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.

Under the big top

"Hey Ben, I saw your parents the other day at the cycle shop!"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yup, your Mom was getting out of the car, wagging her finger and muttering "Oh HELL no..." toward the storefront where you Dad was holding a unicycle."

Ah yes, I'm long overdue for a family post. I haven't seen enough of them in the past three weeks since they've been Bed & Breakfasting all over the province for blues festivals - but leave it to them to return to No Ordinary Rollercoaster with a bang.

You see, my Dad's new lease on life that incorporates serious action to achieve his goal of dying poor, includes this new characteristic of a) engaging in extensive conversation with sales associates, and b) becoming fixated on things deemed ridiculous by the rest of the general public. The scariest part? Where as a teenager I would assume he does this to embarrass me, I now know that he really, honestly and truly is captivated by these random endeavours regardless of what anyone thinks or who is mortified.

Exhibit A - the unicycle.

After hearing that the sales associate - a dude in his late teens - has done his daily commute of about 10km completely on a unicycle, my Dad assumes that he - as a man in his early fifties - can do anything that the teenager can do. Now, to give my Dad some credit, he ran three full marathons - including Boston - the year he turned 50, bringing his grand total up to about 15 of them. He is a very fit man for any age.

HOWEVER, I refuse to believe that a man of his age can bounce his face off the pavement the way the teenager can. Plus, while a teenager can look like a hipster on a unicycle given the right atire, a grown man can only hope to look like a busker, or a retired clown, or - and this is the obvious choice - a crazy person.

Of course, my mother is radically anti-unicycle, or shall I say, anti-beingmarriedtoacrazyperson.

So now we wait and see how this strange (I honestly count my blessings every day that I am fed such outrageous and 100% true blog material) and soon-to-be epic battle of the unicycle plays out. Coworkers and friends are sending Dad links to used unicycles on kijiji (-"It's only $100! How could this go wrong??" -"Remember that when you're scraping bits of your face off the asphalt."), while sane people are sending personal ads for non-unicycle-riding men to my mother.

Welcome home, parents. Welcome home...

Today is a good day

Why, you ask? Well, for starters, the first song I heard today was Simply Irresistable by Robert Palmer. Now there's a song to get you in the mood to light $20 bills on fire and throw them at sexy ladies, sending them into a carnal frenzy of delight!

Second, I am both reliving and extending my fifteen minutes of fame on one of my favourite blogs. Seriously. I am one of the top five best all-round individuals in Canada according to the CBC. Why, you ask? (Jerk). If you don't know already, you'll have to read to find out.

Click over to Surviving Myself - like you should every single day - and check me out.

Third, I had a hilarious evening last night, making my life of office work, freelance work, dog work and paint work seem much less monotonous.

It didn't pan out as planned but it was awesome nonetheless. I was going to meet a very cool local blogger for drinks and banter last night so I got all gussied up (wore something besides paint and puppy stained cargo hand-me-downs from the newf's teenage years) and headed downtown to Mosaic.

Now, I should stop to explain that heading downtown was a story in itself since Calvin was in the backseat gnawing on a squeaky toy that makes noises that would make the baby Jesus cry (video proof here) while Theo was desperately trying to hump him from behind (video proof would be inappropriate - meaning I didn't get any...yet).

Yes. This is my life.

Before I even got a chance to look for my blind blogger date, I walked straight into a friend's birthday bash. A friend who I thought was still in Texas. A friend who didn't invite me to her birthday. A friend who is no longer a very good friend APPARENTLY.

Just kidding. Sort of. Not really.

Okay, I was kidding. Let's hang out?

I stumbled through the awkward explanation of why I'm at Mosaic which started awkwardly with, "Uhh...I kindofsortof have a blind date with a girl..." and quickly snowballed into, "I'm meeting someone from the internet". Then, of course, I had to out myself as a blogger and get smacked in the face with that question for which I never have a very good answer: "So what do you blog about?"

Uhhh....mmmmmmm....ahhhhh...being a bitch with a life plagued by random happenstance?

Luckily, as the night played out, they understood exactly what I blog about as the evening turned out to be a living, breathing blog post in motion.

If the fact that I was stood up by my "internet date" wasn't enough (she was in fact stranded at an amusement park - a blog post in itself - and there are no hard feelings!), I wandered around the bar - in between drinks of course - to the point where I was rivaling the hostess for customer attentiveness. Her epic cleavage beat mine though.

