Grills - Not just for grillin’ anymore

Hubby, I have found a new party game for our next summer BBQ. 

Cheese Racing!

How to play?  Players throw a slice of cheese on the grill.  The player whose cheese fully inflates first wins! 

(Don’t you all LOVE that this grill is leveled by beer cans?)

If this doesn’t have trailer park written all over it, I don’t know what does!  But I must say, I am more than a little impressed (not to mention dumbfounded and a little creeped out) that the wrapper on a cheese slice will not melt, despite the cheese inside eventually boiling. 

The folks over at CRASS (Cheese Racing Association) do issue the following warning:

Be sure to ingest large quantities of alcohol and/or other chemical relaxant before (and during) play.  This will relax the body and nervous system, thus minimising the pain of any injury and enabling you to play on. 

Uh… yeah. 

Operation Cuba Bound: Complete

I chuckle at the title of the last post because it contains the word ’snowbank’.  Since writing it, Hubby and I have spent a full week in 30-degree weather and glorious sunshine, compliments of Cuba.  I suppose the white sands of Varadero beach could be mistaken for snow but I assure you, snow was the furthest thing from our minds. 

Operation Cuba Bound was a success:  18 pounds gone (more for Hubby) and 6 months smoke-free.  So off to Cuba we went and it was beautiful.  Palm trees, white sand beach, turquoise water.  Sigh. 

Things learned:

• Driving to the airport the night before and sleeping in your wagon in EconoPark may sound like fun, but …  (wait… did that really sound like fun to me at some point?  I kid, Hubby.  But you have to admit, the overhead planes and 10-minute shuttle did make sleeping rather difficult.)
• All of Cuba seems to be musical. 
• Keep your eyes down when walking in Havana.  Dogs (that seem to be strays) go poo in the streets. 
• Walking in a town/city that is not littered with chains featuring arches and neon lights is rather… well… nice.  Refreshing.  Calming.  And definitely more interesting. 
• If you head to Havana, stop at one of the roadside stands on the way for a $2.50 pina colada that is made from real fruit. 
• Snorkelling.  Do it.  Every time.  Especially if it’s directly off a catamaran. 
• A mojito is way better when you order it in Spanish, sitting in a cafe in Havana. 
• I have learned (again) that a bikini in the Caribbean is completely different than a bikini in Carleton County.

Things that continue to make me shake my head:

• The person that can be in fricking paradise and still complain about the most insignificant things (like their potatoes being cold).
• Litter.  I realize that we were sharing the beach with dozens of younger party types but a garbage can is a garbage can despite your age and, yes, even despite a dozen pina coladas.
• Why do people stand up as soon as the plane has stopped?  More importantly, why do you look at me like I’m strange for staying in my seat until the door is open and the people in front of me are leaving the plane?  Aww, is this your first time?
• On the same vein, is it really necessary to turn on your cell phone as soon as the wheels are on the ground?  Okay, maybe to call your mom who is picking you up.  But do you also need to call your best friend, your great aunt Sadie, your hairdresser, and your cat all before the plane door is open?  You think this makes you somehow look important, eh?  More like self-important, I think.  And a little rude. 

Okay, so it was a really great trip and just plain nice to be away, just the Hubby and I.  But now we’re out of the clouds and back to real life:  yard work, gardens, work, all of it. 

A few odds and ends…

The first thing we discovered upon returning is that our town and neighboring towns experienced floods while we were away.  First major flood since 1973.  We miss all the fun stuff.  I’ll do up a post and a few pics in the next day or two. 

I owe you guys pics of the hobby room, recently renovated.  I haven’t forgotten. 

Jenn… it will be on its way within the week.  I promise.  I hope baby #2 is treating you well. 

Kris… it’s coming. 

First paddle tonight in the Presque Isle stream.  Yay! 

Sorry for the lame post that’s all over the place but I had to write something or I would risk winning the You’re a Bad, Bad Blogger award.  First prize is a spanking.  Not the fun kind. 

Ouch.

Snowbank whittlin’

Let’s continue on with the ‘things I just don’t get’ theme of the previous honker post, shall we? 

