Wherein I am immature for your benefit...

You know what? It's time that I use my blog influence for something truly spectacular. Something to be remembered throughout the ages. Something that will define a generation. Something that blends anime edginess and animal cuteness.

That something...IS THIS:

There you have it folks. You commented. You promised you'd try it. You said you'd love it. PUT YOUR MONEY WHERE YOUR MOUTH IS. Send me a video of your loved ones being Pokemon Attacked and I will gladly post it here.

Watch out, loved ones. The only thing more dangerous than knowing a blogger, is knowing a blogger who POKEMON ATTACKS!!

Seriously. Do it so I'm not the only weirdo.

[In other news, 1) today is my first day at the new job so bear with me as settle into a brand new routine 2) I updated my MEET ME section after remembering that I had one 3) I have another post up on the ole dog blog. No. No more pokemon attacks involved over there.]

Perspective is a bitch. No wait - I am.

On Saturday, I got grumpy at you for repeatedly telling stories that made me look stupid to everyone you met over the course of the week. Then I realized that I share my thoughts about you with people from all around the world without giving you the chance to opt out. I even outed your sci-fi obsession once or twice.

And again right now.

Sorry.

On Monday, I got grumpy at you for not getting home until eight because you were out shopping for clothes while I've felt too strapped for cash to buy any for months now. Then I realized, who the hell am I to tell you what you do with your time and money. You still came home with a smile on your face and a pair of new jeans for my stupid ass.

And yes, I may have then still gotten grumpy with you because they didn't fit.

Cause that's your fault.

And how terrible that I'm now a between a 29 and a 30 waist.

Sorry.

On Tuesday, I got grumpy at you for being short with me because YOU forgot your keys to my parents' house and had two puppies to stash away so you could get some work done. Then I realized that there have been plenty of times that I have thrown a dog or two at your face and said, "YOU deal with them."

And then there are the times that I pick one up and repeatedly bump his wagging butt into your face while screaming, "POKEMON ATTACK! POKEMON ATTACK! POKEMON ATTACK!"

I make no promises that this behaviour will stop.

POKEMO- sorry...

Last night, I tried to explain to you that it's in fact YOU who've been off this week because you're so focused on getting your classroom ready. (Naturally, it's not ME who's off. Underlying nerves about the new job making me tempestuous? What a silly idea that is).

Then this morning, as I used your towel because it was more dry than mine, as I left you a note explaining who pooped, who didn't, and what you're supposed to do about it, as I left my dishes on the counter because I didn't empty the dishwasher, as I realized that your soundtrack of commonlaw marriage has probably become "we're here for a long time, not a good time...", I realized that I've got it pretty good.

And that sometimes, I might be wrong. MIGHT. And even if I were, it'd be far too complicated for you to bother leaving me now, Dimples.

Sorry.

P.S. To anyone out there, if you tip the newf off that this post exists, so help me God, I will hunt you down and bump you in the face with puppy butts until you die...probably of laughter...or mild bruising...

Collected Quotes

Trying to get out the door to Nuts4Ribs:

Newf: Do I need to shave? Do you think Theo should be in a sweater?

You realize this is a rib cook-off for manly men - not a fashion show for gay men and small dogs, right?

Newf: Well...maybe you should MAKE it a fashion show for gay men and small dogs.

Sigh.

To the girl standing awkwardly by my dogs at Nuts4Ribs:

You can pet them if you'd like. Start with the brown one, he's less annoyed by strangers.

Girl: Um...actually I just thought this is where the line started.

Oh.

Girl: Yeah.



At my 80-year-old granddad's house, surrounded by young, impressionable minds:

"Hey mooooom?"

Mom: "What?"

"Are maternity leaves mandatory no matter who your employer is?"

Mom: "Yes. Why?"

"I'm pregnant."

Mom: "Just shut up..."



After a cheeky email from yours truly:

Mom: "You're adopted. Really."



A reminder of my performance in a drunk charades game from three years ago:

*Teammate points at me.*

Gay. Faggot. Homo. Fat. Asshole. Drunk.

