Imagine if my name began with a W.
Wanda, Wilma, Waneta – whatever….the name itself doesn’t matter, the point is I could marry someone with an ‘A’ name. We could have an A&W themed wedding. How much fun would that be?! Rootbeer floats for the kids, rootbeer paralyzers for the adults, a midnight burger bar, French fries instead of flower bouquets…mmmm the scent of grease wafting through the church. The bridesmaids adorned in brown and orange gowns and a giant teddy bear mascot milling about, taking photos with the guests.
But my parents named me Tanya, not Wynonna, Willow or Whoopi, so if I marry an ‘A’, I have to do – not a rootbeer theme – but a T&A theme?! And come on! That is just plain inappropriate for a wedding!
….unless I marry a Vegas stripper…..in that case, it would probably be a pretty appropriate theme…..
Actually it doesn’t really matter what the theme ends up being. The only thing I care about when I get married, the whole reason for the big elaborate wedding I’m going to have with at least 13 – yes THIRTEEN – bridesmaids, is so that I can say to all of them, “You can TO-TAL-EEE wear that dress again! Why, you could just hem it!”
See, I know it’s meant to be a nice sentiment, but it’s really more patronizing than nice, take it from me and all my dresses – it NEVER happens. First of all, for the price of alterations, you may as well go and pick out a new dress and secondly – what is meant to be a gown isn’t meant to be a mini-skirt. I mean to get shorts, you don’t cut off your pants – no, you go buy shorts! They are cut differently. And thirdly – where exactly is it appropriate to wear a bridesmaids dress??? Not to work, not on a Friday date night at the movies, and certainly not to a wedding where you are not a bridesmaid, so where then? Waterskiing?
Don’t get me wrong, I have loved all the dresses I’ve worn and have been proud to stand beside those that I have, but let’s just be honest. Bridesmaid dresses are re-worn about as often as people are out and about in their wedding gowns after the big day!
Someone suggested a Halloween wedding-themed party so people could get a second use of these gowns/dresses, it’s not a bad idea….but the best idea was just to wear the thing to the persons house next time I went for a visit! Just casually walk in, take off my coat, take a seat, sip my coffee and hang out in the gown. When they ask why I am wearing it, reply with “What do you mean? You’re the one who said I could wear it again! And you were totally right – it’s nice don’t you think? This totally works, doesn’t it? Yup, it’s a good look! One that I can wear over and over…”
happy friday!
tanya
Friday, August 12, 2011
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Next Time, No Hustler...
Unfortunately a friend of mine recently found himself in a hospital bed. I wanted to do something to lift his spirits, but what would that be?
For a female, easy - you bring flowers. She looks at the splash of colour, thinks of you thinking of her, and smiles. Mission accomplished.
But men don't stare at flowers and think 'oh, pretty!' But they do seem to like staring at naked chicks... So I thought, what better then a playboy magazine to brighten his day! He can stare at the pictures and think 'oh, pretty!' or whatever guys think when they look at the naked lady pictures, and when he's bored of staring he can read the articles. They must be good - that is why guys buy them after all. But in order to do this, I had to ask a couple guys I work with where to find a playboy magazine. Hoping they would suggest a place that had self checkouts, I was very disappointed to hear that not only would I have to go to a convenience store, but I would likely have to ask the dude at the counter for it. They also said that playboy was a good choice - for the articles of course - but added that in Penthouse or Hustler the pictures were better and they had less articles taking up space than Playboy. Ok. Good to know. Wait. But don't you buy them FOR the articles?? Nevermind.
So at 11am, when I suspect the convenience store business is slow, I ventured off to a 7-11 far from my home and workplace. I went to the magazine aisle and found a Men's Health, a Maxium, and a Playboy. But remembering that the guys said 'Penthouse' or 'Hustler' I searched and searched. Nope. Damn. I'm going to have to ASK for that one. Ok, I can do this. Yup.just after all the innocent customers here for bubble gum and newspapers clear out...after 15 minutes hiding in the chocolate bar aisle, the place finally cleared out! I saw my chance and I took it. I casually threw my men's magazines and Reese cups on the counter.
Calm. Cool. Collected.
