Now where are the yams?

That’s right – give thanks you are not this poor child.

The Americans always take their holidays to the extreme, but this is just ridiculous.

Chuckle chuckle…

Who has not sat in front of the TV on a Saturday morning or weekday afternoon and while flipping channels come across the awesomeness that is the Learning Channel – and most specifically William Smith – the mathematician of the incredibly dirty hands.

Well done Casper – a pretty good impression I think.

Oh my good god.  I am in awe.  And I am also newly invigorated to follow my bliss, since, obviously, this guy has been focused on his ever since he was 11 years old in band camp.  A manualist?  Seriously?!

Make sure to notice the sweat band on his wrist.  And the speakers on the couch.

PS – My husband just said, “He shouldn’t be sitting in his living room, he should be touring.”  Yup.

Pac Man - who knew?

Uh oh – quick hide the Grand Theft Auto.

Who knew that’s what really happened?

This could definitely be classed as cruelty to animals.

But then they are so cute.

Not so funny now right?

So I went to Baskin Robbins to pick up an ice cream cake for my co-worker’s twenty-eighth birthday. The woman behind the counter asked, “Are you going to deposit this in a freezer in no more than ten to fifteen minutes?”

I glanced at the clock. “No, I was hoping to eat it before then. That might not happen, though.”

She gave me a look and told me that she could cover the cake in dry ice to keep it cool for a little while longer.

“Great!” I said. You can put dry ice on food? I thought. I didn’t know a lot about dry ice. I still don’t.

“Don’t touch it with your hands and put it directly in the sink,” she told me. For some odd reason, I instantly wanted to put my tongue on some dry ice, and that scared me. I tried not to look too worried. “Okay.”

When I got to the office I opened the box and looked inside. A wee bit of smoke curled up. Cool. But even as I marveled, I knew I had to get rid of that stuff quick. Who knew what I would manage to do with it? Eat it, touch it, whatever you AREN’T supposed to do with dry ice, that’s what I would do. So I grabbed a huge stack of napkins and awkwardly picked up a large chunk to deposit in a coffee mug. All of a sudden there was a ton of smoke coming off of it, a la Tales From the Crypt.  I dropped it back on the cake. I took a deep breath and tried again. I managed to get two chunks in the mug without freaking out. Then the ice started shaking a bit and making a weird noise inside the mug – a high pitched squeak. I yelped.  I found a pair of tongs in the silverware drawer and took the dry ice out of the mug and plopped it back on the cake. I finally decided to deposit the dry ice into a stack of coffee filters and then onto a basket plate. You know, protective layers. I grabbed the basket plate with the tongs and proceeded to walk through the office, out the door, and down the hall to the bathroom making sure to look very casual about my smoking plate of hellfire.

Once I got in the bathroom, I debated putting the dry ice in the toilet and flushing but I kept having images of some unlucky soul with a freezer-burned anus so I scrapped that idea. I decided to put it in the sink. I ran water over the ice to get it to melt quicker. Sooner or later the entire sink was filled with smoke, and the dry ice was vibrating again.  “Yikes!” I scooped it up with my tongs and piled it all back on my basket plate. I stared at it for a second. It wouldn’t stop smoking! I’d throw it outside, that’s what I would do. So I walked for the second time past inquisitive eyes to the trash can out in front of the building. I stuck the plate through the top of the trashcan and tilted it slightly. GOAL. Then I promptly went inside and googled how to properly dispose of dry ice. DO NOT THROW AWAY stared back at me. Whoops. I called up Housekeeping and cautioned them about smoking bags of trash.

Because I find this funny.

Well I could’ve told you that.  When I lived in London last year I didn’t date. Not once.

I honestly could not find one man that didn’t make me want to throw up my lunch on him and send him off to the dentist.  Perhaps I was being a tad harsh?

But the DailyMail and a website called BeautifulPeople fully agree with me.

Would you like a pint love?

Really they are an unattractive bunch of people (generally).

Below is the article from the DailyMail.

Brits among the ‘ugliest people in the world’

All the fuss is over ice cream?

No wonder he can’t go into the sun.  Melting boyfriend – not so good.

ME: “Ok dude! So I know you will totally appreciate this because you know me very well and so you know that underneath all this sophistication *cough*Cough* lies a Myfa ghettofied girl, right? So shitty day… Yaddah yaddah yaddah… No beer in the fridge! No vodka and crystal light in sight. So!? Tonight? Tequila and koolaid!”