Teammate: Um....how about BOY?

Oh.

Yeah.

I'm a slut without the fun sexy parts

[Before I get to the 'fun' part of this post, I'm looking for a few good bloggers to keep the dog blog company over the weekends. I've already had fantastic posts contributed from Crissy, TDutchessOK, Rachel and Kyla but I need more...more...MORE!

So if you love (or hate) a dog, write between 250-500 words about it, include at least one picture or video and email it to ben.boudreau@gmail.com.

Don't want to guest post? Well leave us a comment on any post to get entered in the August giveaway competition. Then remember to check back in a few weeks for the September giveaway!]

On Friday, the newf and I packed up the four-legged kids, hopped in the car and drove off to South West Margaree to celebrate my grandfather's 80th birthday. We spent the weekend enjoying the scenery, hanging out with my brother, my cousins and my mom and her sister.

Our relationship is grown-up (if you don't count the part sci-fi obsession, part squeaky dog voices) - above the petty dramas. Remember that.

The reason I say this is because on the drive home, the newf remembers something he meant to tell me. He does so with a smile on his face.

"By the way, did you hear that you're cheating on me?"

We both laugh. We laugh because I am fundamentally pro-monogamy. This is a widely-known fact. No amount of alcohol could make me wake up in someone else's bed. Up until just recently, I felt bad if I even glanced at someone too long. Don't worry, now we fight over who we would hypothetically sleep with. This is healthy. Ish.

As it turns out, for the first time in about two and a half years, I am once again the victim of cyber-bullying. Please take a moment to note that at age 23, I should not have to deal with bullying of ANY kind. E-bullying just makes it all the more irritating.

The last time, I learned that someone had created a fake profile for me on a hook-up-for-sex website, sending numerous people to my place of work expecting me to drag them into the stock room for a hot romp. Instead, completely oblivious, I attempted to sell them $400 boots. I didn't find out until the profile was deleted and my fans stormed my Facebook wondering why I didn't say goodbye/drag them away for the aforementioned romp/respond to their persistent messages.

Talk about awkward.

Now, the newf tells me that a random on Facebook (the devil) sent him a message explaining that we had a memorable night together when I was in Ottawa on a work term. It's important to understand that any night I was not at home with my adorable cousins waiting to talk lovey-dovey to the newf over the phone was spent getting loaded and watching ANTM with my classmates. That's basically the four month recap right there.

Anyhow, I guess I snubbed my one-night-stand in Halifax at some point in the past vague-amount-of-time. PROBABLY BECAUSE I DON'T WAVE HELLO TO IMAGINARY ONE-NIGHT-STANDS! The best part? The random's profile that featured one picture of four untagged people - no wall posts, no info, nothing - disappeared over the weekend.

While I'm willing to battle both acne and weak joints to show my effectiveness at getting caught between adolescence and old age, I am much less willing to have to simultaneously deal with a mortgage and gossipy bullies. You should have met me in junior high. I've paid my dues.

On the plus side, I'm in a healthy, trusting relationship where this no longer rattles us to the point of distraught late-night conversations. Instead we laugh in the car and chalk it up to jealousy and boredom.

At least my imaginary one-night-stand had all good things to say about my...skills.

[Also, I'm hoping that this post will add some value for the many readers who have ended up here over the past year through the search keywords 'how not to be jealous'. I am not a good person to ask but the newf certainly is. Either way, I hope you find what you're looking for.]

What happens when you lack gender stereotypes

In the spirit of being the tyrannical dictator of this blog, I'm going to use it to spew my own propaganda today with a completely one-sided look at an issue of contempt chez moi.

The newf, on occasion, will develop an insatiable need to accomplish the work of 300 Spartans in one day. To make matters worse, this usually happens on days when I am exhausted or cuddled up with two puppies and therefore unlikely to move (did I mention that I like Theo much more when he sleeps? Yeah. Yesterday he destroyed my phone case, my Raybans, the newf's wallet and a baby bird). He will putter around me like one of those robotic vacuum cleaners, silently hoping that I will join in on the action.