He was ringing in my playboy when I blurt out, 'do you got any penthouse or hustler back there?' (yes - I said 'do you got.')
The clerk looked up at me very seriously. "No ma'am," he replies. "7-11 and MAC's, we do not carry REAL porn."
A bit stunned at the response, having expected it to all be over in the next three minutes, I hear myself say "Oh, uh.do you uh know where can I get some?"
Now he just looks sorry for me. "Ma'am, I really don't know. You could try the grocery store three blocks down. My parents used to own a store and they carried the real good magazines, but no more. I don't know where to go. Maybe ask them at the grocery store down there." He points.
Oh geez. I pay. I leave. I never look him in the eye.
As I'm driving back to the office I pass the grocery store he mentioned. I hesitate, then think, no, I just can't start walking into random establishments asking for dirty magazines. If I knew they had them, ok, but I'm not just going to roll the dice.
So I drive past. But then I see the 'Toy Box'. The windows are covered in black paper, paint is peeling off the door, but a little "OPEN" sign draws me in. If the Toy Box doesn't have 'REAL' porn then no place will. I enter. I scan quickly, I see no one, I spot a magazine rack to my right. JACKPOT! I quickly go over, the sooner I get out the better. I reach down to grab the first glossy Penthouse I see.
The moment my fingers touch the plastic packaging I hear, "My, my, I see you know EXACTLY what you are looking for and EXACTLY where to find it!"
OMG.
Note to self: next time in sex shop spend first 3 minutes looking confused and disoriented.
I slowly turn to see a sweaty, creepy dude right behind me.
Note to self: next time enter sex shop, bring bear spray.
Turns out creepy guy was the sales guy. He told me he was in the back doing some 'housekeeping' when I had come in, but the beads of sweat indicated perhaps something other than light dusting. I didn't care, I just wanted out. I wanted to pay. I wanted to go. I wanted my mommy.
Note to self: never enter sex shop again. What 7-11 doesn't sell, I don't need!
FYI - Female or Male - if you end up in the hospital and a package arrives from me - trust me - it's flowers.
happy friday!
tanya
For a female, easy - you bring flowers. She looks at the splash of colour, thinks of you thinking of her, and smiles. Mission accomplished.
But men don't stare at flowers and think 'oh, pretty!' But they do seem to like staring at naked chicks... So I thought, what better then a playboy magazine to brighten his day! He can stare at the pictures and think 'oh, pretty!' or whatever guys think when they look at the naked lady pictures, and when he's bored of staring he can read the articles. They must be good - that is why guys buy them after all. But in order to do this, I had to ask a couple guys I work with where to find a playboy magazine. Hoping they would suggest a place that had self checkouts, I was very disappointed to hear that not only would I have to go to a convenience store, but I would likely have to ask the dude at the counter for it. They also said that playboy was a good choice - for the articles of course - but added that in Penthouse or Hustler the pictures were better and they had less articles taking up space than Playboy. Ok. Good to know. Wait. But don't you buy them FOR the articles?? Nevermind.
So at 11am, when I suspect the convenience store business is slow, I ventured off to a 7-11 far from my home and workplace. I went to the magazine aisle and found a Men's Health, a Maxium, and a Playboy. But remembering that the guys said 'Penthouse' or 'Hustler' I searched and searched. Nope. Damn. I'm going to have to ASK for that one. Ok, I can do this. Yup.just after all the innocent customers here for bubble gum and newspapers clear out...after 15 minutes hiding in the chocolate bar aisle, the place finally cleared out! I saw my chance and I took it. I casually threw my men's magazines and Reese cups on the counter.
Calm. Cool. Collected.
He was ringing in my playboy when I blurt out, 'do you got any penthouse or hustler back there?' (yes - I said 'do you got.')
The clerk looked up at me very seriously. "No ma'am," he replies. "7-11 and MAC's, we do not carry REAL porn."
A bit stunned at the response, having expected it to all be over in the next three minutes, I hear myself say "Oh, uh.do you uh know where can I get some?"
Now he just looks sorry for me. "Ma'am, I really don't know. You could try the grocery store three blocks down. My parents used to own a store and they carried the real good magazines, but no more. I don't know where to go. Maybe ask them at the grocery store down there." He points.