Cherry Kool-Aid is the bestest!

Cuz: “Hoooolly. Helll. U r straight ghetto tonight dude. Hilarious. I am not sure that’s gonna taste good.”

ME: “The Koolaid is yummy… Tequila is just a light aftertaste.”

Cuz: “Your creativity never ceases to AMAZE me “

ME: I’m from the hood … That’s how we roll! LOL… I can make you a bomb ass dinner too! From raccoon ass, one tomato and a pepper! Hahahaha!
You can even substitute raccoon with rat.. But only if necessary!”

ewww.... i was just kidding, google images dot com. YUCK

Cuz: “You are like a McGyver in the kitchen!”

ME: “Haasaaaaaaa! Yup. Gimme a paperclip, a piece of bologna. And a piece of gum! I will make you an exploding device… AND dinner! Hahaha”

Over dinner:

Big Mickey: “Mom? I been thinking a lot about this. And I think you really should take the t.v. out of our room.”

(insert very surprised look here… ) ever since they were wittle itty bitty babies they’ve ALWAYS had a TV in their room. In fact, they wouldn’t go to sleep without it at least on with no volume in the background.

Sort of a makeshift nightlight, if you will.

Oh sure, I’d get up and turn it off in the middle of the night but then ONE of them would wake up and turn it back on. ONE of them was scared of the dark. This ONE is now telling me he wants the TV out of his room. This is a very interesting turn of events. Could it be that he’s finally outgrown his fear? Could it be that my baby is growing up? Coudl it be that he’s maturing and no longer scared of silly things like the boogyman?

ME: “Why?”(insert a very interested-in-your-conversation look here)

Big Mickey: “Because Annequin always wants to put it on HIS shows. And I would rather just have it OFF than to watch his shows. So I’ve thought about it a lot and decided the best compromise is to take it out of the room.”

ME:* No longer impressed and now somewhat cynical. “Uh, so in other words. Take the TV out. You win?”

Big Mickey: “EXACTLY!”

I think further discussion needs to go into this decision

I got virutally zero sleep last night. Well, actually the past few weeks probably. I just can’t sleep. Don’t ask why. It’s a bunch of different reasons, really. Part of it is that my body hurts so bad right now that it feels like I just got in a fight with Chuck Norris and lost. Yeah, yeah, I know. What did I expect? He’s a bad mothafacka….

  Anyways… everything has taken it’s toll and I’m totally on “grumpy bitch mode!”

 HOWEVER.. since I promised you a funny Friday I”ve been  trying to think of something funny to say or a funny picture to post but my mind is blank. It’s like jello actually… But as I was searching my photo archive I came accross two not-so-funny pictures but they represent the two things that will probably make my day a little brighter. So here they are:

1. CARBS….

2. and BEER…… (liquid carbs)

this was our makeshift ice chest last winter during a girls weekend at the cabin

Can somebody help a sistah out?

Bush couldn't understand why Stevie wouldn't wave back

twit fever is hitting celebs hard.

It is kind of cool being able to read random thoughts from John Cleese and Jessica Simpson… (Quite a contradiction I might say)

But now Stevie is trying his hand at this twitter thing.

I think you can guess where this is going.

Stevie Wonder’s twitter account.

Let's get twitfaced

Hippopotamuses (Hippopotami?) are funny.

Just ask Brennyn:

I didn’t realize this until it came to my attention that I, myself, was awfully Hippo-like.

Then hippos were everywhere. On commercials singing I wanna Hippopotamus for Christmas. In the news as ‘The Tortoise and The Hippo‘. I even got hippo emails forwarded on to me:

What did the hippo get when he started exercising every day?
Hippopotamuscles.

What did the hippo get when he stopped shaving?
A hippopotamustache.

What do you call a hippo who thinks he’s sick?
A hippochondriac.

What jungle animal can you put in a trance?
A hypnopotamus.

See? Funny!

Then I saw this and just about peed myself:

HIPPO EATS MIDGET!

I was attempting to highlight the really funny parts of this article for those of you with short attention spans. However, it is all freakin funny. I kept in my bolds, bold with italics and bold with italics in red solely because it was too funny to change back.

