My boobs are itchy, I smell like horse ass, and I can’t stop licking the road.

People who love the winter have something seriously wrong with them.  I don’t care if you’re an acrobatic back-flipping downhill skier, an expert snowperson builder, or the guy who salts our street like it’s a slab of pork rind–no one in their right mind would choose winter over the other three seasons.

In summer, you can like whatever the heck you want.

In summer, you can like whatever the heck you want.

Who wants a nose that feels like it is full of small tenement blocks and bleeds every time you try to “clean it out?”  I know–some of you are probably saying “EW!” right now.  But you are not from these parts.  We may have snow on the ground and damp in the air OUTSIDE, but our toasty homes contain air as dry as a popcorn fart.  Nasal passages don’t stand a chance.  I’m with George Costanza on this one–“with all that dry desert air, I bet that even Moses had occasion to pick.”

God help the women of  Eastern Canada because boobs get itchy.  I bet that every estrogen-owner north of the 49th can’t wait to find a private place to claw at her nipples.  I know that you’re thinking about it right now.  Go ahead.  Scratch.  I won’t look.  I’ll be too busy with my own.

And who in the hell enjoys trying to get the bottom of their pants into a pair of tall boots.  A person can’t wear skinny jeans every single day and normal ones make your boots all bloated and bumpy looking if you don’t put them in just right.  It’s a pain, is it not?

Even a Super Hero wear a boot-cut jean every once in a while.

Even a Super Hero wears a boot-cut jean every once in a while.

And, holy crap–hair really does like to do its own thing in the winter, doesn’t it?  No amount of goop can tame it.  And I have long, curly, red hair.  This is how I look from December to March.

He has quite the "do" going on, doesn't he?  My winter head is bigger.

He has quite the “do” going on, doesn’t he? My winter head is bigger.

You know how much I hate clowns. Just looking at this freak is disturbing me immensely.  His hair is tamer than mine though.

You know how much I hate clowns. Just looking at this freak is disturbing me immensely. His hair is tamer than mine though.

The only difference is that my hair is not wool.  Wool-like, yes.  But not actual wool.

The only difference is that my hair is not wool. Wool-like, yes. But not actual wool.

Please keep in mind, that the only resemblance that I have to these photos is the hair.  I do not have a red triangular nose and pasty white complexion.  Nor do I have Carrot Top’s freakish eyebrows or Raggedy Ann’s missing upper lashes.  And my shoes aren’t sewn on to my feet.

1) 2009-_1356001iElaine Davidson of the UK, also the Guinness World Record Holder for the woman with the most piercings, would have one hell of a time trying to rid her nose of oxygen barriers.  By 2006, she had been been punctured by 4225 piercings.  With that many holes in her, she probably doesn’t float.  Thankfully, she lives in the damp of Scotland and doesn’t have to worry about dry air encrusting her nose.

And, no.  She doesn’t set off the metal detectors at the airport.

shovel racing

2)  My shovel is not my friend.  Spending time with him involves a lot of work.  The snowblower is much easier to get along with.

But it turns out that I have been missing out on a perfect way to bond with my shovel–shovel racing.  Yup.  It really exists and wasn’t created by Canadians.  In fact, this sport was born in New Mexico of all places.

At Angel Fire Resort, in the Southern Rockies, snow-shovel enthusiasts can be seen careening down mountainous slopes at speeds of up to 70 mph.  Holy crap.  Only old-school metal shovels are allowed.  For some reason, visions of Clark Griswold‘s food-varnish-covered flying saucer springs to mind.  But these snow-shoveled psychopaths aren’t in a movie, and trees don’t know to stay out of their way.

A recent variation of the sport involves hooking up your shovel to a horse, shouting a yee-haw or two, and going wherever your equine takes you.  Yup, that’s just where I want to be when Black Beauty takes a dump.  Under her butt on a shovel.

For the entrepreneurial shovel-rider.

For the entrepreneurial shovel-rider.


3)  One thing I really don’t understand is the whole “electrified outdoor clothing” trend.  Why would anyone want electric mitts?  Sure, they’re warm.  But sitting on the electric chair is probably toasty too.

