Random

Jaya J of Pickles n’ Tickles tagged me to list ten random things about myself.  I’m quite happy to do this but I’m going to cheat.  (That’s one random thing right there – I’m capable of cheating.)  I’ve done four of these tags in the past so I’m stealing from those lists.  (Yet another random thing – I steal.) 

There’s a reason for my filching from past lists – and it’s not laziness.  I think of random as being without purpose, objective or meaning.  To come up with ten more random things??  How random can one be and still claim to lead a meaningful existence?

(Digression – Wouldn’t it be interesting to tag someone to come up with ten

reasons as to the purpose of their existence?  Now, that would be a challenge.)

Anyway, here are the ten random things:

1. I’ve been known to *ahem* emit a burp (or two) at the dinner table.  Only amongst family.  Never as a guest in someone’s home or in a restaurant.  I know my manners but I believe burping is good for you.  So do my sons.  ;)

2. I carry loose change in my pockets for the homeless. 

3. I have a teensy-tiny birthmark on my left inner thigh.  I think it looks like a baby duck.  I like it.

4. I swear.  I find swearing to be extremely useful in blowing off steam.  (Only a select few are privy to my foul language.)

5. I wear my watch on my right wrist.  I am right handed.  In the past I was told numerous times I should wear my watch on my left wrist.  Short of losing my right arm, the watch will remain on my right wrist.  (So there.)

6. My ears are not pierced.  The thought of putting holes in my ears makes me cringe.

7. I don’t like eating crusts and never made my kids eat theirs.  Whenever I leave them on the plate (which is most of the time) I think of and miss my dog.

8. I am unable to wear make-up due to my sensitive skin.  What the world sees is the real me.

9. See first paragraph of this post.

10. Ditto # 9.

And now I must tag six other bloggers – which I’ve always found difficult to do.  How does one choose?  Well, this “one” doesn’t.  I’ll just open up the “Random Things” tag to anyone who’d like to have a go at it. 

Better yet, try creating a “Ten Reasons for the Purpose of My Existence” list.  ;)

Photo credit: google images

It Could Happen

I have a well-deserved reputation for being a worrier and for possessing supposedly irrational fears.  When my kids point out (sometimes kindly, sometimes with exasperation) how crazy some of these fears are and how crazy I am to have them, every once in a while I come back with:

“You should be in awe of me – imagine the courage and willpower it takes just to get through the day harbouring such fears and anticipating disaster!”

My reasoned argument & logic are met with exaggerated nods and eye-rolls.

Check out the pictures below.  This horror occurred just down the street.  Apparently the driver of the truck left the parking brake off.  Fortunately, no one was injured.

I’ve added out-of-control garbage trucks crashing into my home to my list of potential disasters.

All Thumbs

I think I’ve given myself carpel tunnel syndrome from texting - although years of working at the computer have certainly contributed.  But since I’ve only recently taken up texting with a vengeance, it’s probably the straw that broke the camel’s back – or finally squeezed the median nerve to the point of inflammation.

The solution to ease the pain is simple – stop texting.  But will I?

How and why did texting become so popular?  Since we’re all carrying cell phones, I have to wonder - why do we no longer call and talk to the people we want to communicate with rather than sending them itty-bitty typed messages? 

Has actually hearing someone’s voice and carrying on a conversation become too intimate a means of communication?  Horrors!  A conversation might last five minutes – way too long a time commitment these days.

It’s been suggested I switch to a more advanced cell phone – one requiring the use of two thumbs to text so that my right thumb, wrist and arm are not incapacitated.

But wouldn’t I possibly end up with carpal tunnel syndrome X 2?

Double ouch.

(and, yes, this post was created with some degree of pain…)


P.S. Wedding update

The wedding day ceremonies went off without a hitch!  (sorry… that phrase just popped into my head…had to use it…)

The bride and the groom were so happy!

I only cried four times. 

No pictures to post because a) I don’t have any yet and b) I think I should get permission from the bride and groom and they just happen to be away….



photo credit: http://www.cellphones.ca/news/post002778/

Don't Mention It...

The other day I was at one of my favourite haunts. (No, not the local bar.) Hadn’t been for awhile and was feeling very chipper and happy to be there, thank you very much.

