Who's touching my kitty?

About a month ago Kitty came home without a collar on.  She has a collar on in the first place because one of the first time's I let her outside the neighbour thought she was a stray, put her in a cage and drove her around the neighbour looking for lost kitty posters.  That's another story. 

There are some people out there who think it might have been a blessing if they had of taking her back to the SPCA....

I figured she must have got it caught on something and it had popped off.  No biggie.   I got her a new one, with a new name tag just in case the neighbours are forgetful. 

So tonight she hops up on my lap for a little rub down, which is a rare occurrence on it's own and while I'm stroking her chin, I realize that she is not wearing a collar.  AGAIN!  It's only been a couple weeks! 

So now I'm a little worried because she couldn't have got stuck twice, so close together after having successfully wore the first collar for almost 2 years without losing it!  This leads me to believe that someone was brave enough to take the collar of her.  Perhaps as a souvenir of being able to get so close to "the beast".  This is what I imagine the neighbourhood kids call her. 

She is the kind of cat that when I hear little children screaming outside, I timidly peer out the door to make sure the kitty isn't trying to eat one of them! 

Do you think it could have become a neighbourhood game?  Is there some sort of status to be achieved by successfully removing the collar off of Foxy Lady?!  All I know is if I see any little kids, or adults (let's not discount them) wearing a kitty tag that says "Foxy Lady aka Kitty",  I'm setting her loose on them!

PS I realize this post makes me sound very angry but I'm not really.  It's all very humorous considering no one in their right mind gets close to Kitty on purpose.  Except for Stephanie, who I think enjoys being bitten...

Race Bandit?

This past weekend I completed my 2nd half marathon.  In the past year I've become "addicted" to running and have really enjoyed training for these races as well as a couple of shorter ones.  Now, even though it is not expected that you look like a model while running a 21.1km race, there are some people who pull it off really well.  I am not one of those people.  I tend to turn bright red and look like this:

I know, hot!

It has also become apparent that the photos of me, which are taken by professional photographers during these races, either turn out horrible or are few and far between.  It is almost as if I have dodged off during the race and found a shortcut to the end OR the photographer feels as it is better that I don't see what I look like.

The photo's for the Scotiabank 1/2 Marathon are now up and although there are very few of me (again!), the photos that were taken "take the cake" this time!  Not because of me.  I look surprisingly normal. 

I'm the runner on the left hand side, top of the frame.  I'm casually stopping my watch as I cross the finish line.  I know you didn't notice me first though...all you can see is the guy in the red shirt...

 Is this a face of extreme pain? Immense joy of being finished? Is this a face that says "I really should have stopped at the porta-potty at 18k!?"

And it get's better.... 

Photo Credit

See me?  I look happy!

Where is his race bib?  Did he even run the race?  Maybe he's a race bandit!

There isn't a single photo of me without this dude!  I will always remember this race as the one where I finished behind the guy who might have just s**t his pants!

Listen to your mom

I was the kind of kid whose parents would say “I can’t wait until you have kids and they are just like you”.    I don’t have kids yet but if my cat is an indication of how karma is going to bite me in the ass, I’m screwed!

My parents raised my brother and me to make our own decisions and to accept the consequences of our actions, good or bad.    I made a lot of interesting decisions.

I was stubborn.  My mom tells me that one day she had to go to the bank and I had to go with her.  For whatever reason on that day, I was adamant on wearing a pair of underwear on my head, so she let me.  I have given up trying to decipher why I did the things that I did as a child and have chalked it up to a weird combination of East Coast/British genes.  The more I learn about my parents the more I believe that I am genetically predisposed to my quirks. 

My mom grew up in a house that had a two-seater outhouse...

Side note:  When I goggled “two seater outhouse” to find a picture I found this.  I promise that this is NOT what I was referring to.

My dad once ate a hearty portion of a bag of cement powder (Solution: do not eat any rocks or water and then proceed to roll around for a day or two)...

This leads me to the day in primary school when I decided to wear a see-through outfit.  A older girl down the road had given me a bunch of her old dress up clothes.   I was immediately in love with these clothes because A: they were given to me by a girl who was 5 years older than me and therefore immediately considered cool and B: because there was one outfit in particular that was purple and sparkly. 