And because I am a nice person who has a low tolerance for guilt warfare - I will.

Yesterday, it was, "I'm going to mow our massive yard that I said I was going to mow every day last week but didn't because it was too wet or too hot or I was too busy watching sci-fi and straight-to-TV movies!"

Since I refuse to be the way he was when I was not working (spewing passive-aggression because I didn't spend every waking second of my day making the apartment spotless until he inevitably resorted to handing me daily task lists...Insert my brain exploding -> here <-), I simply said, "Sounds good. Enjoy!"

"Want to help?"

"Uhh...I guess?"

"Great! You can rake up the excess grass once it's mowed! Fun, right??"

No. Not fun. Raking takes about four times longer than mowing and eight times the effort (unless you are filled with self-hate and own a push mower. In that case, I'd rather rake. Either way, my property would be your personal hell). I only offered to help because sometimes all that means is me standing nearby, being adorable and singing the band-aid song. But because I am a fan of teamwork and I do appreciate how much he does for the both of us, I rake knowing full well what is going to happen.

My mind is already revisiting the time he offered to clean my parents' house from top to bottom, then vacuumed the stairs, rearranged some furniture in the living room, then got too drunk and had to stop, insisting that I finish the rest. It was 11:00 a.m.

As expected, off he runs, deciding on impulse that now - with a partially mowed lawn - is the absolute best time to collapse and bind cardboard boxes.

And so it goes. The newf will spin around the house at dizzying speeds like a crossbreed of the Tasmanian Devil and a cuban maid on cocaine, tiring himself out before adamantly suggesting that I finish the 37 half-completed tasks because, well, look at all the work HE did.

Now, it’s not that he asked for my help that bothers me. It’s the hypocrisy – a disease of which the newf is unlikely to recover (he’s so getting sent to the glue factory). When I wasn’t working, it was all: you must complete these 58 tasks of which 42 must be completed before 8am! Now that he’s not working, it’s all about relaxation time.

I’m not about to place demands on his spare time but let me tell you, if he thinks it’s Ben=Cinderella time when I’m not working but Newf=AnnaNicoleSmith time when he’s off?

Bitch.

Please.

Our wedding will be nothing if not intoxicated

[Yes, I accidentally posted this yesterday. I frequently make improper guesses when it comes to formatting the pre-publishing dates. I apologize for messing up your feedreaders and making you have to wait for the elusive guest post.]

One of my favourite bloggers just got married!

Congratulations Hillary and Shawn on making it to the altar while still blogging about sick puppies, sick bride-to-be's, and mother-in-law conflicts the whole time!

While they're off doing unmentionable things to each other, I am slapping her blog in the face while discussing the sneak peak at my future wedding plans that I received last week.

It's good, I promise.

The newf is quoted. need I say more?

Go now. Leave me alone.

Six reasons I'm still smiling despite the rain

Three minutes and fifty-eight seconds after walking through the arrivals gate:

"So...you boys have any alcohol at home?"


Upon me protesting the fact that she bought us a flat-screen HD TV for our kitchen:

"Oh go on...it's something you needed isn't it?"

"I don't know if anyone NEEDS a flat-screen TV in the kitchen"

"Well now [the newf] will cook won't he?"

"Is that what he told you? Bless your naive, little heart..."


Upon family Boudreau picking on the newf for pronouncing FOLIAGE...FOLAGE:

"What would you call that stuff, [newf-in-law]?

"Trees and bushes?"


Upon realizing that I have to work in the mornings:

"Now do you just drive yourself out?"

"No, I take the bus."

"The what?"

"The bus."

".....Why would you do a thing like that?"

"I don't have any other option."

"[Newf], are you trying to tell me that you don't get your arse out of bed and drive this poor boy to work??"


Upon realizing that I am a disciplined dog trainer:

"Go on, Ben...give Theo a treat."

"He's not doing anything to deserve one?"

"But look at 'im now, his little tail is wagging!"

"Ah yes. He's clearly gifted."


Solidifying her role as part of my family:

"Come on now, help mum make this bucket of daquiris..."