I really love snow.  I’ve mentioned it enough times here that I I’m stating the obvious, aren’t I?  There does come a time in every snow-lovers year when you are ready to see it go.  It’s like turning a switch on (or off, depending on what side of the snow fence you sit on); one day I’m nagging Hubby to go skiing one last time and the next I’m itching to be in my garden. 

But no matter how badly I want the snow to melt, I will never go to the lengths of one of my co-workers.  I believe you just need to be patient with some things and let them happen naturally.  Her… well, her and her husband have been shovelling snow for the past two weeks. 

“But … It hasn’t even snowed!”, you might say, with a puzzled look on your face. 

And yes, you would be right.  In fact, it hasn’t snowed in weeks.  The snow is mostly gone here but sad piles of melting snowbank remnants are still sticking around. 

Enter:  the snowbank in front of my co-worker’s house.  Yes, this is the snow they have spent the last week shovelling onto the lawn or driveway.  Shovelling the snow for the second time.  Okay, just making sure you got that. 

Now, the reasoning behind this is that spread-out snow will melt faster than if it is in a pile that is several feet high.  Will the snow actually melt faster?  Absolutely it will.  I am not disputing the science behind it.  I would lose. 

What makes me shake my head at this is the fact that someone would willingly shovel snow for the second time.  Wait, let me back up to make sure you understand … I am talking about a woman that complained to me every god damn day of winter about the amount of snow.  Having to drive in it.  Having to shovel it.  Having to watch it fall.  Now that the snow is nearly gone, she complains about having to shovel it for a second time so it melts faster?! 

Here’s another science lesson for the kids out there:  The snow will melt on its own. 

I also find myself wondering if I should start sharing my list of things to do with her.  How much time do you have on your hands if you’re shoveling a snow bank?!  I would be glad to share my housework.  No?  Laundry?  I could bring my mending into work? 

Sigh.  Some things I am just not meant to understand. 

To her credit (and the discredit of many, many others), she is by no means the only person who uses this snowbank-whittling technique.  And she is retired.  So yeah, if you don’t have a list of things to do that extends across the living room when you’re reitred, then kudos to you. 

But might I suggest Pilates?  Sudoku?  Watercolor?  Photography? 

Honk if you’re a honker…

I am such a bad blogger!  Nary a word since that little pickle incident (which still rings true, by the way).  I would apologize but that would imply that I think there is a host of people out there that actually care about the random crap that rattles off my keyboard, and … well… I am a little more in touch than that. 

Speaking of pickles, I happen to like the random thought idea so I may start a bit of a series.  They’re quick and not time consuming so very fitting for work.  I’ll try a few more.  We’ll see. 

I will post a picture of the new hobby room on the weekend.  It isn’t purple.  In true Martell style, I got it about 95% done and haven’t been back to it since.  This weekend is going to be a rainy one so it will be calling, ”Finish me!  Finish me!”.  Sometimes it’s loud and a little obnoxious so I can’t ignore it. 

For today, I will write about noses.  In particular, those that honk. 

We all know one. 

This particular idea comes to me from a nearby co-worker who seems to either have year-round allergy issues or a cold that has permanently lodged itself in his sinuses.  More than once a day, he starts on these sneezing fits where the sneezees come five or six at a time.  I know what you’re thinking… “That’s impossible!  No one sneezes more than three times in a row!” …well I am here to burst your sneezing bubble and tell you that is simply not true.  I’ve seen it.  I know. 

Here I will only briefly mention that the sneezes themselves are very loud.  All of them.  I’m talkin’ rattle-the-foundation, knee-to-the-groin, rosie-o’donnell-on-uppers loud.  If you don’t see them coming, you would swear the building is falling down around you when they start. 

But that is not the reason for this post. 

In between all of these sneezes, naturally, he blows honks his nose.  Loudly.  Short, blasting honks as he bends his nose from one side to the other, wiping each nostril I suppose.  And then he sneezes again.  Honk.  Honk.  Honk.  Sneeze.  You get the picture.  Sometimes the honking comes without the sneezing and includes longer, lasting blasts.  Just as loud, mind you, but longer than the more common short honks. 

Now, let me make it clear that I’m not making fun.  Everyone has to blow their nose at some point.  I prefer to blow in front of a mirror so no soldiers run amok and sit outside the battle lines where they don’t belong.  I like not having to question whether everything is okay on the nose front.  But I had a high school classmate that would go to the garbage can and blow her nose for a full three minutes… at the front of the class! 

