But today was grocery day, and I did want to know what was left in my account after my trip to Alberta. Going away always cost more than you think it should.

There was still some money left. Not as much as I hoped for, but it should cover the groceries.

I decided to get a rough estimate on how much I spent while I was away, and as I was going through the online statement, this caught my eye…

I have the utility bills (and I think my property taxes) on an automatic debit with the City of Moose Jaw. So it’s not unusual to see a line in the debit column for that.

But a penny?

I assume that someone has to enter the information into a computer in order for the City to get the money owed to them. It’s their job, I realize, but wouldn’t you feel a little embarrassed asking for $0.01. No matter how fast you work, or how little you make, it HAS to cost more than a penny to process that. And there’s probably at least one printed copy of the transaction at the City, and one eventually to me. The bank will no doubt have a printed copy, and someone will (I hope) verify that the penny was taken from my account with proper authority.

So, just how much did the penny cost?

The other night, I had the Animal Planet channel on, and in the “coming up next” promos was a show on the “fascinating and deadly vampire fish recently discovered in South America”. Now that sounds good. Vampire fish. Not vicious, flesh eating piranha or sharks, but real, honest to god, blood-sucking vampire fish…

Like all programs like this, the introductory segment explains what they are going to do in this episode, and why, and who. The opening line was something like this:

“We are going to take a trip down the Amazon River in search of the Candiru or vampire fish. According to the native people of the area, this fish is capable of swimming up the urine stream of a man relieving himself in the river, and lodge itself inside the penis. The vampire fish stays there until it is gorged with blood and actually explodes. Because of this nasty habit, it has earned the nickname, the “willy fish”

“The fish has tiny, spike shaped barbed fins, which face backwards, so that when the tail of the fish is pulled in an effort to remove it, the fish becomes even more aggressively and permantly attached to the inside of the penis. Many men, because of the intense pain involved, choose to have their penis amputated rather than wait until they can get to a hospital where there is a chance it can be surgically removed.”

I hear the “chance it can be removed” and shiver. Chance?? Chance!!!?? What’s up with that???

In any event, the intro has caught my attention. Not only is it a real, honest to god vampire fish, but it apparently is rather selective on where its’ blood source comes from, as well as the sex of its donor. Throw in amputation of the one part that no man should be without, and this becomes a “don’t miss episode”.

As it turns out, the vampire fish is a victim of bad P.R. (public relations) and poor judgement. The little bastard appears to be confused about the smell of pee and the smell of fish breath. Then again, they may well have a similar odour. The vampire fish “attacks” the willy because he thinks it smells like the water coming out of another fish’s gills. You see, the inside of gills is where they vampire fish prefers to get his meals.

I haven’t peed for two days now. Better to be safe than sorry, as far as I’m concerned.

You can see a video on YouTube about the vampire fish here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eSLKZzuLC00

Well, last weekend, the truck moved out of his back yard to the front street. At some point in time, I discovered that the truck belonged to a friend of my neighbour. The story is, that he bought the truck, but didn’t want his wife to know, because she had explicitly forbid him to buy a new truck. So the truck was hidden away under the tarp for two months – I’m sure his wife was completely fooled by this little trick.

My neighbour was complaining to me that he was getting tired of lying to the wife about what the old gentleman had done with about $25,000 that used to be in their bank account, and was only going to store it for another month or two. “Four months is about as long as I can let him use my yard, and lie to his wife.”

Now, none of this is really any of my business, but I have found it to be more than slightly amusing.

But now, the truck has been parked in front of my house for a week. Right in the middle of “my space.” Legally, I have no claim over that area, but it annoys me.

I approached the subject sort of cautiously, and remarked that the truck was finally out of storage, because it had been parked in front of my house for a week. I should know better, because subtle is not a concept my neighbour generally understands.

“Yeah,” he says, “the old guy wanted to take it for a drive and make sure the battery was charged up and keep the engine lubricated so it wouldn’t seize up. His wife still doesn’t know he bought the truck, so we decided to park it in front of your house in case she drives by. She’s starting to get suspicious, I think.”

“Uh huh… you guys don’t think she’ll know that it’s his truck parked in front of my house?” I asked, with a slight emphasis on the “parked in front of my house.”

“Well, if it was in front of my house, she would probably know for sure. Besides, sometimes I like to park in front of my house and not in the driveway if I plan on going out in just a little while.”

“I do too,” I said. “I was going to park out front today but there’s not enough room behind the truck, and I would block your driveway. If I park in front, it puts me too close to the hydrant and stop sign, and I might get a ticket or have a vehicle towed away.”