As close to sex-blogging as I'll get

I just had a euphoric moment.

It was so good that it trascended sexual pleasure and steamrolled right into the metaphysical (I don't know what this means).

As of Friday, the newf reached the halfway point of his Masters degree. He has been doing this on top of his regular teaching and then into his summer vacation and he is a crazy strong, dedicated person for doing so. No - wait...he calls it a Masters in Salary-Raise, so he's just a greedy person. But since his money is OUR money....HURRAY (commitment is the greatest)!Having finished two courses in two weeks, he's now officially on summer vacation, meaning that he has to keep the puppies in line. And he was looking forward to this.

Yeah.

Dog owners? Soak that in for a minute.

He was looking forward to it because when we got Poopy McDiarheaFace Calvin, it was all me. Me and a puppy with perpetual runs in an apartment on the fourth floor of a building, no elevator, in the dead of winter. I was the horrible beast that would force Calvin to shiver on an icy patch, hoping that he would do what he's gotta do, only to cave - in fear that he might die of hypothermia - and watch him immediately poop on my floor and rub his butt all over the apartment while I sobbed and rocked back and forth.

Then the newf would waltz in, declare himself Saint Paul, Patron Saint of Puppies, and smirk at my weakness.

Over the weekend, Theo only had one accident. That's largely because I only let him in the house after...you know...going. This was fine until Jesus decided it was time for us to build another Arc. Now, the poor guy - whose belly can't help but drag on the grass - hates the outside world so much that he won't even take a dump on it.

That, my friends, is Dachshund.

So here I am, having a perfectly fine day when my phone starts its usual disco show. Upon closer inspection, I reach the point of emotional, spiritual and physical ecstacy. Better than my usual heaven of a vat of mixed cheeses, Kelly Clarkson on blast, and a field of puppies upon whose faces I can nibble:

Text message from the newf:

The puppies are fine. Lots of accidents for Theo. Now I know what you went through.

I'm spent. Someone get me a cigarette.

This modern love

Good things happen when you're drunk on love and Riesling. And we were on both counts.

A typical late-summer evening for Halifax was in full effect: humid and sticky enough to keep everyone hot and bothered. You can sprawl out in bed in front of fans, or you can drink out on your balconies. We always chose the latter.

It was my last night in town before moving to Ottawa for four months. We had only been dating for three and a half.

Enough candles covered the balcony to make a reflection of the stars that seemed almost within arm's reach. Clear nights in a harbour city will do that.

We sipped until we reached that perfect head space - the wine drunk that lets you talk in circles yet understand each other with the utmost clarity. It doesn't last long but those truly magical states rarely do.

The cool ocean breeze seemed to whisk away each word that came out of our mouths besides "I love you".

The wine got us through the "what happens next?" conversation. The decision to stay together was far from convenient and wouldn't be easy, but it brought a smile to both of our faces - smiles that lingered for far longer than we could have imagined. Satisfied, the conversation ended, replaced by cliché stargazing that only makes sense when you've fallen hard.

The silence was comfortable. All my senses seemed to melt together, removing all fears of the days, weeks, months to come. The north end of town, usually filled with vagabonds and the artsy crowd (read: drunks and hipsters with less money) had never been so quiet.

"...gorgon..."

It took a moment to register. My wine-dulled consciousness sharpened.

"Say what?"

"Huh?"

"What did you just say?"

"ummmmm...nothing?"

"No...you definitely said something."

"I'm so embarrassed...you weren't supposed to hear that"

"Spill."

"Um. So I was looking at the stars and then I started day-dreaming and then I started playing out a space battle in my head."

"So what was a romantic evening for me was a galactic battle for you?"

"Kinda...yeah...I guess..."

"I'm okay with that."

"I love you."

"Yeah...right...whatever...pew-pew-pew-pew!"

"Okay fine, make fun but see who saves you when the gorgons attack again."

And so I learned that I was in fact dating the Supreme Commander of the Galactic Space Armada. What's more is that it only took me two years to get promoted to the Director of Intergalactic Espionage. Woot!

