I take no responsibility for anything I post in the next five days

I'm just saying. I am planning on visiting lots of blogs with hilarious percocet-comments. That's what I call them. Perco-comments. It has a nice feel, doesn't it? Anyway, be prepared to have your mind blown by the deep responses I'll be coming up with after skimming the first sentence of whatever you've posted because actually reading them through gives me vertigo.

Oooh. That made me dizzy. Gravol time.

Also, my broth is yucky. Don't tell Neil. He worked really hard on it.

Look! Sparkly psychedelics/the cat!

I think, instead of writing lots of NEW stupid blogs like this one, I'll just come back and keep adding to this very post. Good idea, Self. I'm pretty sure everyone is going to be waiting in anticipation for fantastic new ideas from you. I mean me.

I'd better go watch a movie and put the self publishing away now.

*Why is my itunes downloading something called 'rebel yiddish writers'? I am not even making it up.

*I think my comment on kurt's new blog entry is pretty much the definition of wondrous brilliance.

I'm having oral/dental/horrible surgery tomorrow morning.

Lucky me.

I'm thinking of wearing these delightful, plastic novelty fangs to my appointment:

I'm pretty sure that the staff will laugh so heartily that they will forget to charge me thousands of dollars. Hopefully they aren't laughing too hard to write me a mean and dirty prescription for formidable painkillers.

I'll keep you posted. I'm off to fast. Whee! I hope I don't lose any of this precious, precious weight.

The World Got Smaller...

... Did you feel it?

Last week, my beautiful, 16 year old niece passed away in surgery she was having to remove a tumor that was growing on her top vertebrae and into her lovely brain stem. Such a shock. Such a blow to my sense of safety and well being. Such a blow to my family.

I can't even find the words to express what an extraordinary child she was, although I have been struggling to do so since the day it happened. Even in writing her eulogy last week, I don't feel that I could ever do justice to her. Nobody really could. How do you stand in front of five hundred people and tell them that what has happened is okay? That we loved her enough? We did love her. She never ever stopped smiling. Even in the hospital, undergoing very frightening and devastating treatment, she smiled though it. I would have crawled inside myself had it been me.

Everything about her was special. She was beautiful, she was funny, she was vibrant, she was witty, she was fun to be around. She was not like your regular, run of the mill, moping teenager. I loved her. People loved her; they adored her immediately. This is not something that I am making up in her absence. There were over 500 heartbroken people at her funeral last Friday, if that says anything about the impact she had on the lives of people who met her. People wanted to know her and be around her, be a part of her life. She was captivating and she stole people's hearts quite by accident. The children's hospital shut down at 2 o'clock for a whole hour in her memory during her funeral, because her surgeons could not make the 6 hour drive, but her nurse did. Even the operating room stopped. I want to go around and shake people until they realize fully how much the world is missing now that she is gone. I still can't make her be gone in my mind. How can it even be true?

The thing that reverberates in my mind and shakes me is that nobody saw this coming. 10 weeks ago, she was a normal, healthy teenaged girl. We did not know the tumor existed until late August when she was in an accident and they just happened to spot it on a scan they did to check for damage from it. There was no damage from the accident, aside from a mild concussion she sustained. Just this horrible growth that has apparently been there since her birth. We didn't know. It was such a shock.

I wish I'd have made it to the hospital in Edmonton a few hours sooner than I did. I went to see her twice after she'd passed away, and I touched her hand which was too cold. I can still feel the coolness of her skin where I touched her in my hand and it's days later. It seemed to penetrate through me. I wish I could have said goodbye to her before it was too late.

I'm home now, thousands of miles away from my sister and her children and my family and it is strange. Things are where I left them in my rush to get to the hospital, not expecting at all to be going to her funeral. People who never knew that she existed are carrying on around me, not knowing what sparkle is missing from this pitiful earth now- not having been touched by it. Do they even know what has been stolen from them? How lucky I am to have had her touch my life and so deeply impact it, as young as she was.

We let 300 blue balloons go at the end of her funeral. The wind came up and took them all at once in a massive group. It was a beautiful tribute, but what can you say after tragedy has laid its perverse hands on you without consent? Has violated your security? Has stolen from you?

I don't know. I just miss her.

