suzanne, you're all that I wanted for a girl

I would really, really like a monkey for a pet.* The Telus people have always made great commercials, but their new round of holiday spots, which feature various monkeys giving each other gifts (of cell phones of course) are just too cute. I kind of feel like if I had a monkey for a pet, it would be an anthropomorphization of the imaginary friend I had as a kid. And really, who doesn't want that, even at the age of twenty-five? I just know that the monkey and I would be best friends forever, even if it threw its feces at me. I could teach it to pet the cats, and probably to blog for me, and also to play tricks on my sisters. It could help me teach, as well, and accidentally poop on troublemakers. Beware the wrath of the monkey's butt, guys.

*Actually, I really don't want a monkey for a pet because I don't think that it is very fair to the monkey. I don't really believe in exotic pets.

This is a very pointless entry. I think that I could be a really good blogger, except that I am not. I've taken up curling on the weekends in a mixed league with my father, and I am spectacularly bad (although, it must be confessed, rapidly improving). My right knee has borne the brunt of the damage, as it now sports what I would like to call a perma-bruise because I have very poor form when kicking out of the hack. There is, however, something unreal about the sound of a 44-pound granite rock sliding down the ice as you run along the ice trying to keep up with it, wondering if you'll have to drop your broom and sweep, wondering if you can do any of that without falling flat on your ass.

There is really nothing wrong with me that a hot bath and a good cup of tea won't fix, or so I'll keep telling myself.