If you have poo, fling it now.

No, Hurley did not eat all of them! They're all dead. Big woop. Now about my blog, some have asked questions from the About Me section. "Why fling poo?" It's what primates do when they are pissed, scared or bored. And flinging it? Well you can't get funnier than that. How better to define the purpose of this blog I ask? See? I have moments of brilliance...I'll let you know when they actually happen. "Is Kathleen Lord really awesome?" I'm sorry? I don't understand the question. "Do you really hate people?" I am flinging poo at them. No. Why do you ask? "Are you really married to Johnny Depp?" Totally true. I taught him French. He taught me how to wear bangles. "Are you Greek?" No, I am Irish Québécoise/French Canadian. Have you not been paying attention? Let's look at that map again, shall we? The big country on top with the socialistic anti-christ agenda that tends to

It's not terribly difficult. If you find yourself standing outside a closed restaurant bathroom door, you only have to check the door knob to ascertain if a door is locked. Jiggle the handle. Turn the knob. No give? You patiently wait. Of course I am in this restaurant bathroom. Me. You've met me right? Inside a small room. Door locked. Paper towel in hand, about to do the whole turn the knob with a let's-not-touch-it-shut-up-I'm-not-a-germ-freak-I-just-want-to-eat-my-meal-with-clean-hands kinda way. I'm trying my best to unlock the door and turn the nob, but the asshole (assuming) (correctly) the other side of the door, who has not read my first paragraph here, has been incessantly jiggling, turning, prying on the thing for what seems like a half hour now. Finally I swing the door open. The woman, who should not have dyed her hair black at that age, nor have worn that shirt, but I fashionably digress, screams. I mean she SCREAMS screams. Halloween the 13th

"Madame, est-ce un Dalmatien?" (Is it a Dalmatian?)  -Non. Same walk, different woman: "Il est beau votre Dalmatien" (Your Dalmatian is beautiful.)  -Um. Thank you? Same walk (where the heck was I walking?), middle aged man with his wife and kids:  "Wow. It must shit a lot." -I'm sorry, what's that now? "You know, it must shit a lot being so skinny?" -Hey kids, good luck with that bright future. Also, neighbour up the road, while walking my Dalmatian, obviously: "Ça c'est un beau Dalmatien hein madame?" (Now THAT is a nice looking Dalmatian isn't it lady?) - Why yes, yes it is. Not that I've known you for 35 years, not that I walk my dog twice a day every single day here for the past 9 years, not that you've asked me that every single time, not that I've corrected you every.single.time and we then proceeded to have a 30 minute conversation about whippets and racing and sighthounds

This is his eyeball. It's the one he picked me with.  This is the view he eyeballs from my Nanny's chair. Just so we're clear.  Some people need their eyeballs checked. 4 times. 

I tend to have quick reflexes. When I say quick, I mean NHL goalie quick. If you don't know what NHL means, get off my blog.  I once caught a cast iron frying pan that had only 1cm left to go before it hit the floor, reached down hiked it back up, while still doing the dishes and talking on the phone that was lodged between neck and ear. The person who saw me do this is still frightened of me. I'm harmless, most times. If you don't know what a centimeter is...well, really, who does? A few weeks back, after the flood refugee free concert, my Johnny and I were at a stop sign and this scene unfolded right in front of us in a blink of an eye:  (Before I recount this, I CANNOT believe I forgot this story until now! This is all true, I have witnesses.) In front of the the building directly across the boulevard and elderly man was trying to walk his furry white thing of a dog. Or rabbit, not sure. Now when I say elderly, I mean good for him with his ancient stooped posture,

If Moses hisself came down a mountain, bushes afire, with iPad tablets written in e-ink specifically stating: " Thou shall cough on thy neighbour's wife " - it is still not allowed. Nuh uh. Go on with ya. Go. And while I am here in going to hell land, the first draft of that commandment was "thou shall not covet thy neighbour's ox."  What's that? Not wife. Ox. Good to know. I and my ilk of uterus toting partners, are just a rib or euphemism for a cow. Brilliant. So you can fiddle with the wife, not the ox, got it? Put that in your pipe and covet it. Back to me now. Apparently the universe thanked me for signing up for swimming again. I had the pleasure of being delegated to the "oh-my-god-I'm-so-out-of-shape-slow" lane. There are 3 qualifications for lap corridors, slow, medium, fast. Or in this Québec case, en Français, the signs say: Lent (no candies), moyen et rapide (for those who don't have their rabies shots and are rabid)

...you throw them at Irene. I don't know who this Irene thinks she is coming here shaking my hundred year old maples loose, leaving me without power for 24 hours.  She even took my 75 year old fridge for the love of all that is holy! I mean did she not read my blogs about the monster flood? Illiteracy is a sad state of affairs but surely she saw it on the news like everyone else? Even our PM can turn on the news...One assumes. Irene does have a sense of humour. My Johnny and I were having a romantic supper by candlelight - okay there was no electricity, we needed candles and, for this little ditty, we will define romance as eyes bugging out looking at the wind and hoping the generator was going to start. The entirety of  my left side was nervously twitching. Sexy. Then twelve minutes, not thirteen nor eleven, since my twitches were perfectly timed, after power went out, the dining room chandelier started to drip water on my forehead. This being incomprehensible to me, I just wi