An acquaintance greeted me with, “How are you?” No accompanying smile.

Me: (smiling anyway) “Great, thanks. How are you?”

Her: “I’m fine but are you really okay?”

Me: (wondering if I had toothpaste on my chin or the mark of the devil on my forehead) “Yeah, I’m really okay. Why?”

Her: “You have dark smudges under your eyes.”

WHAT?? I NEVER HAVE THOSE.

Where’s a mirror, where’s a mirror? Must see for myself. Found one. Yup, a hint of bluish/black under those baby blues. Gosh-darn.

Reassured the acquaintance who was right behind me (such a busy-body) this was nothing that a few good night sleeps wouldn’t cure and turned away. A little self-conscious. A little reluctant to raise my head to greet others. And then I thought, the hell with it. I’m happy to be here. Dark smudges aren’t going to spoil my fun. I feel good.

Moral of the story – unless you are a close friend or family or unless someone is sporting chicken-pox or measles or some other hideous temporary rash, don’t feel obliged to point out they look like hell. It might make them feel like hell – perhaps just for a moment but still…no one needs or wants to hear that kind of news.

And, oh, yeah - never say never.

Happy to report the smudges are gone! ;)

Odds and Sods

Strange how you scramble to get urgent matters dealt with before leaving for a brief three day get-a-way and upon your return there’s another pile of urgent matters begging for your attention. I place 80% of the blame for this phenomenon on email.

Had a great time – de-mice-pooped the cottage & scooped up two dead mice bodies with a snow shovel. Why a snow shovel and not simply a dustpan? I needed that distance. Why? I don’t know. Bought and placed mice poison in the basement (thank you Guy and The Bodhi Chicklet) and also put Bounce sheets everywhere (thank you Cheryl) as back-up. The cottage smells like a laundromat.

Mice matters aside, my time away was wonderful. Good food, lots of wine, much laughter and great company – including the presence of a man (!) amidst what was basically a girls’ weekend. Brave soul. And, no, he was not my guest or date. For lack of a better word, this eligible male “belonged” to another.

I’ve always been intrigued by a certain aspect of my make-up – and I am referring to the character kind of make-up, not the plaster all over your face sort. I have never felt the slightest inkling of an attraction to a male who is “taken.” (Again, for lack of a better word – one person never owns another.) He could be the most gorgeous of men with a personality to match but from me – not a spark of interest. Nada. Interesting that the world is full of those who do not recognize, acknowledge or respect such boundaries. Love (or lust) is a many splendored & confusing & fascinating subject.

Bleeding radiators is not such a fascinating subject. That was one of the pressing matters I attended to upon my return and ended up with a numb butt waiting 10 minutes for the water to finally flow through one of them.

Next on my agenda – dealing with further legal matters.

I am so glad I went away. Needed that break.

Mr. Hippo and I

Never underestimate the worth (and pleasure) of a childish Hippo flashlight during a power failure.

And if it emits a goofy laugh when turned on – and every 15 seconds thereafter – even better.

You have light and laughter in the darkness.


And if caught brushing your teeth when the power failure strikes? Just spit in the sink, search for a flashlight in the pitch dark, curse the kid who took the “normal” one (on a camping trip?) and be grateful Mr. Hippo is still around.

Photo Op

I got nuthin’.

Both mind and body are drifting elsewhere these days.

So, all you get is this photo for your viewing pleasure, amusement and/or consternation.



Yup, it’s me – about ten years ago.

Perhaps you’re wondering - is that the look she presented to the world back then?

I’ll leave you to it.


I’m either brave or crazy to have posted this picture.
I’m going with a bit of both.

Wobbly Words

"My spelling is Wobbly. It's good spelling but it Wobbles, and the letters get in the wrong places." A. A. Milne

An apt description of my typing skills – the letters get in the wrong places.

And over the years, I’ve come to rely more and more on spell-check. I find this appalling.

Two reasons why I prefer writing in longhand first. With pen and paper, misspelled and mixed-words aren’t as glaring – don’t interrupt me mid-sentence.


