WTF Mac Gods?!

There haven't been a lot of blog posts lately, and I can't blame that entirely on what happened to my computer, because it's more recent, but it definitely hasn't made it easy.  Remember this post, where I finally got my new MacBook Pro?  And how excited I was, because I had waited sooooooooo long for it?!  Since then, I have been having a love affair with my MacBook Pro.  I absolutely LOVED that machine, more than I thought I could love any inanimate object.  So why the past tense?  Because of this:

WATER!

 

About that much water was knocked all over my beautiful Macbook Pro.  Yup.  You read that right.  I'm not sure if you know what water does to component electronics?  Of course you do.  But if you don't, it ruins them.  As in destroys.  Kaput.  Finished.  Macbook go bye bye.

The only suggestion was to put my precious machine in a big ass bag of rice for the next 2 weeks in hopes the rice draws out enough moisture to somehow make the Mac God make it start working again.  I'm at 36 hours of no Mac, and typing on this lowly gaming PC Brandon calls a great computer, and it sucks!!!  Mac God- WHY?!?

Belly Button Munching Monster

I imagine him looking something like the Cookie Monster, but less happy.  And less… blue.  I think he must be quite tiny to fit in there- my belly button.  Oh, I didn’t tell you who I’m referring to: Belly Button Munching Monster.  What?  You haven’t heard of him?  Don’t you have one living in your belly button?  Let me explain who he is and what he does, and maybe you’ll know him.

The Belly Button Munching Monster is similar to Polkaroo (who is a children’s television show character from here in Ontario, Canada) in that he is never seen.  If you know who Polkaroo is, this reference will make total sense to you and you may even have fond memories of watching the male host of Polka Dot Door miss Polkaroo again.  If you don’t know him, and think I’m crazy, just know that the Belly Button Munching Monster is never seen.

If you’re unfamiliar with him (or her, I’m sure they have females BBMMs, or how else would they procreate? I can just confirm that mine is male… don’t ask me how.), he lives in your belly button and eats small tiny, just noticeable holes in your shirts.  Holes that are small enough you don’t notice them when you put the shirt on, but later in the day when you look at yourself you think perhaps you’ve spilled something on yourself, and instead it’s a teeny tiny little hole.  “Crapola! How’d that even happen?”  This is how I came to realize I totally have a BBMM.  And once they’re in there (your belly button) there is no removing them.  He’s harmless enough, I suppose.  Though it’s starting to get annoying that I’ve got holes in so many shirts.  Why can’t he be more productive, and eat belly button lint instead?

I’ve decided I’m ok with him hanging out.  I’d appreciate it if he didn’t eat my shirts, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.  And I’d hate to see the little guy starve.  So I let me Belly Button Munching Monster, live freely in my belly button, creating holes in my shirts.

Or maybe it’s just my belt?

Hey Hey Anybody Listening? Hey Hey Anybody Care?

Brandon made some big gaming decisions this week.  And unfortunately one of the decisions was the download a new computer multi player, World of Warcraft type, game and not order two other Xbox games he had on pre-order.  While it sounds like a better trade off, one game in place of two other games, the game of choice is intense and lengthy.  As in... there is no real ending.

At least the Xbox games have an end to the storyline.  They have a goal to reach and then when it's achieved it sort of loses it's luster.  While there is still "free play", tournaments and playing against your friends online, it's just not the same time commitment.  However, the game he is now playing, Guild Wars 2 (because #1 just is so last year), has no ending.  It's just like World of Warcraft.  In fact when I look at the screen it brings me back to these days, and these days, and these days (among many others).  It looks nearly identical.  Of course, if I was playing it (hahahahahaha) I'm sure I would see the differences.  But I just have to listen to the same grungy "monster" voices ("hey I can't restock this until we get more in"), the mythical background music (that's who keeps the flute players employed!), and the common battle with loud outbursts every now and then by Brandon, "agh! so stupid!" or "look at those little raccoons hanging out on the side of the road".

Other then these sporadic comments, he doesn't say much... or listen much.  Just as with WoW, I've lost his attention.  Sometimes I will ask him a question, or make a comment, and it's like I'm talking to the desk he's sitting at.  "ummm, hello? Brandon?"  Nope.  He's gone.  He's immersed in the game world.  I'm fairly certain he thinks he's a part of that world now... or I don't know how else to explain his new horns he's been wearing around the house.

My Dog Hates Everybody

I don't get it.  Look at this face:

How could THAT hate anyone, right?!  I have no idea!  When he was a puppy I took him everywhere.  He traveled to friend's homes, to the pet store, around town... wherever I was allowed to bring his adorable face, that looked more like this at that time.

But now, he hates people.  Well it's not like he wants to bite people, but he prefers "strangers" not to touch him.  Look at him from a distance- ok.  Try to touch him- no way!  He doesn't discriminate against gender, ethnicities or body types.  He just hates everyone.

Once he's warmed up to you and gets to know you however, then you may be asking me to remove him from the room because he's all up in your grill.  And thinking about it logically, it kind of makes sense.  He wants to get to know people before he lets them touch him.  Isn't this the case for (most- non-slutty) humans too?  Like if some chick just walked up to me and said "oh hey there Shannon, your mom suggested I say hi" and then touched me or hugged me, I may be a bit put off.  Actually I know I'd be weirded out.  I'm not a super touchy-feely gal to begin with.  But get someone I don't know touching me, and I'm just not ok with that.

But the expectations for dogs are different. It's kind of like kids.  Parents always tell their kids, "don't talk to strangers" and "don't go with strangers", yet they briefly introduce them to people like their day care supervisors, distant relatives or friends of theirs and then expect the children to "play nice" and sometimes accept a hug from them.  This must mess with their minds.  And after considering it for some time, this is pretty much what I'm asking my adorable and lovely dog to do.

