It’s Tortilla Time| Hi I’m Tori and this is my Story

She-who-shall-not-be-named’s name isn’t Jane, by the way. This was before my father revealed her to us, so he told us that her name was Jane Doe. Being barely eleven at the time, I believed him and thought that that was legitimately her name.

This is an extremely accurate example of the face that I feel like making.

My site stats have been ridiculously low these days. Has my life become that mundane? Are my posts lacking in comical value? Should I get arrested? Should I document the humorous doings of my mother more often? Should I continue to write ireful posts about she-who-shall-not-be-named? Those have been lacking as of late, and I do acknowledge this and apologize.

I blame Pepe.

I blame that little bastard for everything, global warming included.

I suppose I haven’t been completely faithful to you, blog. You see, there is someone else.

Meet the saxophone. That stupid contraption has been consuming much of my life as of late. I have a test on Thursday that I should probably practise for, as I play alongside a partner. If I make a mistake, however minute, it has the potential of fucking them up, as well. My partner has already politely instructed me to LEARN HOW TO KEEP TIME, WOMAN.

I struggle to keep time and read notes, it’s one of my quirks.

My puffer has been my sole lifeline for the past week or so, as allergy season is here in full force. Tameaka and I share a common sensitivity to pollen and the like, so yesterday at a sleepover we passed a puffer around like a hot potato.

‘Here, give me another puff. Yeeeeeah baby, I feel good.’

It can be rather rewarding to clear your airways, you see.

Do I look like somebody who worries about trivial matters in life? Because I don’t.

I’ll listen to my iPod at such a high volume that it can be heard across the street.
I’ll eat all the damn Splenda I desire.
I’ll continue to dart across the road with an obvious lack of concern for on-coming traffic.
I’ll wear socks that don’t match.

I just don’t worry.

My life is so unencumbered, and I sincerely hope that it remains this way. Happiness is my current lack of responsibility and commitment.

I don’t want to grow up.

And when age is inevitably bestowed upon me, I envision myself living alone, isolated from civilization, with no less than five dogs. I’m anti-social like that.

This morning brought the dawn of much dreaded yard work. Isn’t it horrendous?

Ben tackled the tasks with vigour I found impossible to muster so early on a Saturday morning.

Instead of contributing to this tedious task, I opted to take pretty pictures that define the season.

The enemy that we were forced to fight in an exchange of mortal combat.

This is Charlie, one of the three felines that permanently inhabit the vet clinic at which I do my co-op. He is a corpulent cat, relocated from another branch of our vet clinic in a last-ditch effort by the management to aid him in his perpetual battle against the bulge. Exercising him has been added to my daily list of duties.

Some days I admittedly display more enthusiasm toward this cause than others. On one such day I was in a back room with Charlie, pulling a rope toy that he was only too delighted to chase.
‘Come on Charlie! You are going to party off those pounds! I can feel your self-esteem rising! YOU ARE BECOMING MIGHTY!’
I would holler out these, among other quotes, in my best adaptation of Richard Simmons. All that we were lacking was bad 70s music, a bitter disappointment, because there is no way better to lose weight than to sweat to the oldies.

As I was cheering on Charlie with an abundance of fervour, I happened to peer out the door and noticed my co-workers standing there, dumbfounded looks spread across their faces.
‘Charlie takes well to encouragement.’ I mumbled as I exited the room, my tail in between my legs.

Spring is undeniably among us at last.

I am so eager for summer to arrive, it’s unreal. The sheer amount of school work I’m receiving these days is enough to make anybody wish to stick their head in an oven, if ever so briefly. I, fortunately, have not succumbed to such a lurid inner desire as of yet. But who knows what tomorrow will bring.

The ever improving temperatures outside bring back fond memories of previous summers. Last summer brought several Ohio trips, and I unfortunately have not been back since. Liam was still quite young, at an adorable stage prior to the horrendous terrible twos. I like to think of it as the calm before the storm.

We were driving through the seedy quarters of urban Michigan, en route to Ohio; Liam, Ben and I in the back seat. Amid the factories, abandoned houses and smog were enormous signs advertising various strip clubs and the like. Pictured were often trashy looking females, no doubt in attempts to look alluring to sleazy men driving on the interstate. We passed one such bill board and Liam, gazing intently out the window, immediately pointed his nineteen month old finger at the sign and proclaimed ‘MOMMY!’

Ben and I were understandably unable to control the ensuing laughter.

We now have a basketball net. A basketball net that is damn near twice my height and damn near impossible for me to score into. I’ve taken the liberty to come to terms with my defeat and admit to myself that I will never be able to get the ball into the basket.

Ben, however, has enjoyed taking shots on the net, and I’ve enjoyed taking shots of Ben whilst he’s taking shots on the net.

Check out the bizarre faces that he makes. No doubt I could use these as a form of blackmail one day.

And just WHAT is THIS???

I am convinced that Pepe is among the most vocal felines man has encountered thus far. His nightly ritual includes meowing noisily outside of our bedroom doors, with a blatant disregard for tranquillity and human lethargy. His irritating actions come without an ounce of remorse, as he almost seems to possess a sense of pride following his dirty deeds each night.

It is common for me to awaken not only to the perpetual meowing, but to the angry shrieks of my mother in response to the deafening noise that Pepe bestows upon us each and every night.

I frequently wake up to angry shrieks along the lines of ‘YOU ANNOYING LITTLE BASTARD! GO AWAY!’

I vividly recollect hoping that she wasn’t talking to Ben.

Laundry has been left undone for yet another night. Why am I so lazy?

 I think it is safe to assume that spring is at long last among us.