that it was out in the first place and yet so smitten with this particular wooden calendar I had to buy it, thereby inadvertently answering my own question regarding the presence of those displays...they are out because asshats like me buy things from them, in October, if they're cute enough (the things, not the asshats).  *I don't even like advent calendars* I have a rant (about something...that I'll tell you about soon) that’s gonna knock your socks off. What a stupid cliché. I mean who wants their socks knocked off? How does that even work? Maybe a hat. Or a cardigan. But socks? Everybody knows socks require pulling down and over the heel, so by definition they can’t be "knocked off."

I was watching Animal Planet this morning while eating breakfast, and get this...hippos don't really eat marbles!

I believe that sometimes it can actually be a good sign if you are going a little bit crazy. It means you are really being involved in life. It means you are part of the action. It means, in short, that you are...and that is quite an important thing to be. Then there are other times when it is a bad sort of crazy. When you are facing problems that look down on you from a giant`s perspective, and try to bring you down. When everything that is good and right in your world will not work. These are the times that show what a girl is made of. You need to have guts to wade through the mires of life and come out on the other side, if not triumphant, then certainly changed and honed so that all the characteristics that make you you are clearer than ever before. It is in those troubling times that one finds them self, and treasures who they are all the more. I just wanted to leave a note for you, oh troubled soul. I wanted to let you know that, though they may not proclaim their intentions