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The North Pole, a stick, and some polar bears… according to Amy.

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It’s so interesting to hear a child reason out things. Amy (remember, she’s only 5) came to me this morning and asked me if I had a compass. Wondering what on earth she’s conjuring up this time, I advised her that sadly, I do not have a compass.

Amy: “Well, can you go buy one? I need to use one right away.”

Me: looking at her quizzically. “What do you need a compass for?”

Amy: “To find out which way is North. Like, the North Pole.”

Me: “Oh, I see.”

It was then she described to me an elaborate plan that involved a compass, a stick of some sort, and something about the North Pole. She said something about being able to find a stick that leads to the North Pole and you can take it home (not sure if she meant the stick or the actual north pole). I know. I didn’t get it either. But she was convinced this was a legitimate plot and assured me that it made sense. I made a confused face.

Amy: “It will work Janet.”

Me: “I have no doubt.” I replied, having no idea what exactly was going to work – the idea, the stick, or the compass, but who was I to judge? I could be sitting in the midst of a genius kid here. She has a great sense of imagination and creativity. She’s turned paper towel rolls into snorkels, cereal boxes into TVs, Smarties boxes into remote controls, and the list goes on. She’s turned empty pop bottles into water grenades (not sure why she went with weapons, but whatever), and I’m hoping and praying that she will find a way to upcycle my Toyota into a Mercedes convertible one of these days. Hey, a girl can dream.

Amy: “I think it would probably be better if we just flew in an airplane there.”

Me: “Now you are talking.” I replied, because now she was making sense and I could maybe understand this idea.

Amy: “Or we could drive there.”

Me: “Hmmm… I don’t think so, it would take an awful long time and what if we came across some polar bears?”

Amy: eyes wide, “Well, we’d just shave off their fur and turn them into meat for supper.”

Now my eyes were wide. Say what? Skin an animal and make it supper??? I don’t think so.

Me: “Uhhhh… I don’t think I could hurt an animal like that, could you?”

Amy: (thinking for a moment) “Well, Dad could wrestle the polar bears and then he could turn them into supper.”

Me: (envisioning that for a moment and liking the idea of her dad wrestling… perhaps shirtless, oil on his chest, muscles bulging… oh wait, getting off topic here) “Hmmmm… not sure about that. I don’t think I like this idea of killing the polar bears. Couldn’t we just eat Cheerios?”

Amy: rather loudly and seemingly quite frustrated at my lack of intelligence, “Well Janet, it could take us a hundred million days to drive to the North Pole and we’d have to eat SOMETHING with protein you know!!”

And there you have it. A feasible reason to eat a polar bear, at least according to Amy.

My thoughts exactly, little bear. My thoughts exactly.

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9 reasons why I couldn’t be an Olympian…

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With all the hub-bub of the Olympics it got me thinking today whilst perfecting my laying-in-the-pool skills that I really couldn’t be an olympic athlete.

Here’s why:

1. I don’t like to exercise.

Yah, that’s right. I hate exercise and I don’t like sweating. That’s a problem if you spend copious amounts of time training. Ewww… no thanks. My idea of bicep curls is bringing food to my face. My idea of running is when I hastily jaunt to the toaster before my breakfast burns. And aside from all that, you can’t wear high-heeled shoes when exercising, so no, this is clearly not for me.

2. I don’t like sports.

I almost hate them. And I’m not sure I really even like people who play sports. I’d rather watch paint dry, or bugs drown in the pool, or a pooping dog than watch even a minute of sports (except hockey because that isn’t a sport, it’s a religion.)

3. Some of the olympic “sports” aren’t even “sports” – if you ask me (which you didn’t, but I’m saying it anyway.)

I’m not sure just how archery, sailing and any of the equestrian events (unless you are the horse) are even considered sports. They require skill – yes – but aren’t sports in my opinion. Archery? Isn’t that just a glorified version of shooting tin cans with a beebee gun?

And how is sailing a sport? Seems to me an olympic sport involving a sailboat would be more in the line of “sailboat tossing”, or “jumping over sailboats” maybe.

And with the equestrian events, they shouldn’t even BE olympic events unless the horse is in a saddle on the athlete’s back. Now that would be an olympic sport I would watch. It seems to me that jumping a fence with a thoroughbred on your back would take more effort than just riding one around and around an arena.  Seriously though, horses jumping fences – how in the hell is that an olympic sport? Is it because it takes skill to control a horse? Gimme a break. I’m thinking that if the horse is the only one on a calorie reduced diet prior to the event, it’s the horse who’s the athlete.

Many athletes train for years and years with grueling regimes, enduring injury and exhaustion in achieving extreme physical prowess… and then someone gets the same medals for pulling out an arrow and shooting it at a target, or steering a horse while it jumps a fence – yah, that seems fair.  I guess they should add dog show competitions to the 2016 olympics, right after “tv channel surfing” and “nose picking”. But whatever.

Seriously? If this is going to be an olympic event, shouldn’t the horse be the one on the podium when the medals are given out?

4. I’m a quitter.

While watching Good Morning America one day (yes, I watch GMA because Canadian morning news shows are lame-o and the stories are sooo boring… “Manitoba man finds litter on property”, or “It’s raining in the forest again”) I saw an interview with one of the American gymnasts who said she trains 8 hours a day. Say what? 8 hours? Every day? Pfftt… after a week of me doing something like that I’d have the attitude “yah, that should be good enough… I’m ready for the Olympics… call me when it’s time to go.”

