Facebook Freakout!

Oh, the wonder that is Facebook! I can talk to people I saw just five minutes ago, or chat it up with someone I haven't spoken to since before I could walk.
It sort of freaks me out a little.
I mean, I'm sort of a social retard. I don't work well with others and tend to get a wee bit shy speaking with someone I hardly know or remember. Okay, that's a lie. I tend to dominate any conversation by speaking very loudly over top everyone else. Get a few Brown Cows in me, and I think that everyone around me within a 3 kilometre radius is hard of hearing and needs me to talk IN MY LOUDEST VOICE IN ORDER TO HEAR MY CLEVER QUIPS AND WITTY REMARKS!
So, I guess that still makes me a social retard...or a very fun drunk. I haven't decided yet, but I'm leaning toward the latter.
Maybe I'm just a computer retard. Yeah. That seems about right.

Jet

I saved a life today.

My sweet doggy, Jet, ran onto thin ice and fell through. Not all the way, but enough that she couldn't get pull herself up onto the frozen floe.

I thought she was going to die.

The ice was moving quickly down the North Saskachewan. I really thought she was going to die. The water was deep. The water was cold.

I know, because I went in after her.

I threw myself onto the floe, grabbed her harness and pulled her up. She was shaking, and quickly put the brakes on as I tried to push her towards Jeff and stable land.

She was scared. I was too. The funny thing was, when Jet first fell through, she kept her cool. She didn't start panicking or trying to swim away. She just held on to the ice, like she knew one of us would come for her. She trusted that one of us would save her.

I almost hesitated. I almost didn't do it. I almost thought that the floe would break under my weight.

It didn't.

I managed to coax her to jump to Jeff. Then I jumped.

The ice broke under my feet as I landed. I went in the water. Just like Jet, I couldn't pull myself up. I remember Jeff screaming my name, then his strong hands gripping mine as he pulled me to safety.

We're okay. No injuries save a few bruises and one dog's wounded pride.

We came so close to losing a life today. I'm glad we didn't.

The Gayest Love of All (Is Happening to Me)

Okay, I'm super excited. A few weekends from now, my best friend and I are going to have a Gay-A-Thon.

Yes, you read correctly. A Gay-A-Thon.

These are not for the faint of heart. I believe Jen scraped the bottom of the barrel on some of these. Mind you, we do have a few gems and some of them look fairly promising. (Revisit some old "Queer As Folk"? Don't mind if I do, Emmett!)

However, there is bound to be some crap. One such item is "Dante's Cove". From what I've gathered, it's about a young man who moves to a cove (Really?) with his boyfriend. He manages to release another guy (who has been imprisoned in the basement of some mansion for a few hundred years) with a kiss. (What?) This newly freed guy somehow falls in lust with Mr. I -Kiss-Strangers-Even-Though-I'm-In-A-Committed-Relationship (Of course!) and goes about wreaking general havoc.

Did I mention that the guy who had been trapped in the basement was imprisoned there by his wife? Who was a witch? And she spelled him there because he was having a gay affair? And she's also still alive after a few hundred years? And it was on cable because of its soft-core porn tendencies? Of course I didn't. That would ruin the fun of it all.

The tag line of this show? "Possessed and Undressed." Look, you can't make this shit up! Well, except for the people who came up with this idea.

Oddly enough, I'm looking forward to this show. There is only one thing I love as much as good t.v.... and that's bad t.v.

We all have our guilty pleasures. The television show/movie/song/band that if anybody found out we secretly loved, we would kill ourselves or others or possibly just die of embarrassment.

I'll go first.

My name is Anglia. I still love The New Kids on the Block. There. I said it.

What's your guilty pleasure? Don't worry. I won't tell anyone......but my blog might.

I'm Fat. Get Over It.

'Scuse me while I rant.

If there is one thing I am damn sick of, it's apologizing for being fat.

