This space reserved…

Lagunatic doesn’t have time right this second to post, but I’ll be back later today..

I did the conception couch on ebay thing….and I’m sad Ellen Degeneris hasn’t yet called <—– joke.

Now, I have to do my Nutella Raspberry Pie post.

It’ll have pictures.

And, instructions.

In English.

With subtitles.

Which, I haven’t figured out how to do yet.

So, I’ll probably just not do it at all.

And, that makes me a liar.

Um, I’m taking back the part about the subtitles.

The post will have pictures, and instructions……in English……..and, that’s all.

I can see you sitting there, all chomping at the bit in anticipation.

BBL!

Wait!….a little preview:

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…

Lagunatic finally did it.

I listed the “conception couch” on ebay.

And, it’s all your fault – that’s what you get for voting in one of my polls.

Selection Sunday

Lagunatic doesn’t know which topic to write about next.

There are three that have been weighing heavily on my mind and that NEED to get written then posted, but they’re all labour intensive…………and I’m very lazy.

So, because I love audience participation, I’ve decided to let you decide for me.

Read, Set, GO!

Hot Stuff.

Lagunatic enjoyed some, uh, marital relations this morning….and then relished in a peaceful slumber while Jimmy went to remove a wooden block and a set of small fingers from a doorjamb.

Anyway, it didn’t take long for Julian  to come into our room for a morning snuggle:

“Mommy, why aren’t you wearing a shirt????”

“Because, I was hot.”

“Oh…………are you wearing underwear?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because, I was hot.”

*tsk* “Mommmmy!!!!! I don’t take my underwear off when I get hot in bed!!!!”

“Well, I’m not you, silly.”

He let it go at this point, but leaned over to kiss my cheek.

“Mommy! Your cheek is so hot!”

“I was sleeping on it.”

“………I’m going to call you FIRE GIRL!!!”

He’s not the only one.

….and another thing, they’re called WAGON WHEELS!!!

Lagunatic is about to write an angry missive.

I’m quite fond of doing this. Just ask any ex-friend, ex-boyfriend, local TV reporter, Jimmy, Focus on the Family, the Internet Monk, that scary looking chick from the Real Housewives of New Jersey, etc, etc.

Nothing says, ‘FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING WOMBAT!!” better than a fourteen paragraph venomous spew that is poorly written and worsely grammared.

Anyway, today’s target recipient is the company who manufacturers MoonPies ™.

I have a long and, until now, loving history with the product. When I was a kid, my grandparents would pick me up from Saturday morning swimming lessons bearing hugs, love, and a fresh MoonPie. While pregnant (both times) I’d detour to the gas station whenever my tank hit 3/4 full just so I could indulge my growing fetus in one….or three.

There is a system to eating a MoonPie, you know – it is very serious business. You don’t just dig in all wonton and fancy free, oh no – if you eat one wrong you will be cursed with bad fortune for eleven years. It’s a fact – look it up (ok – I read it in a fortune cookie once, and it is possible I mis-read the Chinese characters….mainly because I don’t speak Chinese).

Here’s how you do it;

1. Softly nibble off the top layer of chocolate covered graham cracker

2. Remove the marshmallow layer gently with your teeth leaving a chocolate wall on the circumference of the remaining graham.

3. Savour each morsel of the marshmallow layer

4. In a manner related to corn cob eating, chow on the chocolate wall

5. Finish the remainder of the chocolate covered graham.

6. Stop at the nearest trash bin and dispose of any evidence, ie. the wrapper/box.

So……the missive. I can only imagine the wear the edge of your seat is getting at my expense.

Today, after my limit of inveigling the offspring was reached, the ensuing foul mood followed me into the grocery store where Zandi and I were shopping for dinner (pasta and rotisserie chicken – we’re not dead yet so I think it was fine). Finding something sweet wasn’t an act of defiance, it was survival! What I really wanted were some of those Pepperidge Farms Caramel TimTams but, alas, they were no where to be found. My not-to-be-disuaded eyes settled on a shelf full of MoonPies and my brain ever so politely informed me that this was the only logical substitution.

Anyway, I love mint…like LOVE mint – especially when mixed with chocolate – so you can well imagine my glee when I noticed the MINT MOONPIES!

Fast forward to post-supper. I went straight for the mint MoonPies with so much anticipation and drool you would have thought I was a priest alone in his chamber with an altar boy and a jar of mayo.

How did I move from Catholic covetousness to Fundamental fury so quickly, you ask?

There was no marshmallow layer.

NO MARSHMALLOW LAYER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!    !!   and some more !!!!!!!! for effect. !

If I’d known of this most egregious of omissions I would have just bought a fucking York Peppermint Patty!!

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

So, I ate two and hid the rest of the box behind my sweaters for tomorrow.

Gelatinous goo.

Lagunatic loves Facebook.

Who doesn’t, really?

Anyway, maybe you’ve heard, but there’s this viral status update thingy happening (last week, actually) where you are supposed to change your avatar (the picture in your profile) to a picture of someone famous who people have said you resemble.

This stopped me short..I didn’t know what to do!

Well, Jimmy always tells me I look like Ali Larter which is why I love him.

But, I’ve heard a myriad of other people, like Nicole Kidman, Priscilla Presley, Sharon Stone (someone actually asked for my autograph once, thinking I was her – I told the guy to lay off the LSD), Michelle Pfeiffer…blah, blah, blah – basically anyone blonde or with a heart shaped face, light eyes, and arched eyebrows.

I didn’t go for any of these, however.