A troll, four moths and Jebus

Stupidly, I went - without warning or transition - from getting up at 7:15am to be at my office down the street for eight to having to shock myself into alertness at 5:50am in order to catch the bus at 7:12am to get to my office for eight. I wouldn't subject myself to this except for that I like to pretend the hour between 4:00pm-5:00pm didn't exist. That's why I get up at ridiculous hours so that I can leave at four rather than playing the stare-at-your-clock-then-back-at-your-empty-inbox-hoping-something-happens-between-four-and-five game.

But truth be told, I really cherish and need my sleep. I am not and have never been a fan of the late nights. I am happiest when in bed between 10:00pm. When this does not happen, especially for long periods of time, I transform into a hateful troll of a human being.

Example. Last night I finally got in bed around eleven (ugh). I was dozing off quickly when I kept feeling something tap my face very gently. Oh wait, it wasn't gentle at all. It was A HERD OF RABID MOTHS WERE DIVEBOMBING MY EYE.

Now, I'm all for laughing at people afraid of moths, but these moths meant business - they were the A-team of moths (plus I was having flashbacks to the time this exact same thing happened only it was a bat who was literally circling my head. Add that to the memory of a friend who had to get her ear cleansed because a moth had crawled in her ear and was beating its wings against her eardrum. A MOTH! IN HER EAR!).

After the third or fourth attempt at flailing helplessly in hopes that they would leave me alone, my combined insect-stress and lack of sleep got the best of me, resulting in the kind of guttural moan that means, "Just take me Jebus! Make the madness end!"

Newf: "Mfmffmm you okay?"

Ben: "...must...kill...moths...please help the ben..." *twitching crazily in the corner of the room*

Newf: "mffffffmff okay..." *shuffles then falls asleep again*

Ben: "hey...pssst....HEEEEEEY! Is your water glass empty?"

Newf: "..." "did you get them?"

Ben: "Um no. Otherwise I wouldn't be setting water-glass booby traps. Will you help me?"

Newf: "..."

Ben: "WHY DON'T YOU CARE ABOUT THE DISTRESS I AM IN?!"

Newf: ...

So I downed the water in the glass and slammed it on the wall, trapping the two remaining moths who so foolishly settled in one spot. I put the glass in the kitchen sink upside-down in hopes of the newf picking it up in the morning to realize the stress of a moth attack. Not assisting me in my sleeping efforts is the same as keeping me from sleeping. Therefore the newf had to be punished in hilarious ways. This is my late night logic.

This morning I woke up in my regular pre-6:00am (yes, such a time exists) stupor, took the dog out, showered and started putting together my breakfast. Here are my thoughts when I enter the kitchen: 'Oh. Here's my water glass from last night. How about I just use this again instead of dirtying another? Holy sweet mother!! Bbshmhhfffmmbsmmm-ack!'

Yes. Things like this happen to me.

Yes. I deserve them.

1-800-SAVIOUR

"Oh look, Mormon missionaries!"

"You know what, I'd REALLY like to talk to them. Ask questions, hear their spiel, find out what they're all about..."

"That's a far cry from the hide-from-the-Jehovas game that our families played as kids."

"I just like to learn...I really want them to visit the new house so I can invite them in for tea."

"I don't think they're allowed caffeine."

"I don't care. Is there a number I can call to request a visit?"

"Dial-a-Mormon? No, I don't think so."

Peer pressure DENIED

(Happy birthday Schwuler)

Newf: Come with us to the hot tub?

Mom: No. I am a tired, old lady.

Newf: You don't want to celebrate my birth?

Mom: Exactly. And I didn't shave my legs.

Newf: I'm not going to be rubbing them

Mom: Then I have no reason to go.

Excerpts from a moving day

"Gravy is pretty much chicken that you can drink."

"Okay, the tarps are for WRAPPING the furniture, not just popping it over the tops like shower caps."

"Awww little girls next door! Ask them if they want to come see our puppy in the barkyard."
"Ummmmmm....that's how people get arrested."
"Touché."

Much better than our last move where the only quotes were curse words and murder threats.