I decided that because I loved the purple outfit that I was going to wear it to school.  I got up one morning and put it on. 

Mom:  Jody, you probably shouldn’t wear that to school because it is see-through.

Me: No it isn’t. 

Mom:  Yes it is.  The kids are going to make fun of you.

Me (becoming increasingly stubborn): NO IT ISN’T. 

My mom didn’t make me change.  She had given me the option, let me weigh the pros and cons and then allowed me to make the decision.  I was wearing the purple sparkly outfit to school! 

So not only was this outfit very see-through it was also made of some combination of completely unnatural fibres and as the day went on it became increasingly itchy. 

Kid:  I can see you underwear

Me: No you can’t!

Other Kid: Yes we can!  Jody has hearts on her underwear.  Jody has hearts on her underwear.

This is when I realized that my mom hadn’t been trying to trick me out of wearing this amazing outfit to school.  She had been telling the truth.  I had willingly gone to school in an outfit that you could see my underwear through!  Sadly me being in my underwear in public is becoming a reaccuring theme.

There was nothing that I could do.  I had to stick out the rest of the day with my underwear on parade until I got home.  In tears I proclaimed to my mother that the kids had made fun of me and they could see my underwear!  She told me that she had warned me, which was true.  From that day forward I have never had the urge to wear something see-through out in public.  Not even in university where wearing a shirt as a dress is apparently acceptable.  Maybe short, maybe low cut, but never see-through!   

The lesson's I have learned from bicylces

EDIT:  I've added #8 which I had forgotten about, likely because of the head trama it involves!

1: Do not drive down the Beach Meadows boardwalk on your bike with your eyes closed. You will hit the railing and fall off your bike.


2: Do not purposely ride your bike head first into your brother’s bike when you are racing around the house. He is much bigger and heavier than you.

3: Do not let your best friend drive your new princess bike on the day you received it as a birthday present. She will like it just as much as you and will not want to get off. You will proceed to get in a fight, one of you will get punched in the nose and someone’s hair will get pulled and both of you will end up crying. You will make up 15 minutes later.

4: Do not get too attached to your princess bike because a couple years down the road, your brother will dismantle your bike to use parts of it to assemble a strange combination of your little bike and his big bike.

5: Do not let your older much larger brother drive your bike, especially if you still like it. He will proceed to fall over the handle bars while going UP hill, break off the gear shifters and possibly break his nose. You will then feel the need to run home in tears like a wild child and proclaim to your parents that you have killed your brother!

6: Do not stop suddenly after going down a large hill when the person behind you had not mastered the art of hand breaks! They will run into you and bend the rim of you tire.

7: When crossing railways tracks on your bike, always abide by the road signs. If you are not careful and the road is slippery, you will slip into the railway tracks, and fly over the handle bars of your bike into traffic.  The hand grips will fly off,  the front tire will be twisted backwards and the chain will get wound around the foot peddles. Traffic will continue to drive around you as you lie stunned and bleeding on the road. A homeless man will eventually take pity on you and help you to the side of the road. He will be nice to you and offer to get you some band aids from a friend of his.

8: When your brother asks you to do something, you should probably listen because he does not make empty threats.  When your brother is practicing his slap shot in the driveway and you keep driving your bike in front of the net, he will ask you to stop.   Being an annoying little sister you will continue to drive you bike around in circles in front of the net.  He will threaten to shoot the puck at you, but you will not listen.  He WILL shoot the puck at you and it will hit you full force on the side of the head and will probably knock you off the bike.  You will cry and run to your mom and her response will be:

Mom:  Did he ask you to stop?

Me (sobing): Yesss

Mom:  Did you?

Me (still sobing):  Noooo

My mom tried to give me away...

My mom kindly reminded me of this story tonight while we were talking and I feel like I should quickly share the story before I forget it!

So as you can imagine, I was a bit of a terror of a child.  Not in the bad way (if that makes sense).  I wasn't a bad kid by any means but I definitely tested my parents patience...from day 1.

My mom has told me many times that when I was little she tried to give me back to the doctor.  I was very allergic to cows milk but before they figured this out all I did was cry and thump around in my bed.  As my mom told me tonight she already had one child and she knew that this wasn't normal, that there must be something wrong with me!