Dear Oozing, Gum-Chewing Eyelids of Mine,

Your timing couldn't be more exemplary: Halloween! What a wonderful time to have conjunctivitis. It's very festive to go around seeing the world in a cloudy haze. You can all go ahead and turn off your expensive fog machines, now (unless you have one of those cool ones that also makes maniacal laughing sounds... BWaHahAHHaaA! You leave that bad boy on ALL YEAR, you hear me?). All you have to do is simply touch your eyeball to my eyeball and watch the thin string of slime that connects us in conjunctive matrimony as it stretches between our mutual gaze- and then in a few short hours, you'll get the very same, all natural visual effect. I will be starting a pink eye selling stand at the end of my driveway later this afternoon, when all the kids are walking home from school. Or maybe I'll hand out pink eye instead of Halloween treats. Who knows? Heaven knows, I'm full of money saving ideas these days.

What was really fun, though, was when I took 3 kids to the dentist yesterday, not fully realizing that I actually looked like someone had lubricated my eyeballs in vanilla pudding (HA. You'll never eat pudding again. This is great for your diet). They were fine when I left, I swear- perhaps a titch itchy but that can be easily blamed on the kitten (like most things that go wrong in my life. Damn you, kitten, for messing with my taxes!!). By the time I arrived, I looked like a viral monkey.


Now whenever I want to bat my eyelashes at the imaginary pool boy or a Canadian celebrity, such as Rick Mercer, I'll have to put on some kind of germ proof barrier, or wear one of those ducky yellow suits that Dustin Hoffman wore in Outbreak. Then maybe a hole will be accidentally punctured in the suit, leaving everyone vulnerable, as I lean over the hospital bed in despair as Rene Russo dies. I hope you're happy, Conjunctivitis. I hope you're reeeeeal happy.

Love Michelle.

More book store frugality (is that a word? Yes it is. Yes it is. Is too.)

One day, when I'm ultra famous, this play that I've just painstakingly written will be played in the great playhouses all over the world:

Me: I'd like to return this book.

Clerk: Okay, is there a reason?

Me: It's tripe.

Clerk: You've read it?

Me: Um... if I've read it, can I still return it?

Clerk: Have you?

Me: Hm? Um.... Noooo.

Clerk: Then why are you returning it?

Me: Um.. I don't like the cover.

Clerk: That's not a valid reason.

Me: It's haunted... I mean it was a gift from one of my stalkers. It would be inappropriate to keep it.

Clerk: Your name is on the receipt.

Me: I have 8 more of them. That's too many.

Clerk: Lady, this isn't a library.

Me: I know. It's even better- there is coffee here.

Clerk: There are 43 people waiting behind you.

Me: They probably bought this stupid book, too and want to return it, because it's lousy. I mean- I didn't read it and they probably didn't either.

Clerk: You know what? Fine. *chaching*

Me: Sucker. I totally read it.

Clerk: *rolls eyes*.. I know.

---------------------six minutes later---------------------

Me: Hi. I'd like to buy this book.

Clerk: History of Madness, huh?

Me: Here is Neil's rewards card. That's 10% off for me, right?

Clerk: Are you Neil?

Me: ... Yes. I am. I'm Neil. I have hairy legs and sometimes I wear a kilt. I'm a college teacher. I mean professor. I like homemade muffins.

Clerk: Uh huh... And you'll leave after I do this?

Me: For now.

Clerk: Excellent.

Me: Which days do you usually work?

Clerk: You should get a library card.

Me: Nah. I can't be bothered to return the books... too many fines. Ech.

People of Walmart- Living the Dream.

Neil and I were invited to a very ostentatious dinner party tonight. It was wonderful that there was a 'scary' dress code, because it gave us an opportunity to fulfill our dream of being real. live. Walmart people. Nothing is scarier. Nothing.

I know. It is such a convincing belly; and pretty flattering.

Just like in High School.

Isn't he HANDSOME? He even cut his own hair for the occasion. *swoon* THAT is dedication.

Yep. Alert Readers, you've probably noticed that those ARE the mudflap girl pants I bought for him for Christmas three years ago. I'm just so glad they can be put to such rigorous, good use.

We were thrilled that the dessert platter of Joe Louis cakes & twinkies were so well received at the party. For real. Everyone secretly loves twinkies. The pork rinds, though... I couldn't bear to let anyone actually eat them... ewww.