Oh geez. I pay. I leave. I never look him in the eye.
As I'm driving back to the office I pass the grocery store he mentioned. I hesitate, then think, no, I just can't start walking into random establishments asking for dirty magazines. If I knew they had them, ok, but I'm not just going to roll the dice.
So I drive past. But then I see the 'Toy Box'. The windows are covered in black paper, paint is peeling off the door, but a little "OPEN" sign draws me in. If the Toy Box doesn't have 'REAL' porn then no place will. I enter. I scan quickly, I see no one, I spot a magazine rack to my right. JACKPOT! I quickly go over, the sooner I get out the better. I reach down to grab the first glossy Penthouse I see.
The moment my fingers touch the plastic packaging I hear, "My, my, I see you know EXACTLY what you are looking for and EXACTLY where to find it!"
OMG.
Note to self: next time in sex shop spend first 3 minutes looking confused and disoriented.
I slowly turn to see a sweaty, creepy dude right behind me.
Note to self: next time enter sex shop, bring bear spray.
Turns out creepy guy was the sales guy. He told me he was in the back doing some 'housekeeping' when I had come in, but the beads of sweat indicated perhaps something other than light dusting. I didn't care, I just wanted out. I wanted to pay. I wanted to go. I wanted my mommy.
Note to self: never enter sex shop again. What 7-11 doesn't sell, I don't need!
FYI - Female or Male - if you end up in the hospital and a package arrives from me - trust me - it's flowers.
happy friday!
tanya
My Best Side
Do you know what is on the top of my head?
White hair.
Not grey. Not light. WHITE.
I thought about pulling them out this morning, but then I'd have this bald spot and I'm not sure which is worse.
There are more than a few more than 6 and they are right up there front and centre. I mean, why wouldn't they go somewhere more hidden - somewhere I wouldn't have to stare at them everytime I pass by a mirror, window, drinking glass.
Preferably on someone else's head.
You know though, even with the white hair, I still do get comments about how young I look from time to time. I thought it was nice. Flattering even. Until I realized what was really happening.....
I walked into the casino and this 'bouncer' came running over, "Miss, can I see your ID," he asked me as he reached out and grabbed my arm.
I turned to face him and said, "Sure."
But before I could reach down for my purse he said, "Oh no, that's ok, you're old enough."
"WHAT?!? How do you know?!??!"
Ya, like I said, all the white ones right up front......
Sigh.....
It's sad the day you realize that your back side has become your best side....
happy friday!
tanya
White hair.
Not grey. Not light. WHITE.
I thought about pulling them out this morning, but then I'd have this bald spot and I'm not sure which is worse.
There are more than a few more than 6 and they are right up there front and centre. I mean, why wouldn't they go somewhere more hidden - somewhere I wouldn't have to stare at them everytime I pass by a mirror, window, drinking glass.
Preferably on someone else's head.
You know though, even with the white hair, I still do get comments about how young I look from time to time. I thought it was nice. Flattering even. Until I realized what was really happening.....
I walked into the casino and this 'bouncer' came running over, "Miss, can I see your ID," he asked me as he reached out and grabbed my arm.
I turned to face him and said, "Sure."
But before I could reach down for my purse he said, "Oh no, that's ok, you're old enough."
"WHAT?!? How do you know?!??!"
Ya, like I said, all the white ones right up front......
Sigh.....
It's sad the day you realize that your back side has become your best side....
happy friday!
tanya
Sushi
I don’t mind sushi. Sure, I don’t love the stuff - I’m a farm girl after all, not a mermaid. I’d take a big juicy steak over raw fish wrapped in seaweed any day of the week...
Hey – do you know what I can’t stand? People who claim to be vegetarians but eat seafood. So, you won’t eat a cow cause it’s alive and it can moo so it can feel pain, but you’ll eat a poor little shrimp or a wall-eye? WTF?! Fish have feelings too. Just cause you can’t hear their tiny high-pitched wails underwater and their tears get jumbled up in the ocean before you can decipher them doesn’t mean they aren’t crying.
These people, they call themselves ‘pesce-vegetarians’ and they think by having vegetarian in their label they are somehow more virtuous or moral than us more carnivorous-vegetarians. But I ask, what is the difference between someone who has no qualms chomping on Nemo or Kermit the Frog’s legs, and me who would happily chow down the Easter Bunny or Bambi’s mom?