P.S.
Happy Victoria Day Weekend to those of you (us) who celebrate it. What we actually celebrate is having a holiday Monday. Dare I say it? No one really cares about Victoria’s birthday. Nor do I think she would appreciate the drinking and partying that goes on in her name. The fireworks, maybe.



Photo credit: http://www.ctv.ca/gallery/html/misspelled_080513/photo_15.html

It's May!

Where the hell did April go?

And where the heck has Beth been for the past few days?

(told you my week was gonna be crazy busy….)

Speaking of crazy – here’s a vignette from my life to illustrate both the word itself and what it is like to be me.

Last night I’m digging into my Swiss Chalet “¼ chicken dark with fries” meal all by myself because I was ravenously hungry and refused to wait for the boys who were delayed by traffic and lousy weather and as I’m wrestling with the pesky little chicken bones my mind starts to wander off (as it is wont to do) and a phrase pops into my head.

“Still she haunts me, phantom-wise….”

Who (other than me) thinks of that kind of a line while eating chicken???

Now I’m digging into the fries and it’s killing me that I can’t remember where that line came from. I know it’s in my journal of quotations but I’m too lazy to go all the way upstairs and get it. And really, why wouldn’t I just finish my dinner and check it out later? OH NO. I wipe my greasy french frie fingers and go over to my computer and Google the words.

I find the source and return to my dinner - quite satisfied and very pleased with myself. (For those of you who are interested, the line is from Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll - CHAPTER XII.)

Can you imagine being me? Being the kind of person who would do that? Living a life where words take precedence over eating? I’m used to my quirks but there are times even I pause and wonder….

Just as you are probably wondering about this post.

I’m fine. Really. {twitch twitch}

Mature, responsible, reflective and intelligent posts will resume shortly.


Photo Credit: www.flickr.com/photos/surrealmuse/4757004/

Private Message/Public Forum

Found in my email this morning - and not in the Junk Folder.
My response follows.


HELLO QUEEN ELIZABETH-ANY CHANCE I COULD BE YOUR PERSONAL MUSE OR CABANA BOY?
Saturday, April 11, 2009 1:33 AM
From: "Neil_______ @aol.com" <_______>

To: estewart@rogers.com

Hello Miss Elizabeth I read your blog and I see you are looking for your own little personal muse or Cabana Boy!
I would LOVE to SERVE you if you are interested.
Here are my contacts if you so desire:

W W W . M Y S P A C E . C O M /Neil_______

MY YAHOO INSTANT MESSANGER IS:_______

MY CEL PHONE IS:________

AND MY DIRECT E-MAIL ADDRESS IS: ________ AT A O L . C O M

-NEIL OR KNEEL AT YOUR PERFECTLY PEDICURED PALE WHITE WHITE WHITE FEET ALWAYS-!!!


Dear Neil,

I so do not have such a desire…for a variety of reasons.

I have no need for a Cabana Boy – don’t own a pool and have no plans to go south any time soon.

I don’t think the “musing” you’re referring to would aid me in my writing endeavours.

I’m not too keen on your play on words – Neil/Kneel. And FYI, I haven’t had a pedicure in months.

Referring to me as a Queen will get you nowhere. I’m not the princess-ey/queen type. The only thing I’d want served is my dinner.

You don’t use spell check.

But the greatest reason for my lack of interest? YOU SPELT MY NAME WRONG – IT’S ELISABETH WITH AN “S” – NOT A “Z”!!!

Regards,
Elisabeth

P.S. Thanks for reading my blog – although I believe your interpretation is way off…



You’ll notice I left out the pertinent details regarding Neil’s contact information. If anyone is looking for a Cabana Boy or their “own little personal muse” let me know. I’ll pass along the information.

And, yes, I regret opening this message. Neil better not be passing along a virus…

Inanity

VE of VE’s Fantastical Nonsense tagged me with a meme that involves noting six things or habits about myself that are of no importance. I’m assuming this means of no importance to anyone else because of course everything I do is important to me. (At least nine times out of ten.)

VE changed the rules when he did the meme. I’m following his lead in changing things up primarily because I don’t know what the original rules are.