Also, I want everyone to note how artfully Minnie Mouse's fingers are caressing my fake belly button. Gross eh? It's perfect.

Swanky, huh?

Today's Work-in-progress.

I'm painting my Neily Sweetums. This is as far as I got today:

Sketched out. Hee hee, so far Neil looks Herman Munster..

3 hours in.

Tada. The photo makes it look orange-er than it really is, though. Getting there. We'll see how it goes tomorrow. But look at the picture within a picture within a picture... It's like that neverending David Hasselhoff speedo animation out there in internetland. I normally just draw portraits and don't paint them, so I'm happy enough with it so far. I need to look at it with new eyes tomorrow, fix the wonky bits and then sell it for a kerjillion dollars. I know it'll happen. I just. know. Or hang it in the stairwell. Whichever comes first. Maybe I'll surprise him with a shrine. Who wouldn't want a shrine?? How delightfully awkward!

Cheers.

The time Yoda was heaping mountains of mental battery upon me in Chapters.

So today at Chapters, I was sort of minding my own business, perusing the advanced literary genius books when I heard some audible warbling... Someone was reading out loud. Fine. Someone must have just been reading an interesting passage to their shopping partner, right? WRONG. SO WRONG. This grown person was reading a magazine OUT LOUD in the store; all by them self. Just sitting there on the leather ottoman reading away an article in a magazine for the world to hear without even flinching. WELL. This is unacceptable behavior. Completely unacceptable.

So I got a little closer to have a listen, perhaps this person had found some kind of important article about the world's impending doom that must be given attention. Nope. It was an article about 'TWILIGHT' *shudder*. EwWWwwwwww. I was overcome with self righteousness and had to stare at her back from my little nest of books in the genius section. I stared DAGGERS at her. DAGGERS, you guys.

The imaginary conversation I had with her is as follows and is hence forth to be acted out by lego men in the medium of photographic storyboarding. She being Lego Yoda (in her ugly orange sweater) and me, The Lego Princess Leia (in her limited vestments). Here is how it all happened in my sophisticated mental faculties:

YODA: ...blah blah... release for NEW MoOn will be less than a MONTH away... *more muttering about Rob Pattinson* something something, collector's edition...

ME AS LEGO PRINCESS LEIA: HEY YOU! You are supposed to twitter with your Macintosh Apple Iphone, Jackass! *snicker snicker* Not OUT LOUD to strangers. And guess what? There appears to be nothing wrong with you apart from the fact that you're reading People magazine OUT LOUD to nobody. *snicker* So what's up with you, FOUR EYES? Get it? It's funny because you have glasses. Well you would if it was the real you acting this out and not Lego Yoda, who does not wear glasses, nor can I make any as I am out of pipe cleaners AND twist ties. *cough*

YODA: Huh? I can't afford an apple iphone.

ME AS BEAUTIFUL, SLIM LEIA: "Waaah... I don't have an apple IPHONE"... OH kvetch kvetch kvetch. That just makes you inferior and laughable (however somewhat lovable). Don't you even watch the apple advertisements? We "Mac" geniuses are cool and all down to earth and calm and helpful about every single thing on earth and wear practical, yet stylish blue sweaters all the time and you "non apple supporting people" are frantic, out-of-touch-with-couture twits. Hello?? Are you listening to me? It's even been recorded by the media? Besides, if you look at what I'm possibly going to be purchasing, you'll be embarrassed at yourself to see that it's an interesting glance at the common misuses of English grammar *chuckle*. Hilarious stuff. And you? Cultureless CELEBRITY RAG? Your so simple. Must be nice.

STUPID LEGO YODA: HA HA HA. You just said, "your", instead of, "you're" which was completely grammatically inappropriate.... And you fancy yourself a Grammar Stickler...*chortle*

LEIA THE TANTALIZING: What? No.... I didn't. I couldn't have.

YODA THE YODELING YAKHERDER: Yes you did.

LEIA THE SMART AND BRAVE: What are you even talking about, outloud-reader-to-nobody person? Your not making cent's.

YODA THE HUGE BULLY: You're doing it again. Your grammar is atrocious.

LEIA (the melancholy): STOP IT! STOP IT! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!

CHAPTERS FLOOR MANAGER: AW hell. YOU AGAIN?! I'm going to have to ask you to leave again, MICHELLE. Hand over the Starbucks cups.