Ya – Bambi’s mom. I am no longer allowed in the ‘Canadian Wildlife’ exhibit at the Calgary Zoo….my tummy rumbled so loud the zoo-keepers thought it best to protect their moose, elk, deer….Mmmm……deer steak......sorry, what? oh ya….
Who are these people anyway – these fish-a-tarians? Think about all the flies and worms that these non-committal, wanna-be-do-gooder, pesky-people - oops…I mean ‘pesce-people’ - are sacrificing just to catch their dinners. Flies and worms have feelings too people!
If you ask me, these fish-a-tarians are prejudice. Only eating ugly things does not make it ok. Let's face it more people sell puppy calendars than tadpole calendars, but I don’t think that’s a reason to deem them ‘ok to eat’.
See, I don’t judge. Cute things are just as edible as ugly ones.
We live on the top of the food chain – we get to taste EVERYTHING! It’s a locational-perk!
I made a friend in university. Nice enough guy and I liked him probably from the first time I met him, but the day he made the transition from ‘acquaintance’ to ‘friend’ was the day he called me and invited me for dinner cause he was “making vegetarian lasagna”.
Yes, vegetarian….and yes, I showed up. I’m not proud of it given my beliefs, but hell, I was in university – pride didn’t stand a chance against free food!
Anyhow, when he set a plate of vegetarian lasagna in front of me I was ecstatically-surprised to see ground beef falling out all four sides! “Kevin!” I exclaimed, “I thought you said you made vegetarian lasagna!”
“I did.” He said, wondering what the problem was. “I made vegetarian lasagna cause it was healthy, then I added meat so it tasted good.”
Yup. I knew right there…friends for life.
Yes, so anyway, the reason for this email was the sushi – I am wracking my brain to figure out if the world is on a mission to convince me to love sushi or if heaven has me tagged for death-by-salmonella – for the second time in little over a month a restaurant has served me raw meat – different restaurants, different foods. First a raw hamburger at one restaurant; today, raw salmon at another. Well, I’m onto you, Grim Reaper – you won’t get me that easily! I’ll be checkin my chicken!
….and my pig, cow, deer, shrimp, mussels, turkey, deer, halibut…..
happy friday,
tanya
Hey – do you know what I can’t stand? People who claim to be vegetarians but eat seafood. So, you won’t eat a cow cause it’s alive and it can moo so it can feel pain, but you’ll eat a poor little shrimp or a wall-eye? WTF?! Fish have feelings too. Just cause you can’t hear their tiny high-pitched wails underwater and their tears get jumbled up in the ocean before you can decipher them doesn’t mean they aren’t crying.
These people, they call themselves ‘pesce-vegetarians’ and they think by having vegetarian in their label they are somehow more virtuous or moral than us more carnivorous-vegetarians. But I ask, what is the difference between someone who has no qualms chomping on Nemo or Kermit the Frog’s legs, and me who would happily chow down the Easter Bunny or Bambi’s mom?
Ya – Bambi’s mom. I am no longer allowed in the ‘Canadian Wildlife’ exhibit at the Calgary Zoo….my tummy rumbled so loud the zoo-keepers thought it best to protect their moose, elk, deer….Mmmm……deer steak......sorry, what? oh ya….
Who are these people anyway – these fish-a-tarians? Think about all the flies and worms that these non-committal, wanna-be-do-gooder, pesky-people - oops…I mean ‘pesce-people’ - are sacrificing just to catch their dinners. Flies and worms have feelings too people!
If you ask me, these fish-a-tarians are prejudice. Only eating ugly things does not make it ok. Let's face it more people sell puppy calendars than tadpole calendars, but I don’t think that’s a reason to deem them ‘ok to eat’.
See, I don’t judge. Cute things are just as edible as ugly ones.
We live on the top of the food chain – we get to taste EVERYTHING! It’s a locational-perk!
I made a friend in university. Nice enough guy and I liked him probably from the first time I met him, but the day he made the transition from ‘acquaintance’ to ‘friend’ was the day he called me and invited me for dinner cause he was “making vegetarian lasagna”.