5. I’m lazy.

The mere idea of having to train day in and day out doing the same thing over and over makes me too tired to even try. Sounds monotonous. Sounds like my job actually, except I’m not timed and required to beat my previous time. The only “marathon” event I’m interested in is a tv marathon of my favorite show.

6. I’d turn into the Incredible Hulk if I didn’t win a medal.

I know I already said I don’t want to train for  it, don’t want to exercise and hate sports… but I’m the kind of person who thinks that unless an athlete wins a gold medal, they failed. I know, I knowwwww, it’s an incredible achievement just to get to go to the Olympics, just like it’s an honor to be nominated for an Oscar, but unless there was a hunk of gold around my neck – it would be an epic fail for me. No gold medal – fail. Got a silver one – fail-you shoulda tried harder to get a gold. Bronze medal – puh-leeze – may as well have just finished last. It’s gold or bust for me. But that’s easy for me to say when I have no discipline, drive or desire for anything that requires effort.

7. I’m Canadian (well, I’m half American, but the Canadian side has won over)

Uh… hello. I think we have maybe 12 medals, maybe? I think Michael Phelps beat that in one swim. And I think even Cuba has more gold than us. Let’s face it, we are a country of olympic hopefuls, we’re just not medal-fuls. Although I’m quite certain we WOULD get a gold medal for the worst dressed at the opening ceremonies. I mean, beige pants and a red jacket with “Canada” emblazoned on it? That’s the best we could do? Did our olympic team just find out the night before that they were going to London and just grabbed whatever jackets the Roots store had on hand?

Who’s the genius that came up with this ensemble?

8. Makeup would be pointless.

I don’t even go to the mailbox without a full face of makeup on, so parading around in public and on international tv without makeup on would give me hives and make me cranky. No one wants a cranky athlete, no one.

9. I love chocolate, candy, and all things banned from a serious athletes diet.

It’s true. I do. I should be a member of CA – Chocoholics Anonymous, or heck even the group for Chocoholics who aren’t “anonymous”. So yah, I’m sure there aren’t any Olympians chowing down on a box of Mike n’ Ikes, a Mars bar, or a bag of Doritos during training (except for the archers, sailors, or horseback riders who could enter pie eating contests right before their events with no physical consequence to their “sport”). But who knows, maybe I’m wrong. Doubt it, but maybe.

And that pretty much sums up some of the main reasons I wouldn’t be an Olympian.

I wish all athletes in all countries the absolute best because while I’m sarcastic in my blog about not liking the olympics, or making fun of the lack of skill in some sports, I do realize that they’ve trained for years to get there and that’s an amazing feat. However, with that in mind, I’m looking forward to the closing ceremonies, not because I’m planning to watch, but because it will mean they are over… at least for a few years.

So yah… I won’t be making any olympic team in this lifetime…. unless “tv channel surfing”, “floating in the pool”, or “ranting and raving” are debuted at the next olympics. In that case, I better get practicing.

Real Housewives? I think not.

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The other night I caught a repeat episode of The Real Housewives of Vancouver (that’s in Western Canada for those of you from other parts of the world who are reading this.) I’d seen an episode a few years ago based on the housewives of Orange County, and I’ve seen commercials for spinoffs in other cities as well.

Holy Batman… they all look like the Joker. yikes.

The premise of all these silly shows is the same. The camera follows these filthy rich women around as they go about their high falutin’ day-to-day life… trips to the spa, elaborate lunch dates that cost more than my mortgage with other equally rich women, buying new ferraris, vaycays to the south of France on their private jets, suntanning their leather looking skin on their million dollar yachts, shopping for Christian Louboutin shoes before they head home to see what their personal chef has whipped up for dinner. Gimme a break. These are supposed to be REAL HOUSEWIVES???… these are real RICH-WIVES, not HOUSEWIVES.

Aside from all the shopping, tanning and backstabbing, they all seem find time to soiree with their personal plastic surgeons. Now, I’m not a person who is against plastic surgery, but I can’t stand it when you see these kinds of women who have so much work done they look rediculous and say they haven’t had any work done. Yah, and neither has Joan Rivers. Their faces are frozen, their lips look like they’ve lost about five rounds with Mohammad Ali, their teeth look like chicklets, and their cheeks are round like a Cabbage Patch doll. Seriously.

Obviously they don’t have a show that flashes the glamorous life of real everyday housewives because that’s what many women really are – what would be the fun in that I suppose. I know lots of stay at home moms who are a more traditional “housewives”. I admire every one of them. Instead of flashy cars and expensive jewelry, they are driving minivans and donning jewelry made of pipe-cleaners handcrafted by the 5 year old the day before. They aren’t at the spa, they are at the grocery store. Suntanning to them is what happens when you are outside hanging the neverending pile of laundry on the clothesline on a sunny day. And what’s for dinner is whatever you are going to make… there’s no gourmet chef because YOU are the chef.

Doesn’t every woman cook in a dress with hair done up and pearls on????

I say we give the REAL HOUSEWIVES of the world two thumbs up and a hip hip hooray! Enough with these phoney, self-absorbed, back stabbing cougars!

There, I’ve said my piece. I gotta go make sure I have the next episode taped for later… hey… making fun of these women makes me feel better – what can I say!  hahhah!