Not to mention the realization that I spent most of the night sitting on some strange ottoman not meant to be sat on, that I ordered the same drink throughout the night and got a different tasting martini every time, that I was being picked up at exactly 9:45 so that the newf could be home in time to watch Reba, and that someone didn't think before he spoke and said, "So guys...did you hear that they came out with this new fruit at Costco?"

He said it was a pomegranate-apricot hybrid that was probably called Pomcot. POMCOT. I nearly died from a brain explosion as I tried to unleash too much ridicule at once. 1) You do not "come out with a new fruit" the way Nike makes a new shoe each quarter. 2) Costco-made hybrids like the raisinana are not "new fruits". 3) Pomcot? Seriously?!

All in all, I think my mere presence last night completely explained what I blog about and reinforced my belief that - for better or worse - my blog is truly a fair representation of my life.

What a scary realization.

If I had half a brain...

I was a big brave boy on Sunday. I visited D. in the hospital.

This is big for me. I don't really do the whole medical thing. Anything more than a check-up with the family doctor always sent me into a fit of hysterical, nervous laugther to ensure that nothing could get done because, "THE DAMN BOY WON'T STOP JIGGLING".

Since then, nerves have blossomed into disdain that absolutely must be expressed to anyone vaguely considered to be medical of nature lest I repress these feelings and develop one of those tumors that have hair, teeth and wink at you. Wait - are those babies??

Exhibit A) when my wisdom teeth were taken out, after suffering a Tylenol-3-induced panic attack where I was convinced a man was hiding under my bed, they became infected despite me following instructions as closely as I would a roadmap to the world's biggest wheel of cheese.

Tooth guy examines my mouth, says they're infected and then asks me: "Well, what did you do?"

I, to the shock and horror of my polite parents, took a deep breath before saying quite calmly: "I licked every telephone pole on my daily commute and then made out with a dead hooker."

He laughed awkwardly while I wished his condescending head would explode.

Please do not blame my medical conditions on me. I CLEARLY would rather be anywhere but in the hospital at any given time of my life and therefore take all precautions to avoid such trips. Considering also that I never had to make many patient visits as a kid, it's not something I'm used to. Enter hysterical giggles.

But Sunday, I marched into the intensive care unit, deflecting the stories about D.'s roommate who when asked how he's doing, he says: "Oh you know, it'll be any day now...". And I'm glad I did. It's hard to be as worried as I was last week having seen how well D. is doing.

Informal poll: if someone had drilled a hole in your skull, removed things from your brain, and stapled your head back up, would you be on nothing more than regular strength tylenol and be busy planning a wedding?

'CAUSE SHE IS.

D. doesn't mess around when it comes to recovery.

You'll be happy to know that I shimmied Karen Walker-style when I noticed the video camera pointed on her bed to monitor patients that might have seizures. I thought it would cheer her up. She, the one who's supposed to be ill and filled with a new appreciation for life (READ: EXPECTED TO BE KIND), said:

"Oh honey no. They're going to think YOU'RE having a seizure if you keep doing that."

That's the last time I let my guard down around a brain surgery patient.

Where's Sophia Loren?

Ben: Theo's a brave little champ. He's got the peeing thing down outdoors, although we have to be sure to let him out regularly. We're getting there slowly but surely as he single-mouthedly drags every item in our house to new random locations to appease his internal feng shui.

Kimberly: I think it's hilarious that Theo rearranges things randomly while Calvin hoards things. It's like the odd couple only they're cute puppies and not crotchety old men.

They look pretty crotchety to me while they're doing their syncronized plug-nose-into-butt sleeping routine.

P.S. I apologize for the lack of Theo pictures and coverage but we're suffering from second child syndrome. We documented every part of Calvin's life and now? Meh...Theo will probably be that cute again at some point.

Plus it's hard to get a photo where he's not dragging my sweaters around the house.

Little bastard.

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..."

No plans, two moms and a secret

As you may have deduced from yesterday's post, this week has not been very pleasant. Nothing major or overly upsetting, but I've realized that I'm without a plan to get to where I want to be. Okay, this is not just about my bus navigation skills again. I mean where-I-want-to-be, bigger picture edition. You know, the one that you talk about when you're hammered at two in the morning, sitting around a campfire with all of your friends. Then, you suddenly realize that there's really only one of them left rolling his eyes at your slurry dreams and goals and while you're seeing triple.

I need to find my plan so that I can get some drive back before I keep missing posting days and worrying my mother (who I just learned judges my well-being on my blog activity). So that's what I'll be doing for the next little while. Advice, encouragement, your stories are welcome (ben.boudreau at gmail).