Of course, he came up with a solution to my dilemma. “I’ll talk to him when he gets back in town and see if he can pull the truck ahead a couple of feet. How much room do you need?”

Count to ten (or a hundred) Maybe a more direct approach is needed…

Apparently, if you can get enough down you, you can get drunk from the little squirt bottles of hand sanitizer. I have a bottle of the stuff sitting on the kitchen counter. Maybe I should move it to the liquor cabinet, now that I know it’s potential.

The latest news, is that a parent somewhere in the USA is suing the Purrel company, because his daughter had to be rushed to the Emergency Department of the local hospital because she was stumbling and falling on the floor. Not suspecting she was drunk, they were naturally concerned about her clumsiness. The story is, she washed her hands, and licked them dry after. A report on CTV news this morning said a child would have to drink about 100 milliliters to feel the effects (about 20 squirts) Washing you kid’s mouth with soap might not be such a great idea if he/she has a real potty mouth

The Washington Post back in February posted this story in February when an inmate in a Federal prison was found drunk and disorderly.

Excuse me – I need to wash my hands again. You can never be too clean.

In

My new little buddy (more than likely it’s buddies) have not been enticed in the slightest by the sweet aroma of stale peanut butter on a spring loaded dinner plate.

According to reliable sources (as reliable as the internet is) I may have a shy mouse. My brother, on the other hand, suggested that I may have a rejected and depressed mouse. Either way, it appears the mouse has severe emotional problems, and in my opinion should be put out of his misery.

The shy mouse syndrome

According to this train of thought, I need to allow the mouse to become familiar with the mouse trap. The suggestion is, to leave the trap un-set, with no bait for a week in the one of the mouse’s favourite haunts. After a week, I should put a little bait on the trap, but still leave it un-set, so that the mouse can become familiar with the trap. Then, a few days later, I go in for the kill.

The fact is, I want the little bastard(s) dead now. Not tomorrow. Definitely not after the mouse has worked his way through the twelve step program for shyness. “Hello – my name is Mickey, and I’m a shy mouse”

Sheesh! (remember Pixie and Dixie and Mr Jinx the cat? Mr Jinx sheeshed a lot)

The rejection mouse theory

Now, this is my brother’s theory, so take that into consideration (read more about his mouse ideology). He suggests I make little tiny peanut butter sandwiches, and invite the mouse for dinner. Over a glass of wine at the end of our meal, I should tell the little rodent that “it’s over” and he has to move on. I suppose I could go with the “It’s not you, it’s me” thing, but I doubt that even a mouse would fall for that old line.

I can see it now. The mouse will walk away, sobbing uncontrollably. He’ll look back at me and say something stupid like “Can I call you sometime?”

ARRGGGH!!!!

I will not deal with a mouse that needs therapy in a gentle and understanding way. I believe a mouse should face his demons head on (or more to the point head in – the trap that is) The world has gone crazy, and we need to return to the simple basics once again. Mice and people do not mix. End of story

The other day, I needed to use the facilities at one of the local department stores. To provide more information than is probably necessary, I’ll provide a little background. I had bought a box of raisin bran muffins, and the claim that they help maintain regularity is understated. Three bran muffins will make you very regular – as a matter of fact, the timing is exactly one hour, thirteen minutes and forty-seven seconds.

Moving on…

As the saying goes, no job is finished until the paper work is done. That detail is a problem in a public washroom. First of all, the dispenser is invariably located just out of reach – that is either two feet behind you, or two feet in front of you. Once you manage to position yourself in a position where you can touch it, you will find that the paper is all rolled up inside the dispenser.

With your fingers just barely able to reach inside the opening, you should be able to rotate the paper around completely about three times before you find the end of the roll. At that point, one sheet will rip off, and the paper will automatically retract back into the dispenser.

I’m sure that there are some people who simply give up at this time. I’m not a quitter. If you pull very slowly, you will be able to extract a suitable length of paper for you project.

Now here is the real problem. The toilet paper isn’t like the stuff at home. It feels like writing paper, or a very fine grained sandpaper. But the worst thing is, it appears to have a waxed coating on it. This illogical addition to the paper seems to defeat the whole purpose.

It doesn’t wipe or absorb. It just smears and spreads. It just doesn’t work. In fact, the more you try to wipe, the more you smear. Disgusting, isn’t it?

You leave the washroom with a most uncomfortable feeling. In fact, I’m not sure you feel any better than before you went in. It’s just a different uncomfortable feeling than before.