(Note – I vowed last December I would no longer take part in memes, tags, awards, etc. – not because I dislike them but because I suffer such angst passing them along. Whom do I choose?? What if they don’t want to do it?? I’m making an exception in this case because although my brain is currently running on empty, I’d like to keep my hand (or foot) in the blogging world rather than disappearing from the scene.)

I’ve listed eight things – two of which are false. I’m curious as to how well people who read my blog think they know me. If you feel so inclined, try to guess the two items for which I am a liar, liar, pants on fire…


1. I have never eaten a hash brownie.

2. My singing voice is quite good.

3. I have ridden a galloping horse across a field.

4. I have been stuck in an elevator (and within a matter of seconds felt the urge to visit the loo).

5. I own one dress.

6. I have patted the ear of an elephant.

7. I will pick the peas out of anything served to me.

8. I have yelled at a police officer.


Sorry – there are no prizes for being correct other than a fleeting moment of satisfaction as to being right about something that is of no importance…


Okay, now for the hard part. For me. Hate doing this, hate having to choose…

(In alphabetical order.)

AMC – Because his blog posting is even more erratic than mine. And while I don’t think he’ll actually do it, it’s worth a shot. He can be very amusing.

Beth – Because she’s funny, willing to “tell all” and I figure her list will be a hoot.

Oreneta – Because she’s a good sport and has led such a fascinating life it will be difficult to spot her falsehoods.

The Bodhi Chicklet – Because she’s (still) a fairly new and wonderful blog find and I’d love to know more about her. Even her lies. (I know you’re on vacation this week…)

Trish – Because she is such a sweetheart (so much “nicer” than me!) and I’m betting she can surprise us all with her list.

Peek-a-Boo, I See You

I am so out of the loop in terms of connecting via the Internet (i.e. Twitter, Facebook and the like…). It’s a miracle I ever started blogging.

Anyway, I inadvertently discovered yet another means to connect (stalk?) while I was trying to figure out how a certain someone found my blog.

It’s called PeekYou.

And lordy, lordy - I’m on it!

Yup, a rather sketchy profile has been created for me - but not by me. I’d never heard of the site before nor ever registered to be on it. And you must register to edit a profile. Since my age is given as 251 years, I was curious enough to click on “Edit Profile.” Access denied. (Trust me – I am not that old and if I was, I’d be a bit of a celebrity now, wouldn’t I?)

Apparently other people can create your profile and then track your activity on the web. My son pointed out that the likely culprit is a web crawler, trolling the Internet and coming up with profile information from other sites (i.e. Blogger). Still, people have the option of doing this as well.

If I’m mistaken about this, feel free to correct me - and I’m addressing either the person or organization responsible for adding me to the site. I only gave the PeekYou “faq” page a cursory glance.

Big Brother (or Sister) is watching you – and me….

Creepy, huh?

Check it out – see if you’ve been Peeked or Poked or whatever.

And, no, I did not create a profile for anyone while I was there.

I am not a stalker.

Maybe I Do, Maybe I Don't...

Recently received in my Rogers In Box:

Sender: durante rupert

Subject: you look really stupid estewart

Yes, but do I look like I just crawled out from under a rock?

And that wasn’t very nice, durante.

Somebody out there in cyberspace is losing their touch composing junk mail subject headings that are meant to tempt me to open them.

You don’t use insults.

I’m more likely to check out* the idiotic junk mail about sexual prowess (and other naughty stuff) than click on the one noted above.

If I really want to see myself looking stupid, I can look in the mirror.

And, hey - you are really stupid durante rupert.

So there.


*(I do not check out yucky porn junk mail.)

(Recent) Moments in a Life

1. Despite my protestations otherwise, I’ve discovered I can find the right clothes in my cupboard to kick ass in downtown Toronto amidst all those fashion-plates.

2. I took a cab this week. If I had dismissed the cabbie as simply another recent immigrant (as many tend to do) who fractures the Queen’s English (a Canadian/British expression), I would have missed a great conversation with a man who has been driving a cab for thirty years with fascinating tales to tell about some of the big-wigs here in Toronto.

Granted, our conversation was a challenge due to his heavy Indian accent and my frequent use of the word “Pardon?” (polite translation for, “What the hell did you say?”) but it was worth it. I tipped him well. Great guy.