Yes, vegetarian….and yes, I showed up. I’m not proud of it given my beliefs, but hell, I was in university – pride didn’t stand a chance against free food!
Anyhow, when he set a plate of vegetarian lasagna in front of me I was ecstatically-surprised to see ground beef falling out all four sides! “Kevin!” I exclaimed, “I thought you said you made vegetarian lasagna!”
“I did.” He said, wondering what the problem was. “I made vegetarian lasagna cause it was healthy, then I added meat so it tasted good.”
Yup. I knew right there…friends for life.
Yes, so anyway, the reason for this email was the sushi – I am wracking my brain to figure out if the world is on a mission to convince me to love sushi or if heaven has me tagged for death-by-salmonella – for the second time in little over a month a restaurant has served me raw meat – different restaurants, different foods. First a raw hamburger at one restaurant; today, raw salmon at another. Well, I’m onto you, Grim Reaper – you won’t get me that easily! I’ll be checkin my chicken!
….and my pig, cow, deer, shrimp, mussels, turkey, deer, halibut…..
happy friday,
tanya
Monday, April 18, 2011
What Wedding?!
Did you know that everyone in the UK gets the day off for the royal wedding?
EVERYone.
Regardless of if you RSVP’d to the wedding or not.
WTF, I ask you?
WTF?? Or rather should I say WAC??
What About Canada?
Is this not also OUR royal wedding?? Are we no longer a part of this commonwealth?!? When the queen speaks are we not expected to listen?!
...wait, what is that on the back of every single Canadian loonie?? It's on every single toonie too?! Oh ya…..
Every time I buy a stick of gum, or flip a coin to start a ball game and it comes up ‘heads’, I am reminded that their queen is my queen. Their prince is my prince. Their Kate Middleton is my Kate Middleton. Yet no one’s called me to tell me I have the day off when they exchange rings.
I keep hoping every time I turn on the news that the queen’s face will appear on the screen as the announcer utters, “The Queen would like to send out a royal apology to Canada for forgetting they exist, and call for an official federal holiday in the country to commemorate the wedding of her grandson in recognition of the ties that the royal family has to the country. In fact to show her sincere regret over the mishap, she has asked Canada to take Monday off as well.”
But the wedding is coming closer and my hopes of this are puttering out. I feel a bit like the smallest child who gets left behind at the gas station on family vacation.
I am going to personally call the queen regarding this issue.
HELLO??? Queen??? It’s me. Tanya. From Canada. Remember? Canada. That big land mass that you stop by when you are craving a really good steak. Ya. Not sure if anyone’s told you, but you’re our queen too – you’re on the freakin money!! We put you on the freakin money! The least you could do is give us the day off with the rest of your ‘people’.
If she doesn’t take my call, I will never again call ‘HEADS’ in a coin toss.
Never.
I’ll show her.
happy friday!
tanya
EVERYone.
Regardless of if you RSVP’d to the wedding or not.
WTF, I ask you?
WTF?? Or rather should I say WAC??
What About Canada?
Is this not also OUR royal wedding?? Are we no longer a part of this commonwealth?!? When the queen speaks are we not expected to listen?!
...wait, what is that on the back of every single Canadian loonie?? It's on every single toonie too?! Oh ya…..
Every time I buy a stick of gum, or flip a coin to start a ball game and it comes up ‘heads’, I am reminded that their queen is my queen. Their prince is my prince. Their Kate Middleton is my Kate Middleton. Yet no one’s called me to tell me I have the day off when they exchange rings.
I keep hoping every time I turn on the news that the queen’s face will appear on the screen as the announcer utters, “The Queen would like to send out a royal apology to Canada for forgetting they exist, and call for an official federal holiday in the country to commemorate the wedding of her grandson in recognition of the ties that the royal family has to the country. In fact to show her sincere regret over the mishap, she has asked Canada to take Monday off as well.”
But the wedding is coming closer and my hopes of this are puttering out. I feel a bit like the smallest child who gets left behind at the gas station on family vacation.
I am going to personally call the queen regarding this issue.
