I have always felt that sports that can be played with a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other are the best kind of sports…you know, darts, golf and of course, everyone’s favourite boring sport, baseball. I had the good fortune to dust off my Commie-esque baseball cap for the first time in 10 years on Canada day and play. What a fucking boring game! Especially when, in my head, I remember being good at it. I remember being able to hit a ball, catch a ball and run really fast. None of those things came back to me. Although I felt I was sprinting like I was springing like Usain Bolt but was probably actually waddling medium speed. The worst was when I was right underneath a fly ball, perfectly set up to catch and it and it somehow bounced off my knee cap instead…when did I become dyslexic and ouch that fucking hurt. There are a long list of sports I think I like because I think I am good at them and as soon as I start playing, I realize I hate them because I am not good at them at all…for example, mini putt, bowling, skating, pool, darts…ok none of those are really sports but you get the point. 

I was driving the other day and kept hearing this insane sound coming from my car. I pulled over, you know to like kick the tires or whatever people do to cars and then went on my merry way. I heard it again and was sure there was a grinding piece of metal about to fly from my car at any second. Well funny enough it all went away from I turned off the techno music blasting from the radio. Note to self, never listen to music in the car that sounds like grinding metal and mad beats.

I went into Macs in Carleton place to get an ice cream, because I am having an affair with Magnum Gold, although it’s none of your business. At the cash there was an old guy and a young lady trying to convince the cashier who had the most cats. I was wondering when becoming a crazy cat person became a badge of honour, but well hey, it was in Carleton Place. I knew the lady would win, her cat stench was ruining my courting moment with Magnum.

Went to see the movie “This is the End” which I was nervous about because funny movies can go either way with me. I either love them or hate them. I did not have high hopes for this movie at all, but totally loved it! It was only slightly ruined by the lady who sat behind me, who had obviously just marinated in some cheap fruity perfume before coming out. At first I was like, wow she smells good, I feel like I’m on some beach in the Caribbean. But by the end of the movie I had a crazy headache. I hate that people are obsessed with scents and making places a scent free environment because scents are nice and fun. But there is no need to fill a bath with cheap bath and body works perfume, let it sink into your every pore and then go somewhere public and full of people. It made me hate beaches and want to become violent with some coconuts.

I just came back from the farmer’s market and decided to go all Gwyneth Paltrow on everyone’s ass. I dusted off my old juicer and rocked out! I was so excited that I almost texted Hennie to hurry home because there was totally a phytonutrient party happening in the kitchen! Which then made me believe I probably need to get out of the house more. I had a brain wave to juice the perfect blend for daiquiris and then quickly scolded myself because that is totally not what Gwyneth would do. Do not add booze to your fresh juice blends! I also have to yell Goji berries at the top of my lungs the whole time I am using them because of the Yoga guy youtube videos. If you haven’t seen it, you must. Of course I juiced and made smoothies all day only to go into town and carry on my affair, with Magnum…none of your business!

When shopping for seriously over priced clothes in Almonte today I was asked by quite a few people if a) I was going to Celtfest or b) Bluesfest. Excuse my while I become my Father for a second and rant on these issues… 

Celtfest. I used to work in an Irish Pub. An Irish pub that wanted to be so authentic that the only music that was allowed was Irish Celtic music. From what I have gathered there are like 50 Irish folk tunes and everyone just covers them over and over again. Until one day you hear Whisky In the Jar one too many times and you realize the next celtic song you hear will incite a murderous, violin throwing, leprechaun slaying rampage. That is why I don’t go to Celtfest…for your safety. 

Bluesfest. Remember the days of Summersault and Edgefest when summer music festivals were small, organized and in great locations? Yes, me too. First, Bluesfest is too big. I went one year, only because I got free tickets, to see Soundgarden. Soundgarden turned out to be quite a heavy rock/metal band despite everyone only really knowing the songs Black Hole Sun and Spoonman. We were trying to get into it, be metal heads, do some fist pumping and head banging but in between we could hear the music coming from the other stage. Which was my arch musical nemesis Tegan and Sara! I cannot stand them! Heavy metal to dancy, clappy music totally hurt the vibe. Also just beside the stage is a ticker screen of everyones tweets about Bluesfest. And for someone with ADD when something is flashing in the corner of your eye, you must look! Then you realize you are staring at the stupid ticker thing wondering why people just aren’t enjoying the music and why they are all making stupid comments about how good the music is, because instead of listening and enjoying they are tweeting about it. Then you realize you are missing it because you can’t take your eyes away! So stupid! Also the toilets are hard to get to and for someone with a tiny bladder I would consider adult diapers next time. Parking is also a serious pain in the ass. Ok that is all, fuck Bluesfest.

I have recently realized there is no market for PMS medications. None at all. The only cure is chocolate ice cream, that is all.