No, I’m not poking fun.  To each their own. 

I think the word I would use to describe my feelings about honkers is ‘wonder’. 

I wonder… how does one even produce that noise using only their nose?  Can he blow his nose without honking or is that just the way it is for him?  Is it genetics?  The shape of his nose?  The way he blows his nose? 

I wonder if my nose will make that noise?  I don’t think it will.  Admittedly, I’ve never sat around trying to honk my nose (and I’m not likely to start including that in my Friday night activities), but I do wonder. 

And then I wonder, were people with honking noses the inspiration for the Honkers on Sesame Street?  Their noses honked when you squeezed them. 

I wonder if he does it for attention.  He is a little that way.  Maybe, as a child who was always seeking attention, he noticed that people looked sideways when a loud noise came out of his nose. 

I don’t know.  It baffles me, really.  It’s not that I want a honking nose.  I don’t.  I’m just curious about the whole thing.  Does anyone out there have a honker?  Can you not honk when you blow or is that just not an option?  I really want to know. 

Random Thought #1

I’ve never met a pickle I didn’t like. 

Letter to Hubby

Dear Hubby,

I hope you are having a wonderful time in Montreal this week! 

As you know, I am taking this opportunity to renovate our gym/craft/sewing/storage room.  I have started calling it the Hobby Room or the do-everything-but-eat-sleep-and-pee room. 

You know I enjoy surprising you, Hubby and that is precisely why I am keeping the paint color a secret again. 

Remember coming home to your orange downstairs living room?  Oh Hubby… it will be that much fun! 

Maybe more! 

At the risk of ruining the surprise, I have decided to give you a few clues:

• It’s the color of a fruit.
• There is a large beloved children’s figure that is this color.
• Several signs of spring share this color. 
• It is a family member’s favorite color. 

… wait. 

Aww hell … I might as well tell you, right?  So what if you know the paint color … the rest of the renovation will still be a surprise, eh?!  There really should not be secrets between man and wife. 

Okay, here goes…

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Ready? 

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Are you anxious?  Nervous?  Heart all-a-flutter? 

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TA DA!!

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Now that‘ll get the juices flowin’ on the treadmill, right Hubby?  I can’t wait for you to see the finished product. 

Love you,

C

When bad commercials happen to good people

I am kind to TV land.  Really, I am. 

I visit often … TV land gets several hours a week out of me.  I don’t discriminate… the shows that I watch run across several stations and vary from old reruns to game shows to do-it-yourself shows to late night dramas (no, not the bow-chick-a-wow kind).  I am not fickle … once I start a show I rarely click away from it.  And I am loyal… if I miss an episode of my favorite show, I will likely PVR it or download it at some point. 

See?  I am a good friend to TV land. 

So why does TV land punish me with commercials bad enough to turn the stomach?  Did I forget your birthday?  Am I crowding the bed at night? 

I can put up with the countless (actually, there are 1,386,320 of them so yes, they are countable) commercials for skin care products that are graced with 21-year-olds touting an anti-wrinkle cream that they won’t need for another 20 years.  Do you really expect me to believe that her skin looks like that for real? 

But every now and then TV land presents me with a commercial that is just so bad I want to gouge out my eyes with a #2 pencil.  A really dull one. 

The creep-o-meter is so high on this guy, I wouldn’t trust him with my sweat socks let alone my gold jewellery.  And what’s with the dancers?  Talk about being desperate in the acting business.  

Actually, I imagine these are the nieces of Oliver himself:  “Okay, girls… we’re going to dance out this little routine for Uncy Oliver and then we’ll all take turns sitting on his lap and showing him your gold”.

<shudder>

I think the first time I saw this next commercial, I literally watched it with a dropped jaw and a look of disbelief on my face.  You know how they say that it’s human nature to be drawn to something horrific, like a train wreck?  Yeah. 

So they’re on the beach… there are a few mermaids, buddy on the banana that gets stranded on the buoy, and then … what’s that?  A sea monster?  And he raps?  Well, naturally! 

