Holy Mackerel

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...

My Saturdays are often spent prostrate on a couch, ignoring my children and husband, reading the paper and drinking coffee, or running errands, or just picking my nose and wiping it on an unsuspecting child. This Saturday, that all goes down the toilet. Because this Saturday, folks, this babe is going to be b-u-s-y. Yup, that's right. No rest for the wicked, they say (whatever that means). Saturday is the annual fundraiser Slut and I run for Camp Quality , which is a camp for kids with cancer. This year, Slut has pretty much run the show all by her lonesome, mostly because I am very lazy, but also because I've not been well. We've been doing this fundraiser for six years now (I think), although it feels more like sixty, and it's probably our last year, because we're both tired of doing it, and it's time for some new blood. My kids have attended this camp for about seven years now. Slut's son attended it for many years as well, and Slut is actually the perso...

Slut's given up on her flaky eyebrows, everyone. She's decided to live and let live, and has realized that she is probably the only one in the world with Flaky Eyebrow Syndrome, and isn't she one lucky bastard? I'm always one to think outside the box. So, I'm thinking maybe Slut will go down in the annals of medicine for the only person with flaky brows, and she could become an eyebrow guinea pig, where she could donate brow parts to medical science, and the scientists could then dissect her brow parts and find out why they flake. Because this is serious stuff, people. Why the hell are we focusing on breast cancer?! It's time to get real, and start taking these orphan afflictions seriously. Are you with me? Anyway, now Slut's focusing all her efforts on losing ass weight. Ten pounds of ass weight, to be exact. Although it might be more now. Or less. I can never keep up with Slut, because she's waaay ahead in this Game of Life. I for one don't agree ...

Slut needs our help, guys. She's in bad shape, and it's my duty to help her. Slut, if you don't already know, is my dearest friend, and I would do anything for her. Anything. I'd even have another transvaginal probe put up my Precious for her. Yes, that's how much I adore her. If you want to know more about Slut, you can find out here . She's as crazy as I am, if not more so, in fact. Although, of course, she'd disagree. She's like that -- disagreeable. But I still love her, because that's how I roll. She's also a blast at the restaurant, and in church. But Slut is in dire straits, and needs our advice. It's her eyebrows, guys. They're flaky. Her eyebrows have dandruff. Actually, her brows are not like that dude's. Not like that at all. They're more like No. 21 below, except when she's pissed, and then they're more like No. 22. And when she's constipated, they're more like No. 16 mixed with a little No. 27. I know....

I went out for dinner with my friend Slut the other evening. That's her new name. Slut. It used to be Pick, as in Pickerel, as in the fish. Now it's Slut. She's very nosy as well, so I could very well call her Nosy, but Slut is just much more appropriate. I suppose I could call her Nosy Slut. Or Slutty Nose. Something to think about. Why? I don't know. It just is. Well, there's actually a story behind it, but it's really too long and inane to go into here. Besides, it doesn't really matter because, chances are, she is a slut, and I just don't know it yet. I've known Slut for about 11 years now. Amazing, really. We met at CHEO when our sons were both diagnosed with cancer. Her son had leukemia, mine had neuroblastoma. Cancer is cancer. The same shock, the same terror coursing through every mother's system as they helplessly watch the poisonous chemo make its way through their children's tiny bodies, and hope that this is all just a terrible...