Holy Mackerel

So, because I promised last week to start telling you about my trip to New York City before I get really old and senile and lose all my teeth, I shall. I've already started forgetting stuff, which is really not good, seeing as I haven't even sent my best friend Slut and her sister or her momma any photos yet, which makes me a total douche. But whatever. We all knew that anyway. This trip was sort of a trip of a lifetime since NYC is a place I've wanted to see since I was but a pre-pubescent ugly girl who stuffed her bra with socks to make it look like she actually had boobs. So, as you can imagine, the excitement just thinking about the prospect of going was overwhelming. Luckily, my meds keep me stable enough that I didn't go jumping off balconies or running naked into the street, screaming, "I'M GOING TO NEW YORK!!! OH MY GOOOOOOOOOD!!" The day came, and we met the tour guide Cindy at the mall at 5:30 a.m. That's in the morning, in case you didn...

Still no reply from Fiskars, guys. I'm getting really angry now. Pulling out the big guns, as they say. Methinks they aren't taking me seriously, which is just ridiculous. So, I'm in the midst of putting together another email to Nikki at Fiskars Headquarters, and this time, I'm not mincing words. In the meantime: * Waiting for my garden boy, and almost having a heart attack when I see a Harry's Hedges truck across the stress. * Still waiting for my garden boy, and getting kind of tired of it all really, which actually means I'm pretty much just a pathetic excuse for a person who has no life and would rather live in her wild and wily imagination than actually face reality, whatever that is. I also spent Saturday with Adonis and Wood Nymph, who, along with Dee, went to my parents' gravesite and planted flowers to make things look all pretty and presentable, because if we're about anything, we're all about image. I didn't take any pictur...

Well, I'm still waiting for my response from the Fiskars people. They sure take their time. Or perhaps they're just having a difficult time finding a therapist who's willing to take me on as a patient. Either way, I've already got a list of chores for my naked sweaty, shirtless garden boy named Jorge. And a chilled mojito in the fridge for me. I come prepared. Speaking of which, my blood pressure must have gone sky high yesterday as I pulled out of my driveway and saw a truck in front of the house with the words Harry & Hedges, Lawn Maintenance across its side. Jorge had arrived, I thought. And here I was, in the midst of a heat stroke, sweat pouring down my forehead and into my eyes, a drenched puddle of perspiration pooling into my bra cups, looking my best. NOT. Obviously, I was wrong. Harry was at the neighbours', and I saw neither muscular arms nor barely-clothed nethers. Story of my life. I'm expecting an answer from Fiskars today. And a garden b...

I got a response from Fiskars yesterday. Remember this? This is the message I sent them: Well, I got a message from them, and I'm afraid to say it's not very comforting, or socially responsible. Yeah. Thanks A LOT, Nikki. Not even an offer of lawn products, guys. Nothing. However, the fact that Nikki wanted me to let her know if there was anything else she could help me with made me think that there was still a chance. So, I've written Nikki back: I'll let y'all know when Jorge arrives.

The neighbours are sure to hate us now, if they didn't already. Dee has a cap gun and is now shooting up the neighbourhood. Awesome. I clearly win the Mother of the Year Award because I suggested he buy the cap gun in the first place. He hasn't been arrested yet, but one teenager walking by just looked at him, his face getting pale, and said, "Dude..." Like I said: Awesome. I took my time getting back into the blog swing of things, and rightly so. Travelling literally around the world is hard work, even when you're sitting on your ass for most of it . Elephant penises and exploding pools . If you need more than that, you need help. Next week: Whereby Mary goes to New York City, gets sick, and almost gets to talk to Kelsey Grammer.

Life is so damn frustrating and utterly confusing, I don't even know what I'm talking about. Which is par for the course, actually. See? I told you. I tried sending my friend this photo of a framed elephant penis the other day, and it wouldn't work. Do you have any idea how frustrating that is?! Even more frustrating than you can imagine. I must have spent three hours trying to email it to her, but no! the internet would not co-operate. So, here you go, Slut. From me to you: Okay, so I didn't really spend three hours trying to send a stupid elephant penis photo to my friend. Although I totally could have. But that wouldn't be such a good thing, really, and even I realize this. It would probably mean I truly have no life whatsoever, and should be committed. Which is probably true anyway, but I digress. I've also recently found it extremely frustrating that I went out and bought a Fiskars weeder, just like this one: and I even used it the same day instead o...

Monday. Mondays are hard enough. Couple that with Monday after close to a month travelling from one end of the world to another, and I don't think I have to tell you how freaking confused I am. And I was pretty confused to begin with. So, I'm back. And it's time to once again face reality, drink the Kool-Aid, and go through the motions of my daily life. Which is difficult on the best of days, but so much more so when you consider that I've been living in a lala land for the past few weeks, eating in restaurants every day, watching Italian men, trying to touch New York policemen's bums, and not thinking too much about real life. Suffice it to say that I've had a blast. The trip to Geneva and Venice was amazing, replete with heavenly visions of canals and centuries-old buildings (and beautiful Italian men), totally engrossing us in an historical world of many yesterdays ago. I felt like I was in a book or a movie. One evening, as Mr. Handsome and I strolled thr...

For your viewing pleasure, here are a few more photos from my recent voyage to Switzerland and Venice. I'm busy gulping coffee in an effort to wake up enough to RE-PACK my bags since I'm leaving for New Yawk City Thursday morning. But first, I have to follow Gryphon around the house as he drops shit nuggets. The poor animal has such a sensitive digestive system, any stress (or food he's not used to) sends his body into the throes of eruptive disorder, which creates further disorder for everyone around him. New York, here I come! Swan in Lake Geneva, ignoring me. Typical. Another boring shot of Old Geneva, with Mont Blanc in the background. I wanted to climb that mountain, but it was not to be. I couldn't find my cleats. And I have no idea what soccer shoes have to do with mountain climbing. Just accept it as it is, and move along. Busy waterway in Venice, with a lone gondolier in the middle, trying not to crash into parked boats as he maneuvers both his gondola ...

So, we're back. And, although Mr. Handsome and I had a wonderful time in Geneva and Venice last week, I am now completely sure the world is out to get me. Check it out: Note the look on my face. Clearly, not pleased. And if that wasn't enough, I had to live with a ripped toenail for the entire week because I refused to bring nail clippers on our trip because they are just a huge hassle and take up way too much space. So, instead, I ended up getting my nail caught in the bedspread about a million-and-one times, and had to keep tucking my toe under my foot while traipsing about because the whole thing was unsightly and I'm all about image, as you well know. Our trip to Europe was awesome, despite my apparent injuries. It's actually surprising we actually even lived through it all, thanks to the crazy driving practices of our European friends. What you think is a one-way street is actually two-way, and sometimes four-way. And yes, that is possible, apparently. Because...