The song is bad and the dance choreography is worse.  I think someone should patent that hands-on-hips move where they rise to their toes… it’s sweet. 

I do realize that I have played right into their hands though… what is the point of a commercial but to grab your attention and get you talking about it? 

Easter is for hitting sweet jumps

I am back and I bring with me some great Easter pics. 

Nope, no bunnies in these ones, whether real or over-sized and frequenting the closest mall.  No weird-o eggs that are every color of the rainbow (what are those chickens smoking anyway?!).  Nothing pastel to be seen here. 

See, the fact that Easter is early this year combined with the fact that we have had more snow than we have had in years meant that there were no birds chirping in our yard after the roasters were put away and the dishwasher turned on.  No, not us New Brunswickers.  We were sliding. 

Lucky for us, we live on a hill. 

A big one. 

This is my dad … yes, my dad.  Told you he was crazy. 

And this?  This is me.  It’s probably the finest display of sliding mayhem that I have ever been part of.  As you can imagine, I dug a respectable amount of snow from the back of my neck and out of my right boot after that one.  I think the position my legs are in is what makes me laugh at this picture. 

As Hubby put it over on his own blog, sliding is fun for all… until some jerk goes and builds a jump! 

(Pssst… in case you are wondering, Hubby= jerk). 

My Dad’s Version of White Water…

That is me, circa 1997. 

Behind me is my crazy father. 

Yes, that is a field of snow. 

And yes… that is most definitely a canoe. 

Allow me to explain. 

You see, that particular winter we received a storm that delivered a lot of freezing rain over a couple of days.  The result was a crust of ice several inches thick on top of a few feet of snow.  That crust was hard and it stayed that way for weeks. 

How hard was that crust?  You could walk anywhere and the four wheeler went anywhere… not just on the skidoo trails, but on top of the drifts, straight through the fields, everywhere. 

It was around this time that we also experimented with our downhill skis on the hill behind our house.  How did we get to the top of said hill?  We were towed to the top behind the four wheeler, using a plain old rope. 

Yes, my father is quite the character. 

So one day while on break from university, my father said to me, “You know, I have always wanted to try to go sliding with a canoe”.  He had heard of this being done before.  My dad is the curious sort, you see, and once he gets an idea in his head, it will gurgle and stew in there until he can make it happen. 

The crust that winter made the perfect surface:  instead of trudging along in a few inches of soft snow, we would do it in grand old Carleton County style and that was going to be in a green canoe that was sure to quickly turn into a lightning fast torpedo on top of that hard crust. 

We hauled the canoe to a field not too far away and lugged it to the top of a hill.  The field was open, save for a couple of rock piles in the middle and about halfway down.  I piled in the canoe and Dad gave us a push to get us started.  So far so good.  We were laughing at the sheer hilarity of what we were doing when the canoe steered towards the middle of the field.  In cartoon style, I think the light bulbs went on for both of us at the same time. 

How were we going to steer this thing?  I guess paddles would be the obvious answer but there we were, up the snowbank without a paddle, picking up speed, and heading toward this rock pile.  Dad was trying to steer but he was not being that successful.  As the rock pile loomed closer, in a moment of panic… I bailed. 

Both knees and shins and I think even my elbows went through that thick layer of crust.  I was bruised for three weeks after that. 

Are you wondering what happened to Dad?  You should be.  He actually managed to narrowly miss the rock pile and continued down the field, drastically picking up speed (which I’m sure was happening more quickly because part of the cargo, me, had went overboard). 

What was at the bottom of the field to stop him?  Forest. 

He didn’t get too far into the trees before coming to a stop (without the aid of a tree, I should note).  And when I caught up to him, he was laughing so hard that I couldn’t help but join in. 

That’s my dad.  He’s fun and funny and the life in any room and he can make me laugh like no one else.  We’re never quite sure what he’s going to say and do next and he would try (almost) anything once.  I hope to be just like that:  ready to make my own fun and not waiting for it to find me.  Boy, do I love him. 

 

I <3 Winter!

This is a *lot* of snow. 

I mean, I’m sure there are places in Canada with more snow but this is more snow than we have had in this area in a looong time.  This will mean more to those that know my parents’ house but for the rest of you … trust me:  this really is a *lot* of snow. 

A *lot*.