Mitts are meant for snow.  Snow is made of water.  Water and electricity don’t mix.  If you build a snowball in electric mitts, will you electrocute yourself?  I mean, it bodes well for your intended snowball victim.  But it does seem like a rather harsh punishment for engaging in child’s play.

And what happens if your hands sweat?

Stress makes my hands sweat when I’m not wearing heated mittens.  Worrying about my heated mittens killing me will definitely exacerbate the problem.  What if your wearing your heated mittens while riding a shovel behind a horse and the horse pees on your hands?  Will you die under a horse’s ass?

Heated mitts are clearly not for the neurotic.

I have to go.  My nose is bleeding.

Photo credits:  tongue stretch, men in tights, Carrot Top, Ronald McDonald, Raggedy Ann, piercings, shovel dude,  horse poop, autopsy cartoon

Teeny Tires, A New Ghost Town, and A Coveted Pez

“Those who believe in telekinetics, raise my hand.”  Kurt Vonnegut.

I think I had too much caffeine yesterday.  As you know, I am usually hyper–a “can’t sit still,” twitching & yapping, multi-tasker–but, yesterday, I was all this times ten with a touch of nausea thrown in.  This is why I don’t drink coffee.  And from now on, I will give Tim Horton’s Iced Capps a wide berth too–no matter how yummy and Coffee Crisp-like they are.

Today, I am suffering from post-caffeine exhaustion.  Hopefully, my mind-numbing stupor will not show through in my writing.  If it does, I apologize and promise to limit my beverage consumption to water and herbal tea K-cups.  Do we have a deal?

1)  Here’s a question for all you car people…who is the world’s largest tire manufacturer?  I’ll just sit here for a minute, while you run out into the nearest parking lot and examine people’s tires.  (In an attempt to pass the time, I decided to create my own muzak…but now I am plagued by the crooning of Tom Jones echoing in my head).

Are you finished yet?  The answer is LEGO.  Yes, they produce more tires, albeit smaller ones, than any other tire manufacturer.  381 million in 2011 alone.  That’s a lot of teeny tiny tires.

2) What images spring to mind when you hear the words, “Ghost Town?” For some reason, I imagined a town populated by Casper and friends, but that’s probably just me.  Most of you probably thought of abandoned Old West-style buildings like the ones pictured here.

Turns out that the modern-day Ghost Town (isn’t that an oxymoron?) is nothing like any of us conjured up at all–at least not in New Mexico.

Plans for an ultra-modern community boasting homes, office buildings, warehouses, retail outlets, sewers, and pretty much everything else one would expect to find in a bustling city of 35,000 inhabitants have been unveiled.  The only thing that will be missing is the inhabitants.  CITE, otherwise known as Centre for Innovation, Testing, and Evaluation will be just east of Hobbs, New Mexico.  And why the heck are they doing this?  In the name of research.  The goal is that CITE will become the testing grounds for smart and green technologies from around the world.  Already, companies are eager to road-test unmanned vehicles and geothermal power sources here.

In an age of homelessness and unemployment, does it seem strange that we are building houses for no one to live in and industries that won’t employ a soul?

3)  I admit it.  I’m a giant PEZ head.  I can’t get enough of these brightly coloured dispensers with eyes.  Funny, I don’t like the candy.  Just the containers they come in.  I think my fascination started thanks to an episode of Seinfeld, which leads to another passion of mine–anything Seinfeld–but we’ll save that for another day.

So, today I decided to entertain myself (and hopefully some of you) with one of many fascinating PEZ facts.

I have always coveted the Mr. Bean Pez collection.  Who wouldn’t?  There’s a miniature yellow Leyland Mini and a plastic rendition of Teddy.  Too cute.  Well, turns out that I should have had my heart set on another, albeit ugly, PEZ–a 1982 World’s Fair Astronaut–the most expensive PEZ ever.

This antithesis of cute fetched a hefty $ 32,205.00 US on e-bay, without a doubt causing some eyebrows to raise.  Some people just have way too much money.

AND you may have noticed that I changed the name of my blog.  Or maybe you didn’t.  Don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you.  Apparently, “Abbraccio Conoscenza” aka “Embrace Knowledge” in Italian was too hard to remember.  I picked my brain for one of my favourite pop culture references and voila–Lisa Simpson’s “embiggens” popped into my mind.  So, here’s to embiggening your dendrites and increasing your hat size.