HELLO??? Queen??? It’s me. Tanya. From Canada. Remember? Canada. That big land mass that you stop by when you are craving a really good steak. Ya. Not sure if anyone’s told you, but you’re our queen too – you’re on the freakin money!! We put you on the freakin money! The least you could do is give us the day off with the rest of your ‘people’.
If she doesn’t take my call, I will never again call ‘HEADS’ in a coin toss.
Never.
I’ll show her.
happy friday!
tanya
Sunday, March 6, 2011
What Happened to Rock & Roll??
I went to a concert on Tuesday night. I LOVE live music. Love, love, love live music!
And it’s because of this love that I’ve been to a number of concerts in my life. The problem is – I’m short. And the problem with being short at a live show is missing 90% of it because stupid tall people would stand in front of me. So I got good at “fists up”. I’d fight my way through the crowd, any crowd. And I’d take along whoever could survive it, but it wasn’t a feat for the faint of heart. Most people made it halfway up and then couldn’t take it - they'd turn back. Well, see ya later then. If I'd notice, I'd hardly care.
I’d get pushed and pulled and blocked and elbowed – by the time I got to the front I’d have a black eye, two broken toes, thirteen beers spilt on me and have lost at least one article of clothing, be it a hat or a shoe or whatnot – but I didn’t care – I WAS AT THE FRONT!!! Two feet in front of me – guitar strummin’, drum bangin’ talent. Raw, alive, real.
And in between me and that talent….Security. More bouncers than tattoos at a biker bar. And tough too – they had to be.
So, this is what I expected when I went to a concert on Tuesday night. But do you know instead what I found between me and that talent??
Twelve hundred teens and twenty-somethings……..texting. WTF?!?
Texting their facebooks and tweetering their twitters to tell their friends how awesome it was.
I felt the need to yell, "How the hell do you know it’s awesome kid?? You’re missing the whole thing!"
I didn’t see one security guy. Not one. And yet, no one got trampled, no one jumped on the stage screaming and tearing at the lead singers clothes, no one flashed their tat-tats. No one.
Kids sat civilly in their seats. Yes…you read that right – they had SEATS. It was the oddest thing I’d ever seen.
In my day, people with talent were supposed to stand on the stage and make us feel like we were witnessing something freakin amazing and we were there to make them feel like Rock Stars! That was the deal. It was a good deal.
And we still feel like that when we go to concerts. I went to a Glass Tiger concert only a few years ago. Now Alan Frew – hmmm, if you aren’t familiar with Alan Frew well, he wasn’t exactly a George-Clooney-look-alike back in the day, never mind now – anyhow, he came on stage – I think he was 60 or 80, but still dressed like it was 1986 (but a few sizes larger…yup – leather pants – yum). Anyhow – it was in a little hall in Regina. There were about a hundred people.
THEY had security.
And they needed security, cause about ten minutes into the show, people were flinging their panties and trying to rush the stage! Naturally….
I'll never forget that night. Just as we, that night, never forgot the passion.
So kids, if I could, a little advice – turn your stupid cell phones off and start flinging your gotch at the people on the stage in front of you. You’ll never forget the moment when your best friends underwear go flying past your head while you’re rockin’ out to “Don’t forget me while I’m gone…I have loved you for so long…”
Never.
happy friday!
tanya
And it’s because of this love that I’ve been to a number of concerts in my life. The problem is – I’m short. And the problem with being short at a live show is missing 90% of it because stupid tall people would stand in front of me. So I got good at “fists up”. I’d fight my way through the crowd, any crowd. And I’d take along whoever could survive it, but it wasn’t a feat for the faint of heart. Most people made it halfway up and then couldn’t take it - they'd turn back. Well, see ya later then. If I'd notice, I'd hardly care.
I’d get pushed and pulled and blocked and elbowed – by the time I got to the front I’d have a black eye, two broken toes, thirteen beers spilt on me and have lost at least one article of clothing, be it a hat or a shoe or whatnot – but I didn’t care – I WAS AT THE FRONT!!! Two feet in front of me – guitar strummin’, drum bangin’ talent. Raw, alive, real.
And in between me and that talent….Security. More bouncers than tattoos at a biker bar. And tough too – they had to be.
So, this is what I expected when I went to a concert on Tuesday night. But do you know instead what I found between me and that talent??