A hippopotamus has swallowed a dwarf in a circus accident in northern Thailand. “A dwarf, nicknamed Od, died when he bounced sideways from a trampoline and was swallowed by a yawning hippopotamus, which was waiting to appear in the next act,” the Pattaya Mail reported. “Vets on the scene said Hilda the Hippo had a gag reflex which automatically caused her to swallow.” The vets said it was the first time the hefty vegetarian had ever eaten a circus performer. “Unfortunately, the 1000 plus spectators continued to applaud wildly until common sense dictated there had been a tragic mistake. Police said the trampoline has been sent for forensic analysis.“

Oh shit, that is too funny. Rumour has it this is an Urban Legend but I am going to stand by this story as real. Totally plausible. I mean, seriously, how can you not believe a sideways trampolining dwarf falling into a yawning hippo? Totally real.

Which is when Brennyn looks over exclaiming:

"Dude! I thought Hippos were Vegetarian..."

For those of you who’s family and friends know about your blogging habits, do you feel like you’re treated different because of it? I do. I think I’ve talked about this before a year or two ago but it still makes me laugh.

For example, I’ll be having brunch with my buds Dee and Goocher and something freaken HILARIOUS will happen where champagne milk is running out our noses and one of them will say, “You’re gonna blog about this aren’t you?”

Or one of them will “burn” me (diss me? hmm… what is the hip word these days?) Anyways… and the other will say, “OOOOOH, Norms, you need to blog about this and put her on blast”

To which of course first I’ll reply, “REALLY? We’re not to old to say ‘put her on blast’ and are people even really still saying that?”

But of course that’s besides the point.

Then I kindly remind them that I NEVER blog about negative stuff.

Say, for example that I ask Mr. Twinkie if he thinks I’ve lost weight. And what if he says, “Oh yeah, babe. You’ve lost a lot of weight. I mean for a while there your tummy was HUGE! It was bigger than your boobs!”

And what if I glared at him and said, “WOW! Did you really just say that?”

To which of course (hypothetically speaking of course because if this actually happened I would NOT blog about it) he would quickly try to dig his way out by saying, “JUST KIDDING BABE!! You know I’m playing.”

To which I would answer, “I know you are honey,” then I’d quickly add exlax to his dinner while he wasn’t looking.

Well, if all of that happened I would NOT blog about it because:

1. it would probably paint Mr. Twinkie as an insensitive bastard which he is sooo totally not but nobody would know this if they didn’t know him in real life.

2. it would probably also paint me in a negative light because HELLO STUPID???? Don’t ask if you don’t want to know. I mean, duh! You never ask, “do I look fat in these pants” then get mad because you got an honest answer, right?

Anyways, my point is I’m not a very “open” blogger in the sense that if I get in an arguement with somebody or if something bothers me I’m not gonna “put it on blast” all over the world wide web.

I think some things should stay private.

Of course this might also have something to do with the fact that my family and friends read this blog and I would never write something that I might regret later. Yah know?

BUT having said that… (and back to my original point) my life is a blog.

As in.. something will happen and I will automatically think of ways I could write about it where it might be interesting to my readers. Maybe even funny. A lot of times I’ll realize that it’s one of those things where you just “had to be there” and it doesn’t really translate well into writing. So I move on to something else.

Other times? I find that I just don’t have anything interesting to say.

Which is when I realize that I’m living with my eyes shut. And I remind myself to open them and actually “experience” living. If not for peace of mind then at least for my blog. Because that’s what’s important, right? (insert sarcasm here) ..

Hmm…. I guess this blog entry turned out NOT being all that funny. HU? Oh well! I’ll try again next Friday!

A few years ago I came accross this book called Three Days In New York City by Robin Slick. I read a review in a blog I frequented regularly and it sounded interesting so I thought I’d give it a try. You see the blogger talked about how funny and quick witted the book was.

Oh sure! Don’t get me wrong! It mentioned other stuff but what drew me in was the fact that the reviewer/blogger mentioned how he hadn’t laughed so hard yadda yadda… how funny it was, etc etc.

That is what drew me to it. Not the “other stuff.”  The funny stuff.

The day my book order came in was a day that my boys had baseball practice.

“Yay,” I thought! “Now I have reading material for the two hours that we are gonna be stuck at practice.”

So there I go! I got to practice and took my book out and started reading.

Page one umm… hu?

Page two: WHOA… whatta? 

I was only able to read about a page and half. OK OK so maybe it was three. It was then that I realized I had to stop reading it.

IMMEDIATELY!

I was shocked at the content.

