I’m a terrible blogger but at least I know that orange is not my colour.

I have been a huge failure at blogging lately. And by lately I mean for the past few months. The worst part of it – I have no good reason.

And so i was going to try and make some sort of triumphant return. I was hoping to hire some exotic dancers and a confetti cannon for all three of you remaining readers but I ended up using all my money buying goldfish crackers. Those things are cheddar crack and I’m thinking of going on Intervention to deal with my addiction.

So you guys are shit out of luck. Just imagine gold confetti all over the place and some sort of belly dancer in the background while you read this. Or not. It’s kind of up to you. Hell if you want to imagine Robert Pattinson is giving you a shoulder massage go ahead! I’m doing the same thing!

To the blog! -

I love that it is finally spring here in Canada. Those sunny days where I don’t need a coat in case of a freak ice storm are amazing and I spend a substantial amount of time at work longing for the days when teachers would let you go do your work outside (remember when the wind would blow your just completed homework away and you’d have to chase it across the yard and you would find it covered in dirt and a raccoon was trying to steal it for food and you would get all pissed and be all FUCK YOU OUTDOORS!) god I miss those days.

Some people seem to not only agree with my love of warmer weather, but go into full fledged summer mode – completely bypassing spring like it’s some sort of ugly cousin you refuse to acknowledge in public unless Nana is there.

These people seem to believe that since it’s sunny three days a week it is totally believable for them to dye themselves orange and pass it off as a “natural glow”.

I was shopping with my family yesterday (baby brother is going to prom) and we walked past two such golden girls.

I just want to take a moment and explain that my family is more than capable of matching and/or exceeding the amount of judgement you get from me here. They are how I perfected my sarcastic tone and ability to make most people feel bad about themselves. It’s a family trait, if you will. Anyway- back to the post radiation exposure Malibu barbies.

Every one of us turned to stare. As in, full head turn looking behind us as we walked, wearing matching expressions of horror and unfiltered judgement. Expect Baby Brother, I’m pretty sure he was looking longingly behind us at the hotdog vendor.

And these girls saw us staring. Only it seems the chemicals that have rendered them the same colour as a rich mahogany desktop must have altered their brains.

Because that “yeah we know we’re hot” smirk appeared on their faces and they performed simultanious hair flips. It likely took them several years and multiple episodes of the kardashians to perfect such a synchronized maneuver.

I was both impressed and horrified that not only were they clearly colour blind and far too trusting of their infant nephew who must have chosen their spray tan colour, but they lacked the basic common sense to realize that six faces screwed up in abject horror (and one longing look not directed st them) were not admiring them.

As a natural redhead I had MANY opportunities growing up to learn the subtle nuances of the human face when it attempts to convey ridicule. It seems that they were never afforded such opportunities to learn.

The moral of the story here is mock your children so they grow up knowing the difference between a “damn you look good” face and a “sweet jesus someone needs to take a goddamned power washer to that poor girl and her bumpit” face.