Speaking of my mother, here is something she said when I was complaining about the serious joint pain I've been having with my knees (I fall over almost every morning when I get out of bed and I'm having a really hard time on stairs. a) it's not because I'm hungover b) I'm not overweight c) I'm not wearing stilettos...often):

"Well, they say that the knees are the first thing to go in boys like you..."

"Mom? That was more than a little dirty."

"It wasn't meant to be...wait...wha?...Oh god!! Noooooo!! I DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT!!"

Speaking of other mothers, my newf-in-law is coming to stay with us for a few days which'll be a big drunken blast! Hopefully she won't make nasty jokes like that mom of mine. Or, hopefully she will!

To make this weekend even more exciting, there is something very big happening tomorrow morning. If you don't get start excited about it now, you'll regret it once you find out what it is...stay tuned. Also, make sure you catch the two-part conclusion to Union Jane's night of madness that started on the weekends a few weeks ago. It's a doozy.

Lastly, if you made it through this post wanting more, check me out on You are flawed if you are not free. I'm guest-posting for the oh-so-adorable Jenn while she is living it up at BlogHer. Jealous? Me too...

Have a great weekend!

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!

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."

Quotorama 2008 is SO ON

N: So I was jogging around downtown and decided to go up Citadel Hill [editor's note: known sex-cruising location] to do some hill training. It was only 8pm so STILL LIGHT OUT and this guy shouts out at me. I turn to look and he's rubbing his crotch with a fifty. I'm still frazzled...I didn't know what to do or who to call...

Ben: Awww....that's awful. I'm so sorry you had to go through that...

N: Thanks...

Ben: Besides, I'd pay you a couple hundred.

N: THANK YOU! That's all I wanted to hear!

Not to be out-quoted

Because my Mom has been getting so much quote action on NOR and it's his birthday tomorrow, I give you a gem from my father, by email from a business trip in Montréal:

"It is hot and sunny so I have retreated to a gay bar around the corner from the hostel. Ok I dont know if it is a gay bar, but it was playing "Its raining men" when I arrived and lots of other songs with whistles and such. Now it is Santa Esmerelda.

It is showing the Dutch gane on TV and it has beer. I will try to stay out of trouble, and not embarass Ben on a National scale just yet."

My parents? AWESOME.

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 dog walk

No one told me that it was extremely warm outside and thanks to the unspoken rule that says not to open the blinds in the office I'm in these days, I took Calvin for a walk in jeans and a heavy hoody. Calvin almost suffocated but kept himself alive if only to shake his face back and forth to see how far his tongue could whip around on its own. This is a newly learned game for him and I love it. It makes him look slack-jawed and a little frightening.

We're walking, listening to the iPod when all of a sudden a little is pointing and smiling and laughing and saying "Oh my god!", a little more than you would normally when you see a cute dog. I unplug and prepare for the puppy love when I hear her saying, "Oh my...that dog must be Calvin! And that would make you! Oh my...."

So now I'm caught halfway between wow...my blog is popular (it's not) and is it okay to get that excited to meet a blogger? (it's not), when she says something along the lines of:

"That would make you....Ralph O'Malley. Oh Ralph, we had such good times together when everything was purple. Purple is tasty, you know. Have you ever tried purple, Ralphie?"

Not only was I not famous, I was in the presence of one serious McHomeless Meal with up-sized addictions. When irony strikes, it strikes hard.

I then got home and realized the newf was out. This normally is not a problem. It IS, however, a problem when I have sweat so much (we walk REALLY fast) that I can't get my t-shirt off without back-up. I struggled, I almost fell over, I got stuck with my arms contorted around my neck, until I finally realize....I know EXACTLY how to solve this problem.

So I flexed and shredded the shirt to bits.

It could happen.

I certainly didn't hook it onto a doorknob and writhe around until it came off...THAT's for sure.

"What the hell do you write about me?!"

From the makers of Splenda and the woman who brought you such people as my brother and me...

I give you, a salvaged Mother's Day surprise:Splenda's use-exactly-as-sugar directions screwed me today. I have a killer, easy recipe for chocolatey, oaty, peanut buttery goodness that was going to give me about 30 cookies. When made with Splenda? The recipe results in three of the above-pictured hearts.

Garbage. But cute garbage.

I have another tray of different cookies in the oven which are also going to be a baking fail since the newf has been skimming chocolate chips off the top for weeks now and I have no interest in putting on pants for a grocery run. They will be fine although substantially less chocolatey.

At least she will be happy that I didn't continue to tarnish her reputation by posting quotes such as: "3.8 GPA? The only 3.8 I had in university was blood-alcohol level!"