So on a particularly trying evening she took me to the doctor, who is also a very close family friend and told him "if you don't think there is anything wrong with her, then you keep her!".  The thought of having to keep me scared him enough to take my mom's concerns seriously and they quickly discovered that it was the cows milk. 

What my mom hadn't told me before is that prior to this episode she had left me overnight with one of her friends.  I was so horrible during those 12 or so hours, that the lady very shortly after went to have her tubes tied!!!  As a child I single handily made a women decide to forgo the option of having children!!  

Impressive or incredibly sad?! 

Golf Day

Since tomorrow is our annual work golf tournament I thought I would reminisce about this tournament 2 years ago. The 2008 golf tournament is the one that sticks out in my memory because the firm opted to have the meeting first and the golf second which meant that the beer carts were out in full force for the entire length of the tournament!


Accountants (work hard/party hard attitude in play) + beer + hot summer’s day = FUN

So as you can all probably tell by now, if there is a way for me to make a situation awkward, I will find it. Also, if there is a way to embarrass myself in front of my colleagues then I will also do that.

The day was going by fairly uneventfully. I was in a great foursome and since we were playing best ball, the game wasn’t too tedious. That was until I decided to try to retrieve something that was at the bottom of my golf bag while waiting for my team to finish their shots.

The bag was strapped to the back of the golf cart. I’ve got fairly long monkey arms but they are not quite long enough to reach the very bottom of my golf bag so I had to really stretch out to reach the bottom. So here I am with my arm, pit deep in my golf bag when I realize that I can’t pull it back out! I don’t know if it was because of the angle that my arms was in the bag since it was elevated on the back of the golf cart, or the width of my enormous pipes or a combination of the two, but my arm was wedged in the bag and was not about to move.

This is when I start to panic.

Do I keep pulling and hope that it will dislodge itself?

Do I ask someone in my foursome to help me out?

Do I just lean up against the bag casually as if it’s normal to have your arm entirely inside your golf bag and hope to god that nobody jumps into the cart and takes off?! What do I do?!

I don’t have much time to make up my mind before the team decides to move to the next hole. This is when I realize that I need to ask for help. GC, happened to be the first to notice that I was doing something strange so I had to suck it up and admit to him that my arm is stuck in the golf bag. Now GC is always the first to poke fun at me when I’ve made a fool of myself. I’m sure he would swear that he is laughing with me, not at me. So the first thing that he does, before trying to help solve the problem, is take a picture!

Now my embarrassment is immortalized for all to see! Ok, maybe I’m being slightly dramatic but there is definitely proof so I will not be able to deny it and chalk it up to GC’s wild imagination after 1 to many “pops”.  Thankfully GC took pity on me and unstrapped the bag from the cart and helped me shimmy my arm out of the hole.

Now let’s jump a couple months forward to our annual Christmas Party. A slide show was put together with photos from all the events that had been held during the year, including the golf day. So periodically through the night, this photo of me stuck in the golf bag would show up on screen.  I would smile to myself and then "oh Jody, why do you do these things". Then this photo popped up:

Just when you think you’ve embarrassed yourself enough for one year, someone finds a photo like this! The icing on the cake.

Wish me luck tomorrow!

Why I wanted to be like my brother, I will never understand

So this post is not so much a story but a list of ridiculous things that my brother convinced me to believe when I was little. I’m sure I will continue to think of things to put on this list for years to come. I want to believe that I’m not quite as gullible any more, but that is questionable. I’m not going to tell you what age I was during these events. I will let you imagine me at the age you believe appropriate!

First off, I’m going to introduce my brother with the most flattering picture that I have of him:

Note: I did not ask permission to post this photo so i hope it does not result in an atomic wedgie the next time I see him

Secondly, I'm going to prove to you that I would do anything to be just like my brother with another photo:

Alright...now that we have that over with, on to things that the brother convinced me were true:


My middle name was Scruff

That’s right, Jody Scruff Porter. Do you know how embarrassing it is to introduce yourself to new friends as Jody Scruff Porter? As an aside to this point, he was justified in naming me Scruff as I basically looked dishevelled every day of my childhood, at no fault to my parents. I’m slightly more put together now, but it takes work, people!

In general I did not seem to understand the concept of a middle name. After the scruff incident I then went on to believe that everyone’s middle name was either Leigh or Lee. My middle name is Leigh, my brother’s is Lee, my neighbour’s was Leigh and the list went on so I just assumed it was a standard name!