3. Is anyone else leery of those automatic flush toilets?

You know, the ones that flush while you’re just standing there hanging your purse on the door hook?

I said a little prayer during my pre-meeting squirt – somewhat concerned about my clothes. (See # 1 re: kick-ass. I did not want a wet one…)

And this is not one of Beth’s “obsess about something that will never happen” scenarios. It’s happened to two of my kids.

(God, I wish I could have been there to see that!)

4. Last night at Book Club not one of us could remember the title of the book we’d discussed at our last meeting. But we could rhyme off the titles of ones we’d read years ago.

We’re in big trouble.

Or, looking at it in a positive way, we’re getting to the point where we can read the same book over and over again and it will always remain new to us.

Because It's All About Me...

Post Script To My Last Post: To all who actually believe I am hosting a Christmas party – give your heads a collective shake! I haven’t been out of the house in a week. Although I do like my “bring a gift” idea. Pure genius.


I was tagged by Psychgrad of The Blogging Wagon to share 7 random and/or weird facts about myself.

This tag came at an opportune time because my brain is still not functioning at full capacity and I decided to cheat. Yes, cheat. I’m going to use some (not all) of the random facts I posted way back in time when my readership was, um, – how shall I say this and be kind to myself? – not quite at the level it is today.

(To anyone who recognizes these facts, bless you for still being with me.)


1. I have been known to *ahem* emit a burp (or two) at the dinner table. Never with company and never as a guest at someone’s home or in a restaurant. I know my manners but I happen to believe that burping is good for you.

2. I carry loose change in my pockets for the homeless — those who beg on the streets. I don’t care if they buy booze and cigarettes with this money.

3. I usually eat Cornflakes or Shreddies (healthy stuff) but occasionally indulge with Sugar Crisp Cereal. When I do, I add brown sugar. Many people find this appalling and/or crazy. I don’t care. I love the taste of brown sugar.

4. I absolutely detest intolerance of any kind — racial, religious, sexual — you name it. I either get furious, sad or extremely, deathly silent when I encounter it.

5. I keep my finger nails cut short. Yes, my nails are healthy and strong but I fidget with them when they get too long. And I don’t wear nail polish because it makes my fingers sweat. (I think that’s all in my head, but, nevertheless, my fingers do get sweaty).

6. Although I consider myself an intelligent woman, I can be naïve beyond belief. (Or “out of it.” I prefer naïve.) Ask my children. I am a reliable source of laughter for them. (Right guys? Cougar, BFF, FUBA….)

7. I own the infamous pregnant Midge doll – you know, Barbie’s best friend and the one Wal-Mart pulled from its shelves in 2002 for being inappropriate? My sister gave it to me for my birthday that year to make up for the fact our mother tossed ALL MY BARBIE, KEN AND MIDGE DOLLS while I was away at university. Nothing can make up for that travesty. (Thanks anyway, Zig.)


So, there you go….

These facts are really more random than weird, right? ‘Cause I know there are some people who consider me to be (at times) nucking futs. I thought of asking these people for some tips as to weird facts but thought better of it. I’m a little sensitive these days.

I’m going to tag the following people:

Oreneta
Sherry
Eileen
Shari
Charlotta
Bec
Barrie

Here are the tag rules:

1. Link to the person who tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 random and/or weird things about yourself.
3. Tag 7 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.
4. Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.


(This is a fairly long post but I’m still not 100% back in action. It took me a few days to write it. Please ignore any mistakes.)

"Artificial Nookie"

From a recent article in Toronto’s Globe and Mail:

“This month, artificial intelligence expert David Levy released Love + Sex with Robots: The Evolution of Human-Robot Relationships. In the book, he predicts that by 2050, men and women will be enjoying physical and emotional bonds with extremely lifelike, apparently conscious and remarkably suave robots.”

Brave New World. Crazy new world. This is progress?

Personally, I think the prospect of a world where intimate relations with such a robot becomes the norm poses more of a threat to men than women. (I choose not to elaborate…)

So, I’m reading the article and thinking, hey, what if they speed up production and The Robot is available in, say, 5–10 years?

If that happens and anyone hears me asking for a “new doll” for Christmas, do me a favour.

Just shoot me.