She likes to pretend that one never happened. BUT IT SO DID.

Coping methods

Yesterday was a terrible day made worse by the fact that it had so much potential. It was warm and sunny for my run with the pooch and I had two dates with friends I hadn't seen in ages later that afternoon.

But six days of irregular sleeping patterns, increased stress levels, and decreased nutrition levels got the best of me and turning your's truly into a raging lunatic. You see, my week started last Friday. That's when my seemingly easy, breezy (watching too much ANTM) week turned into a huge list of things that HAD TO BE DONE ASAP OR ELSE YOU WILL LOSE YOUR DREAM HOME.

Since then, I have been struggling to keep up with realtor meetings, inspections, bank appointments, offer amendments, and insurance junk. The newf and I have been handling it marvelously - knowing when to just have a laugh or when to unite and release our stress at other people rather than at each other. But, since the newf has to work rather than keep me mellow 24/7, I almost killed a man. Then, since I didn't, I almost killed a baby.

When I'm at the point of lashing out at babies it's time to go visit my mom. Usually, she will either make me a martini, tell me what a t-word (her favourite naughty name) I'm being and to get over it, OR, she is ready to wage war on the free world on my behalf. Yesterday, the solution was to stand in front of City Hall, a common route for on-foot commuters, and make fun of people until we felt less angry.

Like, the homeless man ("from Cape Breton" - a crucial distinction according to him) with rum on his breath who was begging for 36 cents. Reaction to his first attempt: "We're from Cape Breton too. Where's OUR 36 cents?"

He went around to everyone else in the square and came back to us. Hobo fail. Reaction to his second attempt: "You already tried us, SIR....*expletive* inattentive panhandlers..."

Or, like the lady in her office who put up a sign in the bathroom asking people to call her if they find her lost $20 bill. Think about it. We then decided the best course of action would be to plaster the city in signs saying:

LOST - $200,000 in small bills. Please call if any portion thereof is found.

After laughing maliciously at many other people, Mom took off saying: "Look, those buses are just gearing up speed. Watch me walk out on the crosswalk in front of them so they have to stop quickly and make everyone slam their faces on the seats in front of them."

Luckily, I am doing much better today having slept very well last night after relaxing with cake...

...I mean Shannon who brought cake...

...I mean cake...

I'm happy to report that we are numerous steps closer to closing the deal once and for all. An amendment after the inspection knocked a couple thousand off the price, the letter saying we can get the home insured came through (after the aforementioned man I wanted to cut called to kiss my ass in a big way after the newf threatened to take OUR business elsewhere), and the financing will be finalized once the bank assessor goes through the place today.

But seriously, don't mess with me until this is over. Kthxbai.

A dose of perspective

Last night I talked to my friend of 15+ years who has kept me sane during crazy times. She has been in Ottablah since the summer for school and is due back in less than a month (woot!). She took a moment to remind me of a date we had last year at a great pizza joint (Alexandria's, of course) before she left for school.

Leigh: You sat there and told me that you wanted the dog, the house, and the [proverbial] white picket fence. You got the dog. You got the house. You got the fence.

Me: Wow.

Me: Yeah.

And here I was thinking that I had stalled over the past few months.

Five drink minimum

It's not often that I blog under the influence, probably because I so rarely AM under the infleunce anymore, but since tonight is a Tuesday and I am officially shmammered, I consider it a special occasion worth posting.

I met up with a client/BFF/mentor for some beverages at the local irish pub, played some serious Rockband/Guitar Hero and stumbled my way home with some sweet-ass quotes. These quotes will not be attributed to anyone (which - to any smart person - means that they are mine and largely offensive) but are definitely worth posting before I forget them.

"Peer pressure is lame, but being thin is awesome."

"I'm make-out-with-a-stranger drunk."

To the new friend who is a corrections officer:
"Did you just say all your colleagues are inbred?"
"-No, he said they're all in prison."
"Oh okay. I just figured...being from Cape Breton and all..."

Only funny to people in the Halifax area:
"I'm going on a Sex and the City bus tour."
"No way! In Sackville?" *immediately realizing what a dumb question that was and wondering why Sackville was put forth versus NYC.
"Ummm.....not so much."

From Mom after arriving home (yes, I am still at my parents' until Friday)
"Ugh. Just please don't spill aspirin all over the bathroom and giggle about it again."

The SATC Sackville bus tour is currently in the works featuring bars and apartments that have never seen the likes of Sarah Jessica Parker. Reservations are required.