Don’t get me wrong. It turned out to be a very funny book but…

well….

you’re gonna think I’m a dumb ass..

and I should have known better.. 

Don’t judge me! I’d never read this “type” of book.

I mean, I could sort of imagine… but I guess I  really didn’t know…

It’s labeled EROTICA.

And yes, while I know what the word means, I guess I didn’t really “KNOW” what the word meant?

Yes, I can be slow like that. I’d never read erotica before and didn’t really know what to expect. Well, ok maybe I just figured it would have a passionate kiss here and there and maybe a description of a nipple being perky or a private part tingling with anticipation. But I wasn’t exactly figuring it was gonna be how it was.

The book starts off with phone sex while she’s on public transportation on her way to meet her lover at a hotel in New York City while wearing a short skirt with no panties, per HIS request. And by phone sex, I mean VERY EXPLICIT phone sex.

Ummm yeah. Definitely feeling “funny” but not funny-ha-ha. Feeling a little bit more like “funny, I never expected THIS!”

So anyways, after reading a little bit my face started to feel a little flushed. I looked up and felt like all the other baseball moms were staring at me. With INDIGNATION!

Oh my GOD! Did they KNOW?

Can they read my thoughts as I’m reading?

Can they tell that my heart is racing?

 Can they feel my sweaty palms?

Did I accidentally mouth the words as I was reading?

Or worse…. did they have Three Days In New York City at home?

Did they recognize the cover?

Are they judging me thinking,  ”BAD MOM, reading that smut while at at her kids baseball practice? I mean, what kind of mother does that?”

The crack-ho/nynpho kind, that’s what.

– So I very discreetly put the book back IN my purse, looked around to see if anybody had been able to read my thoughts.

*If I was Catholic I would have quickly recited ten hail Mary’s(is that what they call it?)

DAMN.

I can’t even remember what those prayers are called. Not that it matters since I’m not Catholic, so even if I did know what it was called and how to recite them, the Catholic God would look down at me from heaven and say, “Nice try, Twinkie, but you’re not fooling anyone!”

Bad Twinkie! Erotica is the devil~

That evening I went home, made dinner and did all that other motherly/wifely stuff, then once everyone was in bed, I finished the book. Devoured it, really.

I was like a perv in a brothel. 

Don’t judge me! To my defense, like I said, not only is it “EROTICA” but it’s really funny too.

The book follows a sexual escapade between a married almost 40 year old American woman going through a sort of mid-life crisis empty nest syndrome. She’s bored with her corporate job. Regrets not following her dreams as an artist and decides to take a cyber-office romance with an overconfident, freaky Brit to the next level.

What ends up happening between this unfullfilled but very vanilla American will make you laugh out loud till your stomach hurts.

It was a short and very easy read.

Since then? Erotica became my very own guilty pleasure.

Don’t worry though. I’ve learned my lesson. From now on, if the cover has certain key words like sex, erotic, for dirty  crack ho nympho’s only, etc on it, I will NOT take it to my kids practice. In fact? I will ONLY read it in the privacy of my bedroom. With the door shut.

“I don’t know what to do with my hands! ” said Big Mickey, as I told him to smile for me so I could take a picture during a family trip to San Francisco a few years ago.

You’ve all seen it, right? “Talladega Nights, the Ballad of Ricky Bobby” starring Will Ferrel?

And while I KNOW it’s probably a teeny tiny bit too inappropriate for a 7 year old, he still ended up watching it.

SEVERAL TIMES.

How did I know he’d watched it? Well, the first time he came up to me and said, “I’ll come at you like a spider monkey” was a big clue. But then when I heard him say over dinner, “I’m still sittin’ in my pee pants right now,” I KNEW he’d watched the movie.

He’s been quoting stuff out of the movie ever since, as kids usually do. And it cracks me up every time.

So anyways…. watch the very VERY VERY short video. And enjoy Big Mickey’s impersonation of Ricky Bobby during his first interview ever. *you might have to turn the volume up because his voice is pretty low.

 The woman laughing after is me. Yeah, I know.. I KNOW… goofy laugh. Did you expect anything different from me, though?

Me on Tuesday: Boss, There’s something wrong with my computer. It’s locked me out. Keeps saying it doesn’t recognize my license or something.

Boss (aka THE MAN): Did you call our IT guy?

Me: Yes. He said he will pick it up tomorrow, but he couldn’t fix it till Thursday afternoon or Friday.

