I’m heading off to see Spam-a-lot this evening.  Apparently we love Drew enough to buy him tickets to the theatre as well as a new-to-him truck for his birthday.  I do so hope the traveling show is bringing goodies for sale as I have a desperate need to bless my Dr. Horrible’s Sing-along Blog and Browncoat related t-shirts with a new I’m not dead yet cotton sibling.

UPPERDATE: The show was fabulous.  If you live in Edm and have the time and $$, I highly recommend getting tickets for the show before it ends on Sunday.  Spam-a-lot will be in Calgary next week.  As for traveling merchandising, the show had a limited list of items but did bring the I’m not dead yet t-shirts with them.  Yippee.  Drew apparently has no imagination and bought the same t-shirt for himself.  I guess we’ll just have to do the “matching pair” thing.  Actually, it’s starting to become a little scary.  We’ve got at least 3 matching t-shirts at the moment.  Give us 20 years and we’ll be the couple wandering around some sunny destination completely co-ordinated.

We didn’t go to karaoke last night. I had a paper due and L, J and Drew weren’t in the mood. Since L and Drew are building a garage today (and tomorrow if they don’t finish), I don’t think either of them had any intentions of staying up late. The backyard gathering – started at L & J’s and moved to E & V’s around 10pm – was pretty dead by midnight. Having to work or handle school the next day tends to put a damper on the party spirit.

As the party was breaking up, one of the neighbours came over to borrow some DVDs. I’m not even sure if that’s legal anymore under the newly proposed copyright law. It’s not law yet so I guess I have a few more months to worry about it. In the meantime, we’ll continue to act like the neighbourhood video store and share our perfectly legal store bought purchased movies with our neighbours who want to watch them. I know. I used the evil share word. I just can’t see much of a difference between someone coming to watch the DVD at our house, on our TV, sitting on our couches, and eating our popcorn and someone borrowing the DVD, walking next door or across the alley, and watching the movie on their TV, sitting in their couches, and eating their own movie snacks.

Anywho. R picked out a few movies and headed up stairs. As he was leaving he left the door open and Bubba, our 10 year old blue point Siamese snuck out. She was lightening quick and I couldn’t catch her as she ran by me on the deck. Over an hour of panicked searching of the neighbourhood ensued. Running Walking up and down streets and alleys with flashlights calling “Bubba” got us no where. The evil man who let her out – by not shutting the door behind him – toddled home, brought Drew a flashlight, and then toddled back home once again. Apparently he didn’t think it was important to try and help us find our previously housebound cat.

It did end well though. In all our wanders in and out of the house while we were searching for Bubba, she managed to sneak by us once again. This time, it was to head back into the house and cuddle up on her cushion. We found her after I was saying her name in the kitchen while talking to Thanatos (yes, I talk to my cats). I said “Bubba” and immediately heard “meerow”. She has a very distinct meow. I called her name and kept following the “meerows” until I found her curled up on her favourite cushion in the basement.

We do strange things at our local karaoke bar. We sing rounds in the dark when the lights go out. We scrapbook. We tag inanimate objects with pithy sayings and watch our friend Robin get sent to the corner for a timeout when she misbehaves. Sometimes, we just hold strange conversations.

Friday, we were discussing misheard song lyrics and songs that have, what appears to be, stuttering in the lyrics. We didn’t come up with enough possible songs to make a CD out of either of the lists, so now I’m expecting you, my 3 faithful readers, to help us complete the 10-13 song discs.

Here’s what we’ve got so far:

Speech Impediment Rock

1. Ce Ce Rider
2. Sususudio
3. Bad to the Bone
4. Benny and the Jets
5. Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet
6. Get a Job
7. Karma Chamelian
8. My Sharona

Misheard Lyrics

1. My Corona (My Sharona)
2. I call for pizzas (I fall to pieces)
3. Big ol’ aunt Jemima (Big ol’ Jet Airliner)
4. Lucy in the Sty with Linus (Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds)
5. Kiss this Guy (Kiss the Sky)
6. Bathroom on the right (Bad moon on the rise)
7. Slow Talking Walter (Smoke on the Water)

Get cracking. What can you add to our lists?

Good morning. My name is She and I’m addicted to brads and eyelets.

My addiction has now progressed to the stage that my simple storage system has become woefully inadequate to house my purchases and I must go shopping to find a larger fishing tackle box (all crafter’s know these make the best small item storage bins). My current Plano 4 x 3650 Series System (no, I didn’t pay that much for it) is packed to the gills and I’ve no where to add the 20 new sets of brads and eyelets I’ve purchased over the past few weeks.

While I’m busy confessing my sins I need to follow appropriate Canadian behaviour and find someone to blame for my addiction. I am but an innocent victim of circumstances. It’s all Robin’s fault.

On my travels I’ve collected a lot of really cool stuff. Ticket stubs, notices from hotels relating to ongoing polical coups, newspaper articles about natural disasters I’ve lived though, and the like. Despite have a tonne of cool pictures I could never really see myself scrapbooking. I tried, but I’m just not crafty enough to manage it. Then Robin introduced me to altered art. With altered art came a use for all the cool brads and eyelets I’ve seen in stores. I purchase interesting onces in bulk bins for a nickle a piece. I have a hard time bypassing dollar stores when I know they have packages of brads on sale for a dollar. I find themes that match the brads and put together concept books and fill them with interesting brads I’ve picked up along the way. Then, I keep an eye out for even more interesting brads to add to my collection.

My addiction is facilitated by my access to a monthly allowance (who knew household budgets could be so interesting and useful) and a husband who lets me fill tackle boxes with odds and ends. I am an innocent victim of circumstances and shiney metal objects.

I think I’m in need of an intervention.

Tonight I’m heading to the Fort Rd. pub for a Burn’s night supper. Scotch tasting and haggis eating is on the menu – along with lots of dancing to the amazing band Boys of St. James Gate. This will be the first time I’ve seen the boys since Jimmy’s wake and I’m looking forward to a great night of music and friends.

It amuses me to no end that my husband and former Philippines traveling companion, Paul, both wear my family tartan. Drew inherited my great-uncle Davy’s kilt, passed down from my father, and wears it proudly to many events. Paul came by his in a less traditional manner. A kilt in the tartan had been ordered by another gentleman who, upon seeing the tartan once the kilt was made, decided he didn’t like it. Paul, being ever the frugal Scot, purchased the kilt at a discounted price and occassionally rents it out when more robust individuals need a kilt for a special function.

I was hoping to be given my dad’s kilt when my mom visited over Christmas so Drew and I could both wear the same tartan when we’re piping. As that didn’t come to fruition I’ll be leaving some room in my suitcase when I head home in spring in the hopes of filling it before I fly back to Edmonton.