Goodnight all and not a moment too soon.

Excommunicated 2006

"I'm up for a scholarship that'll pay for me study abroad for four months."

It was a lie. A big lie. Maybe one of the biggest I've ever told. I used to lie a lot - a childish habit commonly associated with daydreamers.

When you move around as a kid, you have the opportunity to rewrite your own history time and time again. The temptation was more than I could handle. My lies were always modest, based-on-a-true-story type lies. Nothing as extreme as this one.

This one last big lie that would set me free.

The blank stare that met my fake but nonetheless exciting news was deafening.

"So...you're leaving?"

"I'm definitely thinking about it. I mean, it's a great opportunity for me, don't you think?"

"So you're leaving."

"Nothing is for sure yet. You're not as excited for me as I expected."

"You're the one turning your back on me. What am I supposed to do? What do I mean to you if you can just run off and..."

"Do you want me to stay?"

"Please, please don't leave me. I need you. You can't leave me. I'll die without you." Desperate now. Selfish. Controlling. Terrified.

I had my answer.

So I was leaving.

[Edit: Thanks to the crew at 20SB for including this piece as part of their Tests-themed Blog Carnival. Take a look at the other great posts here.]

So long trans fats!

Excerpt from a client meeting

Coordinator: I'm not even kidding, when they told me to go to Hibernia I said: but I'm wearing sandals! I don't even have Uggs or a parka!

Manager: Not boots....but Uggs?

Me: Right, the most practical of winter-wear when you think you're heading to the tundra.

Client: *flabbergasted, unsure whether to encourage us or just cut the deal short*

A few months ago I emailed Roro, an ACTUAL freelance writer and quite possibly my soulmate. At the time, I was half looking for work and half pretending that being on a radio game show was going to be my ticket to fame. I asked her how I could move from the freelancer who plays with a puppy and eats Ruffles all day to one who actually works and makes money. She suggested that I sleep around until I find someone who needs a writer then promptly excused herself from her email to go finish off her own bag of chips.

I took that advice to heart. I slept around A LOT. Sometimes I even forgot why I was doing it. Who has time to work when you're so busy f...

Okay fine. That whole part was an idealistic, slutty lie. Instead I've been working on producing the best content for the clients I DO have and then taking small, affordable steps to marketing myself and IT'S FINALLY WORKING! I've been so busy for the past week and a half working on a bunch of different projects and it has been so great to get back on that pace.

Is it so wrong that I loved being asked to write a blurb with little to no direction besides "poetic...but still on strategy" on a two-day deadline only to have it switched to a two-hour deadline? That's the kind of stuff my ADD-professional dreams are made of.

I don't know exactly why I'm posting this...maybe just because I feel great about everything today and want to give myself props on making things happen for myself. Is that so wrong?

I'm all business, all the time now suckas...

Just kidding, I'm playing with the pooches as I type.That's right...TWO pooches. More on this tomorrow.

Union Jane & NOR hate today

U.K. correspondent Union Jane sent me this article in an email this morning. For those too lazy to read, it's about a turtle who sulks unless he gets his ciggies. Is it an animal rights violation to enable his addiction, or to deprive him of his smokes? Is it even illegal for turtles to smoke?

Anyhow, this post is as far as I'll step toward pretending that April Fool's Day is not an absolute scourge upon humanity. The big exciting news revealed in our email exchange is 100% real and 500% awesome. I'll spill more details as soon as I'm able.

Forgive our ADD-style of conversation. us PR folk are used to having to cover a lot of ground very quickly.

---

NOR: That's TERRIBLE and who the hell writes an article about a smoking turtle?? Starring in an ad this morning. Holla!

UJ: What?! You need to give me the details of your new-found career. Your last email was somewhat cryptic and exciting - you're basically an enigma to me now.

NOR: WAIT! As I decided I should clarify that my news is NOT an april fools joke, perhaps that's what's going on in the article? Well...we can only hope.

I can't say much about the ad but picture this: me dancing around in a cartoon world. Does it matter what the product is? You'll die when I tell you what the distribution plan is...can't yet. So sad.

UJ: Sadly, if you were familiar with the Express' content, you would know that this is not at all an out-of-character article. Besides, it's afternoon now in The Big Smoke.

On your elusive teaser - All I can imagine is some kind of marriage between Joseph And The Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat and Planet Unicorn. I hope you are slightly less Hebrew and slightly more "Heyyyyyyyy!"

---

Related:
Union Jane on the most naked clothing retailer
Union Jane wears a "the end is near!" sandwich board

P.S. This is my 200th post!