The moral of the story – bran muffins are good for you, three might be too many. It is possible to have too much of a good thing.

Don’t get me wrong – he’s a good neighbour, willing to lend a hand whenever it’s needed, and never afraid to share his opinion on almost anything.

I call him the lawn mower man. In a way, he’s almost like my father. You never can have too many lawn mowers. But that’s another story for another day

To get back to the tarp, you need a little background.

About a week ago, my neighbour and his “Italian old-timer” friend (his words, not mine), would talk loudly in front of his house for an hour, and then jump into one of their vehicles on some sort of secret mission. I knew it was secret, because I overheard (remember I said they talked loudly) that someone was not supposed to find out about it. This went on for several days.

I didn’t give it much thought. Perhaps a surprise birthday party or something.

Anyway, two days ago, the two of them were busily tearing down part of the fence in the back yard. They measured loudly many times (everything is loudly with those two) to make sure the opening in the fence was big enough, and then jumped in the truck and were gone for two or three hours.

Before you think I’m just a Mrs Kravitz (the nosy neighbour from Bewitched, remember?) don’t forget, everything they do is loud. You can’t help but overhear or wonder what the hell is going on.

When they returned, they had a brand new shiny white Ford half ton truck. Between the two of them, they squeezed it through the section of removed fence, shut the engine off, and admired the truck (loudly, of course) for about a half hour. It is a nice truck.

Then, they took off again. They returned with a Canadian Tire bag full of bungy cords and a great big blue tarp. With much ado, they covered the truck completely (except for the radio antenna – they cut a hole in the tarp for that) Several noisy measurements were made to make sure the tarp was on the right way, and that it would indeed cover the entire truck.

That task completed, they rebuilt the fence and walked out back into the lane and declared that the truck was not visible at all.

I admit it – I am curious. Why would anyone buy a brand new truck and go to all that trouble of hiding it?

When I find out, I’ll let you know. Maybe there’s more under that tarp than we need to know.

Of course, as I’ve said before, I’m easily distracted, and it was about 9:30 when I finally got to work.

My attic has (or had) a combination of sawdust and some sort of blown in fibre for insulation. In addition, there were pots and pans, lamp shades, old newspapers and magazines, and lumber. I’m not sure what the total “R” value was, but I left the sawdust and fibre stuff, and added some of that fibre-glass insulation on top of it. The lumber and pots and pans were removed, and I left the lampshades just because.

Some advice for those of you who might attempt to insulate an attic by yourself.

Don’t do it.

You should at least have someone around in case something catastrophic happens.

For example, the step ladder could tip over when you give yourself that final thrust to get into the attic.

Of course, it won’t fall over completely – just against the wall, where it is completely and totally out of reach.

This is not a problem though, because you can use the trouble light to snag the ladder, and set it up again. No worries, right?

on to page 2

The dog and I went for a walk today. That’s not unusual. I decided I would once again try to take some photos in Happy Valley, even though I had Bandit with me.

The ducks fascinate him. Today, he was determined he was going to get close to them. Bandit’s natural stocking instincts are a little rusty, but he did manage to get within a few feet of the birds before they flew away.

The subject has brought a lot of comments on the internet. Here’s one I thought of as just plain weird, because he is claiming those of us who treat our pet as more than a possession are probably psychologically unbalanced.

With the whole recent pet food poisoning incidents, why can’t people just buy new ones if their pet passes on?

Sorry, I’m not an animal person as I have allergies and I’m kind of ‘pro-human’ and also believe animals don’t have souls based on religious studies including the Bible. I think psychologically, strong animal lovers may have been rejected by their social human peers and so they feel hurt and can only get unconditional love through a non-speaking animal. (ca.answers.yahoo.com/)

I guess everyone has an opinion.

Of course, he may have something (and I don’t believe in his theory by any means) about the sanity of us pet owners.

A woman in Ottawa, Ontario has gotten sick from eating her dog’s food. Now at first, I assumed she was eating at because it was all she could afford. That does happen. But no – she ate it to convince her dog it was good to eat. Apparently the dog had the right idea.

An Ottawa woman says she became sick after eating a brand of dog food that has been recalled throughout Canada and the United States.

The woman said she noticed her dog wasn’t eating so she took bites of the food herself to try to trick her pet.

She said she suffered loss of appetite, vomiting and foaming at the mouth.

The complete story is at the CBC News website

SO, do you feel as though you are psychologically challenged? And more important, do you know what your pet’s food tastes like. That may answer the first question.