Cows were horses and horses were cows

Now you might not think this was a terrible thing for him to teach me and that it was just a normal brotherly sisterly relationship. If you think that then you underestimate just how much weight I used to put in what my brother taught me. He was my older brother so he HAD to be right. He would never trick me!

I think my parents thought that this was kind of cute as we would be driving down the highway and when passing various farms, I would shout out cow, horse, cow, cow and each time it would be the opposite of what I said. They might have even thought I was joking until the day that we went to visit my cousin in NB. She had recently got a new horse which I was really excited to meet. As we pulled up to their home there was a cow standing at the end of the road. With joy and excitement in my voice I said “Is that Belle’s horse?” I was being serious. I had no clue that it was a cow. That was the day that I learned just how sneaky a brother could be!

Sneaking into the neighbour’s yard was not dangerous

Ok, so why were we sneaking into our neighbour’s yard? Well, we were constantly losing our toys over the monstrous hedge that separated our land from theirs. These neighbours were not the friendliest of people and didn’t understand the importance of us coming on to their property to retrieve our belongings. So we had to be sneaky. On most days this went undetected except for 1 day which I will never forget.

We were playing with a ball and I’m sure we were having a ton of fun until the ball went over the hedge. My brother wasn’t the bravest of little boys (sorry, but it’s true!) so he sent me on the ball retrieval trip. I was so happy to be playing with my brother that I would have done anything to keep the fun going so I took on the challenge willingly. To be honest, I don’t even think that I thought that much about it. He asked so I did it. Now a key part of this story, is that on this particular day I was wearing a dress. This was unusual because I was not a girly girl. Unfortunately on this day, the ball had landed in a particularly horrible spot. In a ground nesting bee’s nest!! That’s right; there are some bee’s that make their home underground. I didn’t see this nest and stomped up to the ball and straight into it. The bee’s went bezerk since I had just smooched their home.

Have you ever had a bee fly up your dress? Have you ever had multiple bees flying around under your dress? I don’t recommend trying it out.

I had bee’s everywhere and unfortunately bee’s leave their stingers so everywhere that they stung me, the stinger then had to be removed. I ran home most likely screaming and in panic! When my parents realized what had happened they brought me into the house and began extracting all the stingers.

Now I don’t remember exactly how many stingers had to be pulled out (I’m my mind it was hundreds but it was probably closer to 50, or maybe that’s an exaggeration s well) but I do remember that they were in my hair and in my dress and that it was very painful. I guess the bright side of this story is that I wasn’t allergic?!


I know I said that this was less like a story and more like a list but I lied. In order to show the why these things were so funny, I must elaborate a little. There are many more things that my brother convinced me to do during our childhood and even into adulthood. He continues to convince me to do things that I would otherwise be too cautions to attempt!

I assaulted a man today

EDIT:  Ok, maybe assaulted is a little over dramatic. 

If there is a way to make myself look awkward in a situation, I do.  Like the time I got my arm stuck up to the armpit in my golf bag.  A story I will have to tell another day.   

This morning while waiting at the fake Starbucks in Jackson Square to feed my caffeine addiction, I did just that.  Now, since this is Hamilton, it is pretty hard to make a fool of yourself in comparison to the daily rift raft that hang out in Jackson Square, but I managed to do just so.

I was second in line and I had already gotten the exact change out of my wallet to pay.  I didn't want to hold up the line while scrounging around my wallet trying to find 15 pennies. I hate when you get stuck behind one of those people. 

Since this week has been unusually hot, I was feeling a little sticky from my walk from the parking lot to the Starbucks.  My hair was kind of stuck to my face and in my mind I was going to gently brush it to the side, so that it didn't end up in my mouth when I placed my order.  Because that would be embarrassing.

Instead, when my brain told my arm to gently brush the side of my face this is what actually happened. I dramatically swept my hair out of my face using way more force than required.  Very hollywood and totally unnecessary.  Who do I think I am?  At the same time, I forgot that I had a bunch of change in my fist. I opened my fist and the money went flying.  Unfortunately there was a man standing right behind me.  The handful of money hit him, probably mid chest and then bounced all over the floor. 

