Sit in a corner and think about what you've done

bad: (adjective) not good in any manner or degree.

I'm a bad blogger. I had wanted to start a blog for the longest time but I kept thinking "what will I write?" But then I decided I could just write whatever I wanted (as tends to be the way with blogs) so I tried that and it goes okay. But then I think to myself "I haven't blogged in awhile" and I start to feel pressure to blog and then I can't think of anything so I don't blog and then I feel even worse for not blogging and that makes it even harder to think of something...and suddenly I'm writing about how I'm a bad blogger.

Gah.

Whatever. It's not like I have a huge audience that haunts my blog, constantly waiting for my next words of wit and wonder to add a ray of joy to their day. (Unless, of course, I do; then you should let me know so I can hurry up with those words of wit and wonder.) But no matter what I do, I'm only going to blog when I really feel like it; the sooner I accept that, the better I will feel. And if I feel better, I might blog more. Which will make me feel better. Which will...see where this is going?

But until that happens, I humbly remain a bad blogger.

Something or other

un-de-fined: (adjective) not given meaning or significance, as by a definition; not defined or explained

I'm in one of those moods where I feel the need to blog, yet don't really have anything relevant to blog, but still come to the blog and post anyways.

(Pause: Mom's calling)

I always like talking to my mom. Sometimes she drives me a little nuts (mothers are supposed to do that, right?) but mostly she's good people. We came to a realization tonight: I'm growing up. We determined this when I said that sleeping until 10:00 am on Saturdays felt like sleeping in too late.

She also told me about my brother spilling primer all over the floor. He was afraid of her reaction. But as it was an accident and he cleaned most of it up, he remains alive.

And in random gym moments: this girl who always works out in jeans and All-Stars was there again tonight (working out in jeans and All-Stars) and kept checking herself out in the mirrors and then she sat on one of the weight machines and proceeded to read some celebrity mag. She was there while I used FOUR different machines. Then she left, but left all her magazines behind. I just don't get it.

Top Ten

pri-or-i-ty: (noun) something given special attention

As of 9:28 pm, on the CBC website, here are the top ten searched items:

1. Stanley Cup
2. Weather
3. U.S. Election
4. Montreal Riot
5. Sudoku
6. The National
7. Games
8. Brenda Martin
9. CBC Archives
10. Kids

And just to clarify, the Montreal riot also has to do with hockey.

Tasty

syn-o-nym: (noun) a word having the same or nearly the same meaning as another in the language, as joyful, elated, glad.

One feature of Gmail that I've always found interesting is how the ads around the page all relate somehow to the topic(s) of the email you are reading. Twice now, I've deleted all the messages in my junk mail folder and this and this are the ads that appeared for me. Yum?!

Expecto Patronum!

mem - o - ry: (noun) a person, thing, event, fact, etc., remembered

Saturday night, while at a friend's house, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban came on TV. All those present being Potter fanatics, we had to watch. This, of course, is the movie where Harry learns how to conjure a Patronus to fend off the Dementors. A Patronus can only work if you think of the happiest memory you can. Being a few drinks into the evening, we began discussing what memory each of us would use for our Patronus. Here's mine:

My brother was born in January 1990, about five weeks before I turned 10. I still remember going to see my mom and him in the hospital (this was back in the day when they kept mummy and baby in the hospital beyond cutting the cord) and I got to feed him a bottle of water and fluoride. I was sitting in a chair in the corner of the hospital room, my mom was in the bed, my stepfather was talking to her and a nurse handed me this impossibly little person. My brother, Reilly, was wearing a white cotton undershirt and a white cloth diaper. He had a full head of messy blond hair and his umbilical cord was still attached and had a plastic clip on it. His head was in the crook of my left arm and I fed him a small bottle of the water and fluoride mix. Man, it was so damn cool.

You can always depend on the kindness of strangers

kind-ness: (noun) the state or quality of being kind; friendly feeling; liking.

Last night I made the grievous error of over-imbibing, meaning I spent the majority of the day on the couch. Being in this state meant dinner would have to be ordered in, as I had no desire or energy to cook. Realizing I had no cash on me and I didn't want to use the credit card, I decided to order from Pizza Hut and pay by debit.

So my pizza arrives and the delivery guy - John - tries three times to run my card, to no avail. The whole time, he's apologizing for the crappy debit machine and thanking me for being patient and laughing over the horking noises emanating from my landlord's apartment. Finally, we realize I will need to get cash, so he lets me take my food upstairs then drives me to the bank machine then drives me home.

He then said next time I order from Pizza Hut, he'll try and be my delivery guy and he'll slip me something extra. Not that he has to, though, because he just made my day. I'll order from Pizza Hut again, if only because he was pretty cool.

The best game you can name

ice hock-ey: (noun) a game played on ice between two teams of six skaters each, the object being to score goals by shooting a puck into the opponents' cage using a stick with a wooden blade set at an obtuse angle to the shaft.

As of Wednesday, April 9, it is officially spring - the Stanley Cup play-offs have begun!!! Oh joy oh joy oh joy!!! Glee!!! Happiness and wonderment and bliss!!! EEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

But this year it's a bit tough, as none of my teams actually made the play-offs. No Buffalo, no Tampa Bay, no Carolina, no Vancouver. Who is a girl to cheer for? Thankfully one of Montreal, San Jose and Pittsburgh should go pretty far and Detroit (who just can't seem to stop being so damn good) always has the potential to make things interesting. And I think, for reasons of spite mostly, I shall wear my Maple-Leaf-boycott colours with pride and cheer for les Habitants. Take that MLSE!

And there are so many questions: will Anaheim repeat? How will Ottawa do without Daniel Alfredsson and Mike Fisher? Will Daniel Briere's knee hold up to help Philly actually prove they are more than just bullies? Will Martin Brodeur be able to regain/maintain his Cup-winning form? Will Joe Thornton lead San Jose to all that Cuppy goodness? Can Carey Price carry Montreal the same way he carried Team Canada at the 2007 World Junior Championship? Does Calgary have another Cinderella run in them? Will I be able to win one of the three play-off pools I have entered? (Not likely, but I can dream!)

So excited. So pumped. So thrilled. So happy. It doesn't get any better than this!

Big deal

dis-a-bled: (adjective) crippled; injured; incapacitated.

There is a girl at my gym who has a deformed arm. I'm guessing it's a birth defect, that her arm just didn't form properly. Whenever I see her, I hope it doesn't seem like I'm staring - even if I am - because I'm not staring out of rudeness but more fascination. I mean, I see her using the treadmill and the weight machines and she gets along just fine. I'm sure society in general would classify her as "disabled" but I don't see it that way; she just has to adapt to certain things.

I want to talk to her about it. I want to ask how it happened, if it was some random defect or if it was genetics, I want to ask how she's found life and how other people treat her. I want to ask all this because I'm curious. I don't want to mock her or belittle her or tease her. Alternately, I don't want to congratulate her or commend her for living a normal life by doing things like working out. Sure, she has a deformed arm which we can see, so we know she has struggled. But that doesn't mean the person next to her doesn't have some kind of personal struggle that isn't as visible. So no pat-on-the-back for being disabled and soldiering on.

But in a society that is SO over-the-top when it comes to political correctness, I don't even know how to broach a conversation with her. Nor do I know if she would even care to talk to me. I really just wish I could walk up to her and ask her point-blank about her arm and not feel weird or inappropriate and not worry about offending her. It's curiosity, plain and simple.

So what if curiosity killed the cat?