LEIA: Um, I think you're confused. My name is Lego Princess Leia.

Floor Manager: Look, Freak- we've already contacted the police. I don't know how you slipped past security, anyway. Must be the clever disguise.

The REAL Princess Leia: You won't get away with this. You're wrong. You're ALL WRONG!!! YOU'LL SEE!!! AHAahahHHAhahahahahHHHAA!!

Then I swing away into the city on the spideywebs which I can shoot out of my wrists, pursuing the trail of Yoda (the lone outloud reader), who has slipped away unnoticed, of course.

Until next time, Lego Yoda... Until next time...

Poorman Starbucks Revisited.

Another frugal option is to visit a Starbucks and pour all of the delicious empties you can find into one cup and ask the barista to microwave it for you. Top with your own whipped topping and sprinkles. Voila. You are a trendy starbucks haver.

Waste not want not. Sneaky, eh?

Now read the post below this.

Poor man's Starbucks- WITH RAINBOW SPRINKLES.

.
Yeah. I can't afford to have Starbucks' giant lattes for all of my daily meals. But here's a trick for you broke and/or lazy people who don't wanna go allLLlllLll the way to whichever of the thirty-two Starbucks Franchises that are 8 feet away from any of your given doorways..


Here's what you need:

• A Starbucks instant Bold Italian coffee packet thingy (I know, you all have a love-hate thing with this stuff. I love)
• 8 oz boiling water
• A sprinkle or two of actual pumpkin pie spice. The spice, not the $78,646,872.67 syrup from Starbucks. You can get it at the grocery for like a dollar and it will last until you die.
  
• A can-o-whipped cream.
• Rainbow Sprinkles. Because you have to one up Starbucks if you're gonna fake it. They NEVER give you rainbow sprinkles.
• However much sugar & cream/milk/whatever you usually like.

Then you mix them all. Except the whipped cream. You spray that on top of the coffee and then directly into your mouth. Then you eat the whipped cream from the coffee and spray more onto it. Repeat.

**dramatization**

It is remarkably similar to a pumpkin spice latte. I'm such a shiester! Also, you could totally put booze in this. I've always thought that pumpkin spice lattes were missing wild turkey. It's very Thanksgiving-y. And they just always give you those funny looks when you whip a mickey of whiskey out of your diaper bag right in the Chapters Starbucks, then ask you to leave. Ha Ha just kidding. It's easier at home, is what I'm saying.

SEE?? I save you people money. And what thanks do I get? huh? NONE. Unless you thank me, then I'll get me some thanks alright.

Also, look to your right and up a little to find my NEW poor advice column!! Great idea, eh? I know... K... pressing questions are onnnn their way... any second... desperate readers will click there...... ---->

What a thing of beauty, huh? (or Foghorn Leghorn full of Grace.)

MmmMMmmm...

I violated it with bread just this morning and put it in the oven. It's always kind of embarrassing stuffing a turkey, like I feel like I should have gotten written consent before stuffing my hand in it's cavity, or that a nurse should be present or something to make sure I'm being professional and it feels as comfortable as possible while it's little turkey legs are up in the little tiny stirrups, waiting for the invasive procedure. Poor turkey. But I always make sure I thank the turkey for letting me shove it's butt full of bread and onions and seasoning and such. It's Thanksgiving, after all. I think the turkey would be happy to be violated for my dinner AND excellent blog. Looks good, huh? Sure dooooes. That is unless you're a vegetarian. If you are, you're probably all grossed out and like:

"AAAAAAAAAAAUGH!" Or something.

PS. Thanks to Michael for the clever Foghorn analogy. I need it to be a real movie. Follow Michael on Twitter AND youtube. Do. It.

Happy Turkey

In CANADA, it is Thankgiving. SO I made you this awesome home animated cartoon, pretty soon I'll have Neil's animation job if you ask me. (And by animated, I mean watch me draw it):

AMANDA

(Click on the Amanda link. In case you are not sure what to do and feel very confused and angry).