When I was but a little lass….my self-esteem just starting to form…my breasts mere buds….my giggles still girly….my vagina still virtuous….an older boy at the park studied me quizzically one day:

“You know who you look like?”

“Who?”

“That girl in that movie.”

“Which movie?”

Um – this is the girl in the movie he was speaking of:

My doppelganger is the Gummi Bear Girl from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

*sigh*

I wonder if Ali Larter likes gummi bears? I have some in my pocket – they’re real warm and soft.

It’s, like, all poetic and shit.

Lagunatic just changed the avatar for this blog.

I don’t know why it’s taking so long to show up or is such a painful undertaking – probably because I’m doing it wrong, but that’s beside the point.

Anyway, I went into the “My Dashboard” function to take a look around.

And that’s where I saw this.

It’s a list of phrases people used to search for my blog (un-edited):

Top Searches

lagunatic,  there was once an lunatic.. one fateful day.. he went on his private jet with his driver. suddenly..the plane lose control. the lunatic threw the toilet bowl down. why did he do that?,  shoulder-check means?,  shoulder check driving,  give and ye shall receive

I’m guessing the lunatic should have paid for his driver get a pilot’s license… I wonder if they’re dead.

Mush.

Lagunatic had quite the eventful weekend.

It snowed all Friday and some of Saturday. We were left with INCHES of snow!

Now, to those who were born and raised in the South, this was a very big deal, but to me, the Canadian who used to leap from roof tops into 10 foot snow drifts below and walk three miles uphill in both directions to school in it everyday,  it was akin to pocket change – a mere dusting.

On Saturday, Jimmy (a native New Yorker who has also seen his fair share of the white stuff) and I were busy making jokes about all the church, government, grocery store, and knitting club closings scrolling at the bottom of the television screen when he decided Cabin Fever was setting in and he wanted to go to the gym.

About here is where things got dicey.

You see, our driveway has a bit of a pitch….it’s relatively steep but I didn’t even give it a second thought….until Jimmy promptly came back inside saying he couldn’t get out:

“I can’t make it up the hill.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. My car keeps sliding back down.”

“Try going up backwards.”

“Backwards?”

“Yeah – that’s what my parents always did in Canada when they were stuck. Then they’d come home and plug the car into the wall socket so the engine wouldn’t freeze because that’s how cold it was…unlike here, where I see palm trees sprouting as we speak.”

“Ok! I’ll try it.”

Exactly three minutes later he was back in the house:

“Sue, where are your keys?”

I’ve got the big car – the taxi service vehicle equipped complete with this snow button thingy – so I was understandably arrogant in my belief that getting out would be a piece of cake.

Three minutes later:

“Sue, I can’t get out.”

“REALLY? BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA…………………………………give me the keys and let me try.”

Nice, eh? The wife immasculates the husband by insinuating that he’s incapable of something so easy even she could do it. Blindfolded. With both hands strapped behind her body. While being stung by fire ants. And chewing gum.

This is the kind of behaviour that guarantees life-long and successful relationships, folks.

Anyway, I discard my fuzzy bootie things in favour of sneaks and strut out the door in my t-shirt…because I’m macho like that.

I get in the car, plug the key into the ignition, and revel in the sound of it’s powerful engine roaring to life. I hit the snow do-hickey and shift the stick into ‘drive’.

Up, up, up the hill I go. I can see the top..the goal…the exit onto the street. I’m so close to to the summit I can taste success. My breath becomes a bit more laboured with the increased altitude. I consider putting an oxygen mask in my passenger seat. My cocksuredness reaches epic proportions.

Then, everything stops…….except my back wheels – they galivant from side to side like Kim Kardashian’s ass. Mesmorizing, but ultimately useless.

Not to be deterred, I go back down the hill and try it again.

I realize, after my fourth attempt, that the only thing I’m accomplishing is subjecting Jimmy, who’s watching from the garage, to a marathon of Keeping up with the Kardashians episodes. I get half-way up the hill, my hefty ass saunters from side to side, and then I roll back down.

Defeat.

Me and my bruised ego slump in to the warm house to look up crow recipies. I hear it’s good in stew.

Anyway, I took a video:

I told all my Facebook friends about getting snowed in. An old friend from highschool told me he was taking away my ‘Canadian Winter ‘ Brownie badge.  I’m putting it in the mail today…along with my toy Mountie, snow shoes, and Igloo-making instructions. I’m keeping my dog-sled harness, though. I think Jimmy has plans big plans for it.

It’s a bird! It’s a plane! What the hell is that?

Lagunatic feels bad for the patheticness of my last post so I’m going to try and make amends.

Zandi is on the sofa – cushions throw across the room – where she’s doing her best DC-10 impression:

Arriving to the tarmac:

Prepare for take-off:

Away we go:

BARREL ROLL!!:

Phew! Back to earth:

She’s taxiing back to the gate now looking to re-fuel.

Yes, I realize that DC-10s don’t barrel roll……..party pooper.

Where’s Andy?

Lagunatic wants you to know that I’m sparing your eyes the agony of what I’d originally written here and that you should thank me.

And, now for something completely different.

Last night I had someone new in my bed…a spicy red-headed female. She was soft and sweet and caring and nice. She’s also famous. Maybe you’ve heard of her?

One day, I’m going to reclaim my bed. And then I’ll no longer know what it’s like to have to remove toes from my ear and yarn from my teeth.

This is my goal, people….this is my Nirvana.

Be envious as I dare to dream the impossible dream.