Boss: (mockingly alarmed) Oh NO! What are you gonna do till then? Now you won’t be able toFacebook all day! How will you survive? (insert fake shocked gasp here)

Me: (smiles BIG) Oh, don’t worry about me. I have Facebook Mobile on my iPhone.

In case you're wondering what I commented SSP the comment was: "hahahah Yeah! No running for me. You're my hero!"

And THAT? My friends… is how I survived two days without a computer at work. *Le sigh of relief. And now? I’m BACK!

I’ve always felt really sorry for twins whose parents dress them the same.

But I feel even sorrier for these two. Especially for “Paste”.

Somehow I don't think that's how we were really made

“Hey you should blog about the time we put on that show for the neighborhood kids, remember?” Dee said.

“OH I KNOW! That’d be a good one, hu?” I replied. “But do me a favor, email YOUR VERSION OF EVENTS so I can compare them to mine.”

So she did.

And she did such a great job that there is no way I could change it ONE LITTLE BIT. So here it is. The RED writing is my commentary. The rest is ALL DEE ——

Well, this is how I remember it. We were the bad asses on the block…and all of those little punks wanted to be just like us! No, really. I’m being serious. (CLEARLY SHE’S SERIOUSLY DELIRIOUS)

So…when we proposed we were going to present a play they came a running with money in hand. As I recall it, you did a dance scene with some goofy/retarded skirt. (WHAT??? I LOVED THAT SKIRT!!!! IN FACT IF I REMEMBER CORRECTLY IT LOOKED A LITTLE SOMETHING LIKE THIS. DON’T FORGET AT THIS POINT I’D JUST MOVED HERE FROM MEXICO.)

It was longer than you…so there you were…holding the bottom of both sides with your arms stretched out like you were about to take off flying or something. (DEAR GOD, MAKE ME A BIRD.. SO I CAN FLY FAR FAR AWAY)

The dance sucked. (HEY DAMMIT.. THE DANCE WAS GOOD. IT WAS SUPPOSED TO SUCK.. IT WAS A FUNNY DANCING SKIT!)

 I’m cracking up right now…cuz I’m getting a visual. I think we TRIED to impress the HUGE crowd with some magic tricks. Clearly, there was no freakin’ magic. I think we started getting booed at this point. (THEY JUST DIDN’T RECOGNIZE REAL TALENT.. I TELL YAH!)

 If we had given them some tomatoes, I’m pretty sure they would have used them…or heck, they would have taken them home and at least have gotten something with the big money they spent to watch us! We tried to recover from it and told some jokes. Nobody laughed, but I’m heck a laughing right now! I’m rolling. We sucked bad! You tried to save it with singing. It was obvious you were winging it. Sorry Norms…that sucked too. (HA… DON’T HOLD BACK GIRL, TELL ME HOW YOU REALLY FEEL!)

THEN the worst thing imaginable happened. They asked for their pennies back! (IT WASN’T PENNIES IT WAS NICKLES)

We thought we were savvy entreprenuers headed to the big time…all the way to the top. We were gonna be rich, rich I say! But there we were…humiliated, handing our audience of five people their money back. We almost were 25 cents richer! Hey! Don’t knock that quarter, cuz that was a lot of darned money back then. We could have easily bought ourselves tons of gum and candy. (THIS IS WHERE I HAVE TO LAUGH BECAUSE THAT’S WHEN YOU KNOW YOU’RE OLD. WE USED TO RUN OUR ASSES TO THE STORE WITH ONE QUARTER TO SPLIT BETWEEN THE THREE OF US, ME, DORP AND GOOCHER..AND IT WAS MORE THAN ENOUGH.)

 Those little bastards took their money back and then went to Eloy’s Market and spent it. THEN they came back and stood in the alley right outside your fence and licked on those freakin’ lolly pops. Jerks! (YES… BUT THEN WE RENTED OUT OUR BIKES AND CHARGED THEM A NICKLE TO TAKE IT FOR A RIDE DOWN THE ALLEY AND BACK SO WE RECOUPERATED SOME OF OUR MONEY BACK)

That’s when I decided I was not cut out to be a movie star. As a matter of fact, I think we’re infamous enough for E! to do a documentary about us. Hey, we’re MORE interesting than Paris Hilton or lame Nichole Richie. Heck, we done more outrageous and/or exciting things than they have…and we have brains!! (WE ACTUALLY DO .. OUTRAGEOUS/EXCITING THINGS ALL THE TIME.. NOT TOO SURE ABOUT HAVING THE BRAINS THING THOUGH!)