Twelve hundred teens and twenty-somethings……..texting. WTF?!?
Texting their facebooks and tweetering their twitters to tell their friends how awesome it was.
I felt the need to yell, "How the hell do you know it’s awesome kid?? You’re missing the whole thing!"
I didn’t see one security guy. Not one. And yet, no one got trampled, no one jumped on the stage screaming and tearing at the lead singers clothes, no one flashed their tat-tats. No one.
Kids sat civilly in their seats. Yes…you read that right – they had SEATS. It was the oddest thing I’d ever seen.
In my day, people with talent were supposed to stand on the stage and make us feel like we were witnessing something freakin amazing and we were there to make them feel like Rock Stars! That was the deal. It was a good deal.
And we still feel like that when we go to concerts. I went to a Glass Tiger concert only a few years ago. Now Alan Frew – hmmm, if you aren’t familiar with Alan Frew well, he wasn’t exactly a George-Clooney-look-alike back in the day, never mind now – anyhow, he came on stage – I think he was 60 or 80, but still dressed like it was 1986 (but a few sizes larger…yup – leather pants – yum). Anyhow – it was in a little hall in Regina. There were about a hundred people.
THEY had security.
And they needed security, cause about ten minutes into the show, people were flinging their panties and trying to rush the stage! Naturally….
I'll never forget that night. Just as we, that night, never forgot the passion.
So kids, if I could, a little advice – turn your stupid cell phones off and start flinging your gotch at the people on the stage in front of you. You’ll never forget the moment when your best friends underwear go flying past your head while you’re rockin’ out to “Don’t forget me while I’m gone…I have loved you for so long…”
Never.
happy friday!
tanya
Friday, February 18, 2011
Willy Worm's Family Tree
So most of you are familiar with my issue with worms and the fact that if you cut one in half, and both ends live, they may later meet, fall in love, and mate. It’s a weird predicament, like the worst family tree ever –
Who’s your mom?
Me
Who’s your dad?
Me
Who are you?
Me
And then what if you cut that worm in half and it found it’s other half attractive and it had its own worm-babies again and then it’s grandparents and parents (and then if you cut it half again and it had babies, then it’s kids too) would all be itself.
And you wonder why worms are ugly. At least that’s what I wonder, but is it true?
Well, all the wondering will soon come to an end – I have someone who enlisted their child to do a science project on this.
I was very happy, but it made me realize that I missed my calling.
My calling was actually to be a junior high school science teacher. Imagine all the theories that I could have tested…my very own think tank!!
“Here’s a worm kids and a pair of scissors – go to work!”
sigh...my very own sweat shop!
happy friday!
tanya
PS. just so you are not left hanging - the research was done (not by 9th grade scientists) and in conclusion the same worm could not reproduce with itself in the above situation. In simple terms - if both ends did survive, the butt end couldn't grow a new head and therefore never figure out how to reproduce.
Also - 90% of the butt ends of worms die when split. They may wiggle away, akin to a chicken with it's head chopped off, but they will just shrivel up as soon as you stop looking. Please do not cut worms in half.
Who’s your mom?
Me
Who’s your dad?
Me
Who are you?
Me
And then what if you cut that worm in half and it found it’s other half attractive and it had its own worm-babies again and then it’s grandparents and parents (and then if you cut it half again and it had babies, then it’s kids too) would all be itself.
And you wonder why worms are ugly. At least that’s what I wonder, but is it true?
Well, all the wondering will soon come to an end – I have someone who enlisted their child to do a science project on this.
I was very happy, but it made me realize that I missed my calling.
My calling was actually to be a junior high school science teacher. Imagine all the theories that I could have tested…my very own think tank!!
“Here’s a worm kids and a pair of scissors – go to work!”
sigh...my very own sweat shop!
happy friday!
tanya
PS. just so you are not left hanging - the research was done (not by 9th grade scientists) and in conclusion the same worm could not reproduce with itself in the above situation. In simple terms - if both ends did survive, the butt end couldn't grow a new head and therefore never figure out how to reproduce.
Also - 90% of the butt ends of worms die when split. They may wiggle away, akin to a chicken with it's head chopped off, but they will just shrivel up as soon as you stop looking. Please do not cut worms in half.
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