I can't try on clothes, watch t.v. or movies or even be in the vicinity of teenagers without being reminded that I'm fat. I have to put up with snide remarks. I have to watch stereotypes of overweight people. (Why do they always seem to be obsessed with food?) Nothing comes in my size, so I have to dress in old lady clothes from Sears or The Bay.

I can't eat a meal without somebody making a face or a tsk noise or letting me know how many sit ups I'm going to have to do in order to burn off all the calories. I feel guilty if I eat junk food in public.

Just a few weeks ago, I was helping a woman and her toddler choose some books. The little kid turned to his mother and exclaimed, "That lady sure is fat, Mommy!" The mother had the decency to be embarrassed and made the little boy apologize, but it made me wonder: Where did he learn that?

Today, though, was one of the toughest times I had to deal with. It wasn't really what was said. It was who said it.

Jeff's father made some hurtful comments about my weight. Let me point out that the man himself is no Svelte Stan. Let me also state that it's not the first time he has made such comments. Let me also say that sometimes these statements about my size are not made in private. I've had to deal with them at a wedding, a few family functions when there are strangers around, and once during Christmas dinner when my Mother was sitting right next to me. She was quick to jump to my aid, but sometimes there is no one around to help. Sometimes people just laugh uncomfortably.

I'm not really sure how to deal. I mean, the man has given us money to buy a house. He's my boyfriend's father. I can't get medieval on his ass because I'd look like a bitch, but I can't take the insults any more.

I'm fat. Get over it. I did, and I'm not sorry.

Free (Robot) Sex!

I mean, who couldn't use a little? Don't deny it. You know you want it. Free sex. Robot style.

I'm extremely jealous I didn't come up with this idea first. I wonder how many offers this robot got?

God knows I don't get nearly enough, and I'm an android. Well, just the right half anyways. Or is it the left? I'll have to consult the manual again. Dammit.

I Believe In Miracles (You Sexy Thang!)

This is Jeff. It was his birthday yesterday. Happy birthday, baby! Better late than never.

I don't know what I did to get someone like him in my life, but whatever it was, I'm glad I did it!

Someone that lets me walk around with my bra off and doesn't say anything about it is all right by me!

Thanks, sweetness. I love you.

Magic Doodle

This is Chester.

Now, you would think that by looking at my sweet and adorable mutt, he is just as he seems: A sweet and adorable mutt.

You would be mistaken.

Chester possesses a mystical power beyond our comprehension. A talent, if used for evil, could be the downfall of us all.

Chester has a Magic Doodle.

You may be asking yourselves, "What the hell is a Magic Doodle?" The answer is not pretty. This Magic Doodle is Chester's...well... area.

It seems that Chester's Magic Doodle is ambrosia to other dogs. Canines from all walks of life flock to my seemingly innocent puppy-pie for a taste of it. They all gather 'round to smell it and lick it. He does not mind. He likes the attention.

I can't understand it! Does it heal the sick and wounded? Does it give small dogs Herculean-like strength? Does it make strong dogs weep? All Chester seems to use it for is to spray humongous amounts of tinkle on trees, shrubs, garbage and other detritus. Even small children are not safe from Chester's whiz. The dog pisses like a race horse.

Jeff and I have done all we can to discourage other dogs from treating Chester's whiz-hose as an ice-cream cone, but to no avail. They chase him like kids charging after an ice cream truck. The same dogs keep coming back again and again. It makes me wonder if the Magic Doodle excretes some addictive substance like MSG or crack-cocaine.

Even our other dog, Jet, is not immune to the powers of the Magic Doodle. She'll approach him when she thinks he's sleeping, just for a taste. Sometimes she'll do it in broad daylight. She'll sidle up to him, playing all sly and coy, like, "Just in for a quick sniff!". Then, boom! She's done it! Sneaky devil!

I have never seen anything quite like it. Chester is a walking doggie porno. If he were human, he'd be Ron Jeremy!

And all because of a Magic Doodle.

True Story.