I turned around to apologize, trying to hide my laughter because that's what I do when I know I've made a fool of myself plus it actually was really funny!  I would have laughed at someone else who did the same thing.  Who throws their money at someone?!  He just stared blankly at me like I was an idiot.  Which isn't really far from the truth because most people have better motor skills than me.  So I apologized and giggled to prove to him that it was funny and he should at least smile.  He didn't make a sound and continued to start at me.  I then scrounged around on the floor picking up my change that was now surrounding his feet.  

What does someone do in a situation like this after they have made a scene and then been denied the customary "Don't worry about it"?  I placed my order, avoided eye contact with everyone else in the store and high tailed it out of there!

Is this a joke?

Apparently it is cheaper to fly from Toronto->Edmonton->Halifax then directly from Toronto->Halifax......

*insert wide eyed open mouthed stare*

Really?!  Does that not feel wrong to anyone else? 

*insert cricket sounds*

Anyone?!

Tomato Nightmare

The tomato plants are out of control!  Seriously, they are out of control.  Nice weather combined with super fertilizer and lack of maintenance have turned this plants into trees.  I'm not joking.  They are now tomato trees. I love tomatoes, but not this much!

Yes, that's a hockey stick holding up the cage.

I knew that they were out of control but I did not realize just how out of control they really were till a few moments ago when I went outside to do some weeding.  I peered out of my backyard into the communal area of the condo corp, and to my surprise, the tomato trees have grown threw the fence into the common area!  Making my yard look like a jungle!  I'm sure the neighbours and the condo corp are very pleased with this.

Damn "suckers", I should have listened when I was told to pull you out, but no, I didn't.  I never imagined that a tomato plant could be so stressful.  

I am not a Koala Bear

I’ve been trying to write about some recent events but my mind is so cluttered with childhood memories at the moment that I just need to get them out before I can start talking about life as it is right now.


I used to think I was a koala bear. I’m not sure why a koala bear, but who doesn’t like koalas? They are adorable!

On this particular summer’s day in my parent’s backyard I decided to test out my koala like qualities. I had probably just watched a cartoon or WWF commercial showing a koala like this one:

See, sooo cute!

Now to set up the scenario, my parents had an old shed that usually housed the lawn mower and other dilapidated items. I hated going in this shed cause it was always full of spiders but it did come in handy as you could easily jump on to the roof from the upper yard. My parents told me that I wasn’t allowed to get on top because the shed was rotting and I could fall through. If only they knew that it wasn’t the shed that was dangerous, it was my imagination that they should have worried about! Directly beside the shed were two very tall skinny trees. My dad will be very embarrassed that I can’t remember the type of tree. They were the kind of tree that had lots of tiny branches that were pliable. These trees were close to the shed but just far enough that you couldn’t grab them.

Ok, now that you have a visual of the shed, let’s get to the story. So you have to understand that in my mind, I was a Koala, there was no doubt about it. I didn’t even question that perhaps I wasn’t a Koala and just a fearless little kid with an over active imagination. So I jumped on the roof of the shed, already feeling a pang of guilt because I knew I was breaking the “no climbing on the shed” rule. So I had to act quickly so that I wouldn’t get caught on top of the shed. No time to calculate the risks of this adventure. No time to question what would happen if it didn’t go as planned. No time to be scared of how tall the shed really was in comparison to me. There was certainly no time to think about the laws of gravity that were about to come into play.

I took the leap. I jumped at one of the trees.

In my Koala imagination, this is how this scenario played out: I would jump into the tree. Since I was a Koala bear, I would be able to grab on to the tree, wrap my arms and legs around the trunk and stay there. I would probably stay there for the rest of the day, just chilling out like a koala. Maybe I would even try eating a leaf or two. Who knows?!

This is what happened in real life: I jumped full speed at the tree. I reached the tree but instead of clinging elegantly to the trunk, I hit it with a thud. I then plummeted to the ground at a force that my little brain had not anticipated. Since the tree’s branches were so pliable there was nothing to break my fall, I just kept falling breaking the branches as I went. In retrospect that was probably the better scenario than impaling myself on a larger branch! At least I didn’t lose any vital organs in this adventure!

In a daze I found myself at the bottom of the tree, covered in parts of tree and leaves and incredibly shocked at how my Koala qualities had failed me. I WASN’T A REAL KOALA BEAR!!!!

