GBS roster doubles

Look to your right and scroll down. You see? There are three new additions to the GBS posse of... ahem. Please let me introduce you to Dark Whimsey, Heidi Lament and Figure8.

These three GBs are currently ghosts in the machine — silent partners if you will. But they shall be silent no more, dammit. Come on ladies, get thee to thy posting stations. And post. It only costs pennies a day. For serious.

Prodigal dream

No word yet about my prodigal computer.

But I'm sure she's going to come back to me wearing an amazing technicolour dreamsuit*. It's going to be a teary-eyed reunion that's for sure. We will run toward each other (yes, appendages akimbo) — her dreamsuit flapping in the wind with little musical notes trailing off it like audible bubbles; my Frye boots sprinting the ground like a new-born colt, or fillie, or whatever little baby horses are called.

When we embrace like long lost sisters, it's going to be beautiful.

And then I'll frickin' slap her. And tell her to never ever do that to me again.

I'll cry how could you do this to me? Me — the person who clothed you, fed you, sang you sleep every night and occasionally jacked up your RAM.

*I have no idea what Joseph's suit looked like or why he was wearing one, but I do know that my computer's technical-colour wardrobe will be magical! No more keyboard for entering text — what I think will simply appear... perfectly edited. No more tiny grains of sand in hourglasses reminding me that time is slipping away. No more burning plastic. She will trail the faint scent of lavender or violet, cook me dinners and make my bed.

Mac meltdown

So, I finally got my G5 imac hooked up to the Interweb and what happens? It has a full-on, stinkin' meldown.

My beloved computer is now officially the wicked witch of the world wide web. Boo.

I don't mind a bloated body, but I do mind a bloated computer chip. I can't afford Jenny Craig for my computer. And it's not like you can take it out and exercise the sucker so it remains a lean, mean blogging machine.

If you google "20" G5 imac burning smell," you get this thread of pissed-off mac users (scroll down to the comments). I guess this burning sensation is a common "issue" with the first-gen imacs. Recall is not an option, as my year warranty expired 4 months ago. (Thank goodness for London Drugs insurance — for once my decision to purchase extra insurance has come in handy.)

I'm so sad right now. So sad. I feel so disillusioned... and out of touch.

Siblings

Funny that Mata should post about siblings (and dishwashers--god, I want one again so badly). Is it that time of year? I got to be with my two (siblings, not dishwashers) a few weekends ago, for the first time since my brother got married in October. Although Jen isn't my blood sister she might as well be. We met at age three when I walked onto the sidewalk in front of my Kerrisdale house and saw a little girl of my own height. "Want to play?" we asked one another. We've been sisters ever since. My brother I just love. Jen and I used to hold him down (one on each arm) and spit in his mouth. Totally gross, but he seems to have forgiven us and turned out OK in spite of it.

I miss them a lot when I don't see them.

*my childhood...7:12pm most every night*

"Girrrrrllls! " *my mother* "Diiishhesss!"

and the negotiations would begin.

My sister hates doing the dishes.

My sister is the only unmarried woman I know who's mates have willingly bought her appliances.
Twice!
Two different boys have purchased dishwashers for my sister. And I understand why.

Nothing can turn that little-ray-of-sunshine (poetic license) into the coldest, darkest day of nuclear winter faster than the prospect of a full sink of dishes. Both those boys knew that a couple of hundred bucks for a dishwasher was a freakin' bargain.

*my sister* "I'm not doing the pots!"

*me* "Why do I always have to do the pots?!"

*my sister* "Well, I'm not doing them!"

*my mother* "Girls!"

*me* "Fine!" *whispered* "but you're doing all the plates, all the glasses and the utensils."

*my sister* "Na-Uh! No way am I doing the utensils too!"

*me* "That's not fair! Why do I always have to utensils?!"

"GIRLS!" *guess who*

This is the point where my sister washes the glasses and the plates, making gross-out faces and gagging whenever her hands come in contact with anything that is not either water, porcelain or glass. Then I follow-up by doing all other dishes in the house.

I'm not bitter. *that's a lie*

I just wish that as an eleven year old I had been bright enough to spend my allowance on a Whirlpool instead of on all those Tigerbeats.

Bob Ross of grammar

Meet Mary Rackham, retired school teacher and Cosy English Courses founder. She truly is the Bob Ross of grammar.

"Why Grammar?" (.mov).
Orcas for interjection! (.mov)
Her giggles kill me. (.mov)
I can't get enough of her Cosy English Courses video clips.

"It is difficult to be creative at an-knee-thing if you do not have the technique first."

