November 3, 2011


Morning ramblings

How could I not post this? I mean, it was serendipity that I even found it. The Awl has a feature called Amusingly Horrible Things...that people say. Bosses, mothers, and the one I linked, strangers. As I've been amused and bemused lately by such offerings, I thought it only right that I posted it.

I also like when people say 'bemused' and mean 'amused'. I read a piece somewhere a few months ago that essentially said 'there are so many words that people screw up, we should just adjust the meaning and go with it'. I was not amused. When in doubt, go bastard? I think not.

I woke up confused this morning (see how I did that?). I had the strangest dream, and while it wasn't bad, it was odd. It left me a little funky (not smelly, just befuddled); not like the lottery dream, where you wake up and find out you're broke again and have to give back the yacht you just bought and named The Santa Lorraine. My boys actually call it The Lottery Dream. And I know when they've had it, because they come down so, so sad.

I dreamed a had a pack of kids with some guy. They were darling and all swirling around like in The Sound of Music, with all the blondness but without all the singing. Anyone who knows me believes right now I've confused 'dream' with 'nightmare' and you may be right. But there were all these kids and they weren't bothering me at all, which made me - in my dream - try to figure out who the Magic Sperm man was. He kept turning away from me in my dream, but I'd know that butt anywhere. The good news was that waking up to just my original kids was the opposite of The Lottery Dream: relieved to have less. Unless Julie Andrews was part of the deal. Oh! You think it was Christopher Plummer?!

Meetings, meetings, meetings. I'm co-hosting the Canadian Motorcycle Hall of Fame Awards Saturday night with Pat Gonsalves (who is awesome - that is all), and I will need some steel to stand in front of a room full of several hundred bikers and admit I don't have my licence.

Maybe I'll wear my Harley boots under my dress.

6 Comments:

Anonymous B1 said...

You're at the very least an honorary biker, Cat, so don't worry. Are the Duhamel pere et fils going to be there?

November 03, 2011 10:57 AM  
Blogger Lorraine said...

Don't see them on my list, but I only have the inductees and presenters....

I've been to the event before. Years and years of memories - all the way back to when I was a pup.

November 03, 2011 11:33 AM  
Anonymous buzzwhack said...

I'm reeling over some of those quotes. Interesting to note the worst offenders were thought to be real original pick up lines. I wonder how we had a population explosion with idiots like those around. Geez I come off looking suave and hip compared to those guys and gals.

November 03, 2011 11:43 AM  
Blogger djc said...

If it helps, a lot of those bikers out there are riders and enjoy the scenery from the "queen" seat.

Some of them even wear "T" shirts that say "If you can read this, the (richard) won't let me drive".

Of course the (richard) driving is probably wearing one that is a little ruder and refers to the rider.

November 03, 2011 1:59 PM  
Blogger Chris Brown (not the felon) said...

I find you're being a bit obfuscatious with the whole bemusement issue. Is it intentional? Most likely.

Make sure you wear warm woolly socks with the biker boots. It's fiercely cold here in Copenhagen and Saturday night I hear it's likely to be the same there.

Funny that my word is coliti and our foster daughter has just been diagnosed with colitis. WGJ is working overtime.

November 03, 2011 5:28 PM  
Blogger OmemeeOzzie said...

Perhaps you might reconsider and also wear what came in the pretty VS bag; going commando at a biker gig may not be your finest moment.

November 04, 2011 1:35 AM  

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