The Walmartian Abduction Risk (and pet alligators)

I basically live in crippling fear of being featured on the People of Walmart blog. I loathe Walmart as it is, but sometimes I have no choice. Like if twilight posters or glue on googly eyes are on sale or something, and I'm making googly eyed twilight crafts that day- I have to go. I'm chained by price rollbacks like a pet alligator on a leash. "Sure I'm here. I'm going to bite your knees off in a minute th....OOoOoh! Are those Mr Clean Magic Erasers really only 99 cents??? Oh, I'd better get loads!". Then live in self loathing for the rest of the day, with the magic erasers spread around me like ill begotten blood money. "WHAT HAVE I DOOOOOOOONE???? I said I'd never do this again! I'm sorry family and loved ones. I am sorry", as I scrub and scrub and scrub away the dirty feeling.

But what if one day, I realize that I have to go there at like 11 pm and I'm already in my purple velvet mini skirt and "Git r Done, America" sleeveless denim print work shirt tied at the midriff and the only shoes I can find are my white, thigh high, vinyl, six inch, high heeled boots with extra zippers and my pink feathered shabby cowgirl hat that I bought out of a trans-am on the side of the highway one day when I was driving to the country fever beaver festival with my internet cousin, Starla_Dawn58 and what if our beat up old truck broke down with nary another traveller in sight? Then what if we spotted the man with the black t-top trans am selling his wares, thinning & worn out sandy mullet blowing in the wind, wrangler jeans, the crater in his shirtless pigeon chest collecting morning dew as he lay on the hood of his spectacular hot rod?.... Then the punishing decision... should I buy the rose/kitten print, beadazzled, artfully shredded and beaded t shirt.. or feathered cowboy sunhat...? Or should I just cut the legs off of my white nylons and wear the gusset on my head? What if that happened?



And then what if I have to hurry because Walmart is closing and I'm never going to make it on time so I just throw on a Lucky Charms Members only jacket and head on over. And then what if someone takes a photo of me and decides that it should go on the Walmartian website? I will be soooo mortified, you guys. I wouldn't even have time to mace them.


But for real. What if I pass out from Sprawlmart/McDonalds fumes one day and fall into one of their clothes racks, get tangled up, come to and stand up only to realize that a pimp did my make up while I was passed out and I'm all surrounded by fizzy mouthed Walmart paparazzi and BINGODAMMIT- a picture of me tangled up in tube tops and green checkered jeans ends up the internetz.

I hope that doesn't ever happen.

Open Letter to Faulty McFaulterson

Dear $%&*

Thank you for causing my dining room ceiling to start leaking all over the place in 8 different places appx 3 hours before I go for a surgical consultation on my jaw. What I really needed was yet another reason why I am going to look forward to my post operative painkillers, and toilet water filled ceiling pimples are just the ticket. Besides, who needs to shower before going to a doctor's appointment? Doctors totally see filthy, stressed out people EVERY DAY. Today I get to be one. New experiences are important. So it's great that the water is shut off. :D

Now, I realize that you think it's HIGH-LARIOUS that my back teeth do not freeze, even if they inject enough freezing product into my head to cause me to go into shock and then sick a dental assistant on me to watch from 6 inches away looking uncomfortable as I shake more tempestuously than Michael J Fox and Katherine Hepburn making out on washing machine during an earthquake, then turn me upside down on my head so that blood can "go back to my brain", because hey- that's pretty funny in a very tactless way (which is usually the best way). I couldn't even read my Canadian Living at Home magazine about stuffing turkeys with nylons and things while having a seizure in peace. Besides, what's the big deal? I just want my damned tooth fixed. I could have dealt with the pain if I'd have shut my trap and tried to pretend that I wasn't convulsing. "No Dr Nabnorfnsjdnfis53de, YOU'RE shaking. No YOU are. YOU. YOU ARE. NO. YOU ARE." Do you know that the freezing stuff they put in you contains epinephrine? I do. I do know that. Was it also necessary to wreck my house, though? Oh it was. I see.

I'd like to make something else nice and clear straight away, %&$#. If you somehow cause my surgeon to decide that Lamby Baby Bunny Tylenol 3 is going to be good enough after all of this, you can just step away and punch yourself in the throat right now. I'll pause to give you time..... Are sure that was hard enough? Sure, do it again. Better? Good. Me too.

Love

Chelle.

I got a new haircut

And here it is on Mr T:

And here it is on the Godfather:

And here it is on a smoking supernerd:

Looks pretty nice, eh? And yes, you're absolutely right, I DID go with a darker shade of blonde this time. Yes, those are caramel highlights, too. Good eye, Reader.