So, no more Hudson.  I will ensure you are properly introduced and have time to adjust to the people I bring into your life before asking you to let them touch you.  You readers may think I'm crazy for addressing part of this post to my dog, because most animals can't read.  But I want you all to know, my dog is advanced for his age. :)

Are You My Mother?

 

Have you ever read this book?  If not, you really should.  If you're not aware, "P.D. Eastman" is a Dr. Seuss protege, so you can expect the typical Seuss-ical style to this book.  If you haven't read it- you should.  But this post if not solely intended to boost Dr. Seuss sales of "Are You My Mother?", so let me continue...

How many of you women out there sometimes feel like you're significant other's mother?  If you're anything like me, and apparently many other women out there (according to a magazine poll), you likely do the following "motherly" type things for your man:

• help him with laundry 
• help clean his room/house
• organize his appointments
• remind him about appointments and when he needs to take time off work
• make meals for him to take to work
• shut off lights, close doors and just generally clean up after he's left a room
• take care of him when he's sick 
• fold and put away clothes
• run errands for him
• organize and keep his official records and documents (banking, ID) safe
• help with banking and saving

I often think/ask, "am I your mother?" to which he usually replies, "no, but you can be my fiance who acts as a mother".  Men want to be mothered, no matter what they outwardly say.  They love to be taken care of, doted on and know that when they mess up there is a woman there to make things right.

Are you my mother?
No, I am not your mother- but you'll treat me as one anyway.

Subway Zombies

Let me describe it to you.

They all sit in their seats, calmly and quietly.  Sometimes they are reading, but mostly sleeping. They are in a state of calm, often bobbing their heads and jerking awake when the ride doesn’t quite go smoothly.  Then, it stops.  The subway has arrived at the end of the line and everyone has to exit.  Immediately people spring up from their seats, rushing towards the still closed doors.  This is the most activity we have seen from them yet.  Like cattle rushing to the front of the chute, these people want to be as close to the opening doors as possible.

There are an equal amount of people on either side of the door.  Some waiting to exit, others wanting to enter- and of course rush past seniors and small children to grab the much coveted seat...for their bag.  And one for themselves too.

Then it happens. The doors open.

Those wanting out shuffle forward, so packed together they can't manage to lift their feet without stepping on someone in front of them. Everyone is walking in a slow motion but almost brisk pace.  It's hard to explain unless you've seen it.  But everyone appears to be in a rush, yet no one can be in a rush because of the hoards of people in front of them.  Those that are familiar with the morning events just walk along, some are still managing to read their newspapers, playing games on their phones or possibly even completing their crossword puzzle.  They shuffle along headed towards their destination.  You can't get around the group- you must follow and shuffle along with them.  Until you reach the 3-way fork: left, right or extreme left are your options.  This is where you need to find the hole in the crowd and make a break for where you want to be going.  It's only at this point I am able to walk at a regular pace.


The other subway obstacles are the stairs and escalators.  I always take the stairs.  There is a section of the subway I walk through which has 14 stairs.  Fourteen.  I know this because I've counted.  I can also tell you I climb 460 stairs per day.  Anywhoozle, 14 stairs.  And there is an escalator right beside the stairs- which I understand is to keep people moving along.  However, how lazy are you people who line up for the escalator so you can avoid the 14 stairs?!  Let me answer this: very lazy.


The subway is always interesting, with various types of people, fights, friendly people who want to have a conversation with those they don't know...I actually enjoy my time on the subway as part of my commute.  The driving part I could most definitely do without!

Rememberance Day

Why Wear a Poppy” – Don Crawford

“Please wear a poppy,” the lady said,
And held one forth, but I shook my head.
Then I stopped and watched as she offered them there,
And her face was old and lined with care;

But beneath the scars the years had made
There remained a smile that refused to fade.
A boy came whistling down the street,
Bouncing along on care-free feet.

His smile was full of joy and fun,
“Lady,” said he, “may I have one?”
When she’d pinned it on, he turned to say;
“Why do we wear a poppy today?”

The lady smiled in her wistful way
And answered; “This is Remembrance Day.
And the poppy there is a symbol for
The gallant men who died in war.

And because they did, you and I are free -
That’s why we wear a poppy, you see.
I had a boy about your size,
With golden hair and big blue eyes.

He loved to play and jump and shout,
Free as a bird, he would race about.
As the years went by, he learned and grew,
And became a man – as you will, too.

He was fine and strong, with a boyish smile,
But he’d seemed with us such a little while
When war broke out and he went away.
I still remember his face that day.

When he smiled at me and said, ‘Goodbye,
I’ll be back soon, Mum, please don’t cry.’
But the war went on and he had to stay,
And all I could do was wait and pray.

His letters told of the awful fight
(I can see it still in my dreams at night),
With the tanks and guns and cruel barbed wire,
And the mines and bullets, the bombs and fire.

Till at last, at last, the war was won -
And that’s why we wear a poppy, son.”
The small boy turned as if to go,
Then said, “Thanks, lady, I’m glad to know.

That sure did sound like an awful fight
But your son – did he come back all right?”
A tear rolled down each faded cheek;
She shook her head, but didn’t speak

I slunk away in a sort of shame,
And if you were me, you’d have done the same:
For our thanks, in giving, if oft delayed,
Though our freedom was bought – and thousands paid!

And so, when we see a poppy worn,
Let us reflect on the burden borne
By those who gave their very all
When asked to answer their country’s call

That we at home in peace might live.
Then wear a poppy! Remember – and Give!