I think people would watch. They love to see failure when it’s not them. Oh…and I don’t want to forget to mention that one of those audience members was your longtime Crush… Remember! HA! Hilarious! (HMMM MAYBE THAT’S WHY THINGS DIDN’T WORK OUT BETWEEN US. NAH, ACTUALLY THE FACT THAT I DIDN’T GROW BOOBS TILL MY SECOND CHILD WAS BORN WAS PROBABLY THE REAL REASON. I REMEMBER IN THE THIRD GRADE CATCHING HIM BEHIND THE CLASSROOM WITH THE NEW GIRL WHO HAPPENED TO BE “SHOWING HIM” HER “NEW TRAINING BRA” … SLUT.)

Oh, my God…this is so funny…I can’t stop laughing…what the heck were we thinking…this is what happens when parents don’t have money to buy us Nintendo (the IT game back then)…kids end up using their own imagination. What a waste! D. (I WOULDN’T TRADE ANY OF IT FOR THE WORLD. GOOD TIMES!)

I love those too cute cat pictures that pile up in my inbox every day.  I mean come on who doesn’t?  But our friends at Ulresque have declared a cat free day.

Yip that’s right, those little felines deserve a day off too you know!

Urlesque Announces A Day Without Cats on 9.9.09

Cats rule the internet. Think about all the funny cat photos and videos that infest your IM conversations, Facebook walls and e-mail forwards from mom — our feline overlords have sneakily solidified themselves as a staple of the interweb humor we love so dearly.

Don’t believe us? Salon and Entertainment Weekly have also had the same startling realization. Heck, we even awarded them with a lifetime acheivement honor in the 2008 year-end Urlies. But whether you’re a bona fide cat lady who loves it all, or someone who can’t stand the over-population of cats on the interwebs, we can all agree that cats need a break.

Urlesque hears your cries for help.

After getting inspired by our friends at Asylum, Urlesque is organizing a web-wide ban on cat-related coverage on 9.9.09 — A Day Without Cats on the Internet.

Why only one day? Well let’s be honest, that’s probably only as long as we’ll last before a hilarious video comes crashing into our inbox. But for one day, we will abstain… for you… for the cats.

So join us tomorrow and say “No more pussy!”  (Sorry couldn’t help myself)

“Look Mommy,” Kaya squeals pointing up into the bright night, “the Moon woke up!”

Mini Moon

She’s talking about the real moon, rising in the expansive Kootenay sky. But her remark is just about as cute as her mooning me (and you and everyone in Kaslo that day) and it is my tie-in to the real purpose of this post: bum business.

Because there was a lot of bum business on our trip. Starting with Kaya’s new found love. Outhouses. We have seen waterfalls, butterflies, squirrels and woodpeckers. We have picked carrots from the garden and spotted pink flowering lily pads. But it is Kaya’s visit to her first outhouse that makes the biggest impact.

“Where we goin to Mommy?”

“The outhouse.” said with little to no enthusiasm.

“The outhouse?” said with intrigue and wonder.

“Look Mommy! Bugs live in there!” as I lift the toilet seat.

“Heeheeheeheehee! That’s funny!” Funny and in no way deters her from plunking her little bum right down on them.

“Where’s it going?” She can’t hear the pee splash and this puzzles her. I am imagining informing her that her pee is landing on mounds and mounds of strangers poo when she moves on.

“Where’s the flush?”

“There is no flush in an outhouse. It’s just a big hole in the ground.”

“Hole in the ground?” Her brain processes this new phenomena while I try to change the subject.

“Wasn’t that a beautiful rainbow by the waterfall?”

“I pee in the hole in the ground?”

Ignoring her, I race her to the next waterfall. We take photos, eat a picnic, and climb rocks before getting back into the car. Not five minutes down the road and a song bursts forth from the back seat.

“Outhouse, oh outhouse. Lalalalaallalala. Squamish poop. Lalalalalla. Eat soup. Outhouse oh outhouse.”

Or something like that. I don’t remember her tune and could not understand all of her words but I did jot down what I could hear and understand. The point being, she sings in rhyme what she knows, and she now knows outhouses.

