The Most Popular Buttertarts on the Web

In this little hobby of mine called blogging I find the way people find my blog to be absolutely fascinating. Some of you come here because you know me or are related to me or know someone that knows me, so there's a common thread and it makes sense that you might check in every once in a while to see what I'm writing about. But it's the group of people that don't know me that I always wonder how did you find my blog? Did you stumble across a link to my blog on another site? Did someone recommend it to you? Are you a Blogger.com reader and did you find my blog in their directory? Or some other webring that I linked in to?

Maybe.

But mostly? Mostly new people find my blog with a Google search. And do you know the most popular search that leads people that I don't know to my blog is for? Buttertarts. Yes, folks. There are lots and lots and lots of people around the globe searching for something to do with buttertarts (a recipe, I'm sure) and inevitably they land on my blog. All because of this one post back in July. Check out the original entry here: Ode to the Buttertart

Who knew?

Smart, Talented, EMPLOYED! (Not Me)

So tonight I was reading my Facebook when I came across a posting from a very excited cousin who reads my blog (hi Meredith!) announcing to all her friends that she's now an EMPLOYED third grade teacher!

My first reaction? I'm embarrassed to say it wasn't "congratulations - you've worked hard to get where you are and the kids will LOVE you." Nope, not that. Nor was it "Well, way to go! Your brilliance has shone through and now you're a full-fledged teacher." No, it wasn't that either. And it surely wasn't "WOW! Those kids are so LUCKY to have you as their new teacher!". Sadly, none of these were my first reaction.

Instead, my first thought was "well, at least those 3rd graders won't show up still drunk or reeking of booze the way my class did this morning." Seriously, out of 17 students at my 9 o'clock class four no-showed, seven were late, and six of those were either still drunk or so seriously hungover they could not sit up straight at their desks. And this is supposed to be "adult education."

Anyway, I DO wish Meredith great success as she embarks on her teaching career. She has worked long and hard to get her assignment and those kids ARE lucky to have her as their teacher. And lucky for her, there's no way her under-age drinkers could ever get served!

Coming up for Air

No, I haven't dropped off the face of the earth, but you might think so given it's been a while since I've updated. I've been busy saving puppies and babies (a story unto itself that I'll write about some other time) and wining and dining and, dodging that damn wayward boob at the gym pool and uh, oh yeah, spending 8 hours a day at college to teach 2 or 4 hours a day. The pace, it's just maddening, I say!

But what a difference from a few months ago where I was moaning and carrying on about not having enough to do. Holy Smokers people, be careful what you wish for! Even though I only teach between 2 and 4 hours on any given day, it takes lots of time to prep for classes...you know to make it "meaningful" for my students. I am here to tell you, the youth of Canada take no action until they clearly understand what's in it for them. Unfortunately explaining to them over and over again that SOMEDAY you will need to know how to construct a sentence to write a memo just doesn't have the right "gimme" for them. So, I spend countless hours every day figuring out new and interesting ways to get the learning objectives in, while making it Fun! and Entertaining! and Meaningful! and, and, and.

And, it's wearing this tired old broad out!!

When I haven't been tap dancing and spitting wooden nickels while standing on my head in front of the class I've been lobbying for more courses to teach, because, while I'm super busy right now, it's all about to come to a screeching halt in a couple of weeks when my E and C students move on to other core learning and I'm left with only my pastry students once a week.

People, I have never "sold" anything harder then I'm selling myself these days. Ever. I've sold expensive theme parties to corporate clients. I've sold the "dream" of a vacation in heritage resorts in the splendour of the Rockies. I've sold the heck out of Hawaiian Luaus and British road rallys. But nothing compares to the lines I'm serving up at school these days, all in the hopes of securing more work. I'm getting concerned that those program managers at school think I'm peddling something else, if you know what I mean (nudge, nudge, wink, wink)!

Anyhoo - that's what's happening here on the sandbar. Amidst all the chaos of school I've been keeping up my No Crap for Kim Campaign - The Wonder Years and ladies and gents, I'm proud to say I can still fit in a good 2 hour workout most days and that, coupled with the counting calories and eating healthy is showing some great results. So hoo-ray for me!

I promise to be back here on a more regular basis. Just as soon as these guys clearly understand what a compound preposition is and how NOT to use one. Gimme a couple of weeks!

Dog Gone It!

I first spied him on Saturday afternoon. He was running around a front yard that bordered busy Highway #2 and the Rustico Road, racing about with a group of young kids. He ran like the devil with his silky black and tan coat blowing in the wind. A kid would dodge this way and he'd deke that way, through their legs, around their feet until the kids all ended up in a big heap on the lawn and the dog? He just ran circles around them. I hadn't seen a dog at