Now I don’t really remember what happened after this but I do know that I wasn’t seriously hurt, just some scrapes and bruises. I do remember that shortly after this incident, my father chopped down the two trees. For those of you who know my dad, you will understand how big of a deal it is that he had to cut down the trees. I guess he knew me well enough to know that I didn’t often learn from my mistakes!

I am also proud to say that I no longer have a Koala Bear identity crisis.

New Name

I've decided to change my blog title after several prompts from Mr. Grant Cuylle.  He claims that he is my one and only reader, although he has yet to figure out the comment function.  I have to say, it does have a certain ring to it that "Sincerely, Jo" was lacking. 

Maybe one of these days I will really spice things up and add a real header with pictures!

Julia and the Poodle

Recently my mom reminded me off my childhood imaginary friends. Julia and a poodle. I don’t remember the poodle’s name but that may be because the memory of him has been suppressed due to his tragic death, which I will elaborate on later.

Julia was not a normal imaginary friend. Julia was a deviant. She liked to push boundaries and break all the rules. I on the other hand have always followed the rules, although my parents may think differently. My friends are sworn to secrecy!

There is one incident that I remember quite vividly. My parents had purchased a mini sewing machine for me. Much like this one:

It worked just like a normal sized sewing machine, but it was mini. I liked this sewing machine. I enjoyed being able to be my mom`s sewing sidekick. But then Julia showed up. Now from what I can remember, I liked Julia. In terms of imaginary friends, she was cool. She wasn`t all that bright though. On this particular occasion, Julia decided to sabotage the mini sewing machine. She took a pair of scissors and cut the machines peddle right off the sewing machine! I don’t think she understood that without the peddle it was completely useless. She did not hesitate and had no regard for how my parents would react.

Parents: Jody, why did you cut of the foot of your sewing machine?

Me: Julia did it.

Parents: Jody....

Me: Julia did it.

Now my parents may say that it was me that cut of the peddle off my sewing machine but it was most definitely Julia`s fault.

Now on to the poodle. Let’s call it Fluffy because that’s the first name that comes to mind. Again, Fluffy’s death was so tragic; I have erased all my memories of him. This story is purely based on my parent’s recollection of the events.

Fluffy, not unlike Julia, was the source of many irritating moments for my parents. I’m sure I didn’t feel the same way but as noted with Julia above, we often had differing opinions on my imaginary friends.

My family was on a road trip, most likely to New Brunswick to visit family. I had decided on this particular trip that Fluffy should come with us. Being a small child, I sometimes had trouble controlling my imaginary dog. Fluffy was being particularly annoying on this trip. I can only assume that he was running all over the place, probably all over my dad while he was trying to concentrate on driving. Fluffy was out of control and my dad had reached his boiling point with my imaginary poodle. At the peak of the chaos, my father asked if he could see Fluffy. Being a trusting child, I handed over my precious childhood friend. I was not at all prepared for what was about to happen.

My father rolled down his window and tossed Fluffy out. –“Insert open mouth, wide eyed stare”-

Fluffy was never heard of again. My father maintains to this day that Fluffy might have survived this incident. I’m pretty sure that it was this incident that caused me to erase all childhood memories of my beloved imaginary pet dog.

Note: All animal lovers, please remember, that this is an imaginary pet. My father does not usually harm animals.  His actions were out of sheer exhastion of dealing with his childs crazy imagination.  Also, I do not normally think animal cruelty is humorous, aside from the first post about the dead bird. Sometimes I can’t control what things make me laugh.

Dad, I forgive you.

If Found Please Return to Room #__

One of my best friends was visiting Toronto on a job hunting adventure. Sarah was staying in a hotel for the weekend when I decided to visit her. From the top of the night, we could both tell it was going to be an evening to remember. It lived up to our expectations.


We ended up at a very nice restaurant on King St. They were booked solid but after some slight persuasion, they were able to find a table. This is where the madness began. The food was great but the wine was even better. We got the royal treatment with the chef sending out dessert and port on the house as well as an extra bottle of wine at no cost to us. Or at least not to our wallets, my dignity is another thing. So by this point it’s fairly late, we are 2 bottles of wine and a glass of port in the bag and ready to head back to the hotel. We wanted to ward off the hangover that was looming on the horizon, so we stopped at a convenience shop and each both a very large bottle of water.