Later in the trip Kaya develops a new bad habit. She constantly has her hands in her pants. We repeat, over and over, as only parents can “Kaya, get your hands out of your pants!” She takes them out only to put them right back in as soon as we turn away. Eventually I realize her butt has been ravaged by some vicious bug. Most likely attacked while sitting happily on another outhouse seat swinging her legs, reading the graffiti lining the walls. “K is for Kaya” she cheers upon seeing the word ‘c-o-c-k’ scratched in with a pen knife. It also has a penis drawn beside it but I think she thinks it is a cucumber. Vegetables are too uninteresting for her to comment.

Our next outhouse is a desperation pee break from the car. There is no town anywhere near so we pull over at a provincial park trail head. Always an outhouse there. But not a regularly serviced one I should think. IT WAS DISGUSTING. Pee all over the toilet seat. Dirty toilet paper all over the floor. A gigantic spider dangling menacingly above the pit hole. This is where I attempt to teach my child how to breathe through your mouth in order to avoid smelling. She doesn’t get it. “I smell like stinky!” she dry heaves while shoving her hands over her nose. This is also where I should be teaching her to ‘get in and get out’.  Instead I teach her the ‘bashful bladder’. Seriously though, how are you supposed to pee when your mother is gagging while trying to hold you over the toilet hole urging you to Pee Girl, Pee! Answer? You don’t. I end up using vast amounts of toilet paper to wipe the seat, then lay some on the seat and let her sit. All the while I am yelling, YELLING, “YUCK!!!!!” I am still haunted. Should I have let her sit or should I have taken her right out and reminded her of the ’squat’?

At one point in the trip she does not even recall how to sit on a potty. She instead has an accident. A poo accident. Her first since the first week of potty training. YUCK.

Another time she is having so much fun that she has a pee accident. Completely normal for a not even 3 year old right? Too bad it was in the middle of the lake on a water trampoline. Jump in the lake girl, JUMP IN THE LAKE! Only she’s 3, does not swim, wears only water wings, and has not yet been taught the subtle art of the lake pee.

Well, I was worried about writing this post because poop and pee are gross. I see now that potty talk gets a totally bum rap.

Shit, I am funny.

Sometimes long days on the road can make a girl delirious. Like when we passed a sign advertising the “Gaelic Indian” festival. As I am pondering what exactly a Gaelic Indian is, if there are enough to host a festival and how they came to be in New Denver, Bal asks me something about the “Garlic Festival”. Ohhhh, that makes only slightly more sense…

A couple of hours later, (or maybe a day, I don’t know, I have lost track) we pass a mountain with clearcutting on it. I become convinced that the clearcut spells something. Something that looks like “Marry”. How fucked up would that be to propose by clearcutting ‘Will you marry me?’ Really fucked up. Unless you’re a logger couple I suppose. Then it would be cute? Endearing? Nope, still fucked up.

We pass a non-descript blah building. Woah, double take! Huge letters scream out to me “JUNKFOOD JUNCTION”. Ahhhh, just about as scenic as the Rocky Mountains towering above me on the sandy beach of the calm waters of Lake Koocanusa.

It is at least 35 degrees Celsius and the sun beats down on me the entire drive (better me than the kids though). I am dehydrated and have sunstroke. We pull over in Yahk where I dunk myself in the creek. I am in a state of delirium at the time but from what I remember of Yahk there are really ugly, enormous bugs, a goat soap store and the Horny Owl Saloon. Horny Owl? Somebody actually named it the Horny Owl? It’s a real true blue Saloon so why the hell not. I google Yahk to see if it really is named the Horny Owl Saloon but instead learn that the red paper clip dude who traded up until he actually got a house said that he would trade anywhere except Yahk, BC. Rude. But funny. He recanted that statement but only if good ol’ George Stroumboulopoulos (his name should be mandatory for secretarial typing tests) from the Hour would film from Yahk. He did. I love George. I hope he visited the Horny Owl Saloon.

Hmmm, could it possibly be the Horned Owl? Nah.

Passing through Ootischenia, there is the dodgiest motel I have ever seen. If it is not deserted, it is most definitely a whorehouse.  The Best Little Whorehouse in Ootischenia. Anyways, outside of it there was a humourous sign “Alberta Dollar at Par”. Totally a whorehouse.

People are so skeptical. You probably don’t believe these signs I have seen. So this time I got proof. Documented evidence. It has not been doctored in any way shape or form. I do not know how to Photoshop. This is real people!