On May 12, 2011 Blogger crashed. Some of the comments for this post were lost.
Aaaaah. And this concludes the whinging part of this post.
Now I shall buck up.
Last year (or was it two years ago?) Mr Wrath didn't get me a present for Mother's Day. Up until the moment he'd confessed his oversight I was pretty blase about this faux-holiday. But for reasons I'm still not sure of (I am, after all, biologically incapable of nostalgia or sentimentality) it made me very upset. There were tears. And a side order of martyrdom. This year Mr Wrath brought his A-game. He, Zarf and Klaxon gave me a very pretty wrought-iron lantern to use on the deck. It looks quite pretty. Then Mr Wrath made one of my favourite dinners: spinach salads with grilled sirloin steaks and freshly barbecued corn.
I gave myself the Mother's Day gift of No Laundry. Since Sunday is usually the day I fold massive amounts of laundry, this required staying up late on Saturday night to sort and fold and put away clothes, linens, towels that I washed through the week & just let pile up in the laundry room. I also held off on stripping the beds (my usual Sunday morning regime). But somehow there's still a mountain of laundry (including fitted sheets, oh, how I hate folding the fitted sheets) requiring my attention. I'm thinking that No Laundry Sunday was kind of a dumb concept.
I realize that I have been remiss in mentioning our latest attempts at
The yellow stuff is their food.
I hope to repeat our success from last year when 11 of the 12 specimens survived. I think that one of the smallest caterpillars isn't going to make it, and am trying to bolster Klaxon's emotional reserves for this possibility. At present this involves referring to the sickly caterpillar as a Red Shirted Ensign.
This past week I learned that people are very curious about CBC on-air personalities. Based upon the number of people who came to my blog, I was not the only person who thought that Rex Murphy was cat napping in the midst of last week's election coverage. Even more exciting then this validation, was two people coming to my blog searching for confirmation that "Rex Murphy loves Laureen Harper." OHMIGAWD! I hope this is true. If there must be rumours about Ms Harper's side interests (and there are, and they appear to be baseless and influenced by misogyny), let it be that she is in love with my fellow Newfoundlander, Rex. I bet Laureen creates fake personas and calls Cross Country Checkup to engage in witty, verbose, sexy repartee with Rex. While Stephen is listening! That would be amazing.
So what are your thoughts on Arnold Schwarzenegger and Maria Shriver splitting up? I am about to write something very uncharitable, so look away if you are easily offended: I really hope that Maria isn't one of those women who lose a whole bunch of weight when her marriage ends. She's positively skeletal, now. If she loses any more weight her cheekbones are going to poke through her skin.
The saddest part of this divorce -- at least to me, who neither knows nor cares for these two -- is that now no one will be inclined to broadcast the Schwarzenegger-Shriver wedding videos. I'm particularly fond of the footage of Maria's friend Oprah Winfrey wearing a voluminous, tiered, beige outfit with the biggest pair of earrings known to humanity. As it is, I can't find the photos on-line. Damn. I only hope that when Maria appears on Oprah's show for the inevitable kiss-cry-confess interview, they show those photos. Because it's all about me being amused by dated fashion.
In case you are keeping up with the Celebrities Who Think They Are Cool By Giving Their Kids Shitty Names competition, I've added three names to the roster since Mariah Carey birthed Moroccan and Munroe:
- Alicia Silverstone cursed her son with the name Bear Blu. Was she watching Bear in the Big Blue House while in labour? While
- Bryan Adams and his personal assistant (who may be his girlfriend or he may have another girlfriend and he just likes the Victorian-era habit of sleeping with the hired help) have a child named Mirabella Bunny.
- C-listers Jay Mohr and Nikki Cox named their new son Meredith Daniel. It's cruel to give your son a name that is now almost universally used for girls, but I give them partial points for not using the hyphenated surname of Mohr-Cox. I would be sorely tempted.
This concludes the rambling portion of today's post.