Related:
Board games gone wrong
10th Circle of Hell

I had it coming

Newf: Did you wake up this morning with a pillow over your head?

Ben: No, I woke up while you were placing it on my head.

Newf: I was looking for a screwdriver - didn't want the light or noise to bother you.

Ben: Thought you finally snapped and I was going to be smothered in my sleep.

Newf: And you just laid there?

Ben: I figured I'd just pretend to be dead and hopefully you'd stop before my heart did. Six in the morning is FAR too early to fight for one's life.

Related:
On the beach

So close

Newf: Ben, do you know of anyone interested in adopting a two-year-old, fully trained basset hound?

Me: *too busy to respond as I am trying to keep my insides from exploding with excitement while shoving my current puppy off my lap because he is officially old news and no longer worth my attention...*

Newf: Anyone who is not us?

Me: *picks up old-news puppy out of the garbage and sulks...*

Related:
NOR: Puppy

They never showed this part on Scooby Doo

I meant to write out the story of my weekend much earlier than this but as soon as it ended I sunk into a few days of much needed recovery and bed rest. I am of the philosophy that no experience is bad as long as you get a funny story out of it. I actually think that might be a family philosophy given that some of (most of) our memories would probably have shattered the very fibers of any sane group of people. Of course, this and this come to mind. So onward!

I was looking forward to a weekend taking care of both Calvin and his brother Tofu at my parents' place so they had room to run and do dog things. Drop-off was scheduled for Saturday around lunch so why wouldn't I come down with strepthroat on Friday? By the time I get to the house, I am so dopey and drugged up, I can barely keep myself house-trained let alone two puppies. Still, I convinced myself that they would both act like perfect lapdogs and keep me warm while watching movies hopped up on penicillin. I shudder while writing that very line because I now see how offensive a thought that must be to anyone who has actually done something like this before.

The first four hours were pretty painless. Calvin played the role of annoying little brother flawlessly by pouncing on poor, sad Tofu who sat whimpering by the front-door wondering why his parents were so cruel to leave him with the cranky, sick one. I can handle whimpering - I was doing quite a bit of it myself. My parents laughed at me, reiterating why they didn't let me have a dog as a child AS IF I DIDN'T KNOW BY NOW, and then promptly left for a benefit gala downtown. Tofu immediately excreted his own weight in bodily functions. Fair enough, he doesn't know where he is or where he's supposed to go. While cleaning it up, Calvin decides that it looked like too much fun to ignore and does the same. He should know better...so I kicked him. Hard. In the face.

Okay, no I didn't but I very much wanted to especially as these bathroom games continued until about 3:30 that morning.

Before she left, Kimberly and I had discussed that Tofu seemed to have figured out how to climb downstairs (an interesting feat for short-legged cocktail wieners) but she had never caught him in the act. After cleaning up someone's mess (it could very well have been my own at this point), I noticed Tofu had climbed up four steps of stairs. When he saw me, he flipped on his side and rolled down the stairs to the floor. Mystery solved. I checked to make sure he still moves in the way he should - inside I'm hoping the you-break-him-you-bought-him rule isn't in effect when I look up to see Calvin watching very intently with a mischievously wagging tail. Oh dear God.

I check for more accidents, wondering how a combined 18 pounds of puppy can produce so much excrement in such a short amount of time. In their eyes, I can see the conspiracy to break me. I return to the front hallway and once again give Tofu a good inspection before realizing I'm one wiener short.

"Calvin!"

Nothing.

"Caaaaaaaalvin!"

Jingle-jangle of dog tags then...nothing.

"CALVIN!"

Thump thumpety bang crash jingle jangle yelp bang bang thud thump thud.

My usually quite reserved and very breakable puppy hurled himself completely down the stairs from the top floor, hitting a solid roll half-way down before spinning onto the hardwood, cracking his head against the wall. Oh yes. House-breaking is such a terribly difficult concept to grasp....kamikaze attacks however, he's a natural. I would have felt bad about it except he immediately got up, tail wagging, and went on the floor before running off happily.