Solar chimney

It's like all the hot air has been sapped out of me with no cool breeze to replace it.

• Still no home Internt machine.
• The boy roomate doesn't understand why I requested that he lock the doors when he's the last to leave. (He'll be even more confused when I ask NOT to put his front-door key in the mail box, which is half-a-foot away from the lock.)
• The girl roomate and I are having a kitchen party on Friday. Yes it includes drinking. No you're not invited. We're re-arranging the cupboards. I am a wild party.
• I got my eyebrows threaded and it now looks like I have had a good cry.
• I go to Vegas next Tuesday for a bid-ness meeting. I've heard they sell champagne from Slurpee machines. How GBS is that? I'll toast you all when I'm there.
  
• Men from Chicago think I'm smashing. But those men in Vancouver are seriously lacking. I have learned to love the warm embrace of my pillow.
  

Posting and Interneting on Monday. Now baby's got to book a co-op car to get the last household dregs from there to here.

Museum of Food Anomalies

Now playing in the SCI-FI Theater: "IT CAME FROM THE FARMER'S MARKET!"

This sour sucker reminds me of that part in Aliens 3 when cloned Ripley sees the failed versions of herself.

Weird food anomolies at the MoFA... Evil pancakes, ghostly cereal, egg bunnies, placenta sack bacon — I'm never eating breakfast again!

Is your cat a Cylon?

I have recently begun to suspect that one or both of my cats may be a Cylon agent. The one cat in particular is exhibiting distinctly Cylon-esque behavior.

The cat in question actually belongs to my BF and she hates women. We have always been more than a little dubious of each other, but we have an understanding...I don't look at her or touch her and she doesn't strike at my face. Simple enough, non?

But then recently she has begun to warm up to me. She has even actually approached me for pets on occasion. However, just when she has me lulled into a false sense of fuzzy affection...WHAM! She nails me, sharp-side up!

Ergo, she's a frackin' Cylon.



Do you suspect that your cat is secretly attempting to bring down the human race, starting with you?
Here are some telling signs to watch for:

1. Toys with prey, torturing it slowly before delightedly killing without mercy.
2. Attempts to convince you of it's love and devotion only to wake you up in the night by pouncing on your head and biting your hair.
3. Purrs while kneading your bare flesh with it's claws.
4. Stands on your keyboard, which results in inappropriate email sendage.
5. Shreds new items of clothing or furniture purchased solely to impress prospective employers or mates.
6. Vomits hairballs onto bathroom mat in the night, guaranteeing you step in said hairball in the morning.
7. Refuses attempts to reduce further hairball incidents by clawing, biting and hissing during brushing.
8. Covers all surfaces in clingy, allergen-ridden hair causing friends and family to avoid your home like Wednesdays at the downtown eastside Army and Navy.

Open call for Little Singapore

May I have your attention please.



STOP SPITTING!!

I have very few civic pet peeves but public spitting is one of them. (The other one is people who ride their bike on the sidewalk but I have occasionally been guilty of this one myself so I will stifle that particular rant.)

I would rather see an increase in public urinating or see people who don't clean up after their shitzus given Caban giftcards rather than see one more public spitter go unpunished. I know all of the justification for laws against spitting; it's unsanitary, it spreads disease, and the like. But I actually don't care about all the SARS and tuberculosis being absent-mindedly horcked onto our streets...I just find the practice itself repugnant and I want it to stop.

Even after the dirty little spitter has consummated his (and yes it is usually boys whom I see phlegm-tagging my streets) act of public defiance, I still have to deal with the remnant spatter. If these little piss-ants want to defile their country why don't they just quietly continue not to vote. Speaking of which, if we must have this painfully conservative government in office, why don't we put their foibles to use for us??

I call for the reinstitution of corporal punishment for all public spitters! Let's take a page from Singapore's book and flay the little expectorators! (Actually spitters in Singapore just get a fine or at worst a couple of hours of community service, but I DON'T CARE! I'm on a roll!) I realize that there is no evidence that corporal punishment has any deterrent effect but I do not care. I just want to smack these little shits...HARD!

I wouldn't want to see our court system bogged down with countless numbers of public loogie-launchers so I propose no legal trappings associated with my plan. Think of it more as a system of negative reinforcement. Citizens now have carte-blanche. If you see someone horck on the street, you will be fully within your legal rights to flick them in the nutsack and scream "Why don't you just go home and watch Miami Ink, ya little malcontent!". In fact it will be your civic duty.


*deepsigh* That feels better.

Alright...as you were.

Off the grid

No Internet
No TV
No social life...
No GBS service