Back at the hotel we changed into our pj’s, downed our bottles of water and said good night. This is the last part of the story that makes any sense to me.

My next memory is realizing that I was no longer in my bed, but that I was now standing in the hallway of the hotel...in a “kiss me I’m not Irish” t-shirt and my undies!!!! You can imagine my confusion. WHAT was I doing out here? At this point, I was still very disillusioned and disoriented. Since this was not my hotel room, I hadn’t made a point of remembering what the room number actually was. I did remember where it was in relation to the elevator.

At the time it seemed logical that I would just trace my steps from the elevator to the hotel room. So I did this a couples times until I was certain that I was outside the correct hotel room. So I knocked. Keep in mind, that it was now approximately 3am and I was dressed very inappropriately to be wondering around a hotel and randomly knocking on people’s doors.

No one answers.

I knocked again. Imagine my surprise, when the person who opens the door, isn’t Sarah, but a middle age man. He looked very confused. As mentioned above, I still had no idea why I was in the hallway, so I can only imagine that my explanation to him made little to no sense. I got out of there as fast as I could and started to work out plan#2.

“I have to go to the Lobby”

I was scared to take the elevator in fear that someone might see me. I wasn’t thinking that once I got to the lobby I was going to have to see people. So I took the stairs. A lot of stairs. Finally I emerged from the stairwell, barefoot, in my undies and my “kiss me I’m not Irish” t-shirt.

The Lobby is full of people. WHY???

Now everyone was staring at me. Rightfully so. I tried to act normal but I just managed to look more awkward than I already was. You know when you can tell that a person thinks you are crazy even before you open your mouth? This is the feeling that I had when I approached the front desk. I think the conversation went something like this:

Me: I can’t find my room.

Scared Man: Do you have a room here?

Me: No. My friend does, but I don’t remember the number.

Scared Man: Why are you not in the room?

Me: I’m not sure. I think I had to pee.

Scared Man: -Blank Stare- I can’t give you the number. You are going to have to call your “friend” and ask yourself.

I walked across the lobby to the courtesy phone and found my friends name. I called. No answer. I called again. Still no answer. I called again and Sarah picked up. I calmly tried to explain that I needed the room number and that I was in the lobby. Her response was “but why are you not in the room right now? Why did you leave?” Again, my answer was “I don’t know!!”

Finally, at least an hour later, I had the room number so I headed to the elevator. I figured that I had left the last bit of my dignity in the lobby as the crowd of people clapped and pointed. It was safe to take the elevator. As I got into the elevator, someone tried to give me a high five and the person already in there was completely dumbfounded.

The next morning when we finally woke up, I realized that I smelt like a camp fire. After going over the story with Sarah, I could not figure out when I would have come in contact with anything remotely smoky. I chalked it up to it just being an incredibly bizarre evening. We headed to Starbucks.

As we were having a coffee in Starbucks, we noticed a commotion going on down the street from out hotel. Fire trucks. A store was on fire! Sarah turned to look at me, eyes wide.

Me: I swear...it wasn’t me!

Perfect Beginning

I have been humming and hawing over how I was going to start this blog without it feeling awkward.  After becoming frustrated, I decided that it could wait until another day.  Then I got home and found the perfect story to start with as an example of the strange things that happen in my day to day life.  So here is the story.  I must give the credit to my cat, Foxy Lady (aka Kitty). 



Last night I found a dead bird in my yard.  Mostly intact and proudly displayed as what I can only assume to be a loving memento from Kitty.  I scooped the thing up with a shovel and put it in a plastic bag to dispose of next garbage day.  I made one critical mistake.  Instead of tossing the bird casket into the garage, like any other normal person would do, I left the bag sitting outside the garage door.  Big mistake. 



I got home from work today, to find that Kitty had dragged the dead bird in it's bag, back upstairs (a small feat on its own) and had almost successfully chewed through the plastic bag to find what she would see as a mid day snack.  The plastic bag, now full of holes from her dagger teeth was sitting next to her food dish as if to say "Dinner, please!".  I can only imagine what I would have come home to if she had of been successful. 

Sorry Kitty, I'm very proud of your hunting abilities, but it's going to be kibble again tonight.