The newf immediately walks in before heading out to a party, wonders why I'm shaking with nerves, and declares himself Saint Paul, Patron Saint of Puppies since they both go and nap on his lap - likely due to the brain damage of their stunts or pure exhaustion from excessive pooping. I immediately have eighteen aneurysms.

For the rest of the weekend, if I put Calvin down in the basement, he would dash off and have to be retrieved from the top floor lest he dive downwards. Believe me, each time I had to climb two flights of stairs to get him, the idea of just letting him do it became more and more appealing.

In all fairness, the boys were great for the rest of the weekend but the good times don't make a very interesting story. I have only one piece of photo evidence of this though since I was crying and rocking back and forth in the corner.
Related:
NOR: Family
NOR: Puppy

Rendition

First off, it was silly to think we could last through a late show without getting squirmy, especially when the first snowstorm(ish) of the season was hitting as we headed to the one theatre still showing Rendition - of course, one of the furthest from the apartment. That being said, I'm very glad to have seen the show before it left theatres (like Elizabeth: The Golden Age, which we missed).

I still have a tough time seeing Reese Witherspoon as anything but Elle Woods in Legally Blonde but that didn't turn out to be a problem as she made herself sparse during the movie, contrary to what trailers would have you believe. Most of the action actually takes place in North Africa, following a completely different set of characters divided between different stories and timelines...apparently. I'm still a little slow on figuring out what happened there. The plot was suspenseful without being action-fueled, smart without being elitist, and heart-wrenching without being hopeless.

Of course, the entire movie builds up to two or three incredible moments that make the whole movie. The one scene that pits Reese and Meryl Streep against one another is all that I had hoped it would be.

We also noticed a lot of great movies coming out this holiday season which will fit nicely with my state of hibernation that has already kicked in. The next I'd like to see, mainly for the sake of a good comparison, is Lions for Lambs. If you haven't noticed, I'll see just about anything that features Meryl Streep. It will be interesting to see how it measures up to last night's show. 

Despite mixed reviews, Rendition manages to provoke a critical look at the current government without getting accused of being over the top. Lions for Lambs, on the other hand, is already being criticized for simply being a piece of star-studded democratic propaganda. Not that I personally have a problem with that...but it may come across a little silly if it's too obvious.

Why the newf isn't allowed to make movies:

"Man, that Reese versus Streep action just gave me a total adrenaline rush!"

"I wanted Reese to punch her in the face."

Batten down the hatches

The most hyped-up storm since White Juan is scheduled to hit Halifax tonight. I really think that since we got slammed by Juan and Juan 2.0, weather specialists (read: guessers) and emergency communicators are covering their own butts by getting us all thinking about the worst case scenario. It wasn't until my Dad - who against all odds has become the resounding voice of authority in my life - told me he thinks they might be underestimating this one that I started getting nervous.

It's comforting to remember, however, that I slept through Hurricane Juan which saw 150 km/h sustained winds and tonight's storm is only expected to reach gusts of 120 km/h.

Either way, I appreciate the heads up and am about to head out with the newf to get our very first hurricane kit. Non-perishable food items (Newf: "Okay...I've got it. We'll just pick up a big pack of kit kat chunkies and wunderbars!"), candles and matches (Me: "Oooh! Serenity scented will surely help when the entire harbour slams our apartment with the wind."), and then our own additions of chips, magazines and booze - you know, the things that will ACTUALLY help us make it through a power outage.

Hopefully a fully charged laptop will help me get some of my freelance columns written if we lose power. You know, after the booze and chips run out.

The wind is already started to howl so good luck and Godspeed, Haligonians!

On the beach

Newf: "Aww...look at that old man running with his old floppy dog. I hope I'm still running when I'm that age."

Ben: "I hope I'm still running tomorrow..."

Newf: "Awwwwwww! That was so sweet!"

Ben: "Huh??"

Newf: "What you just said - I hope I'm there running with you. Isn't that what you said?"

Ben: "Ugh...I wish it was. I'd be adorably romantic. Can we still say I did??"

Newf: "No, I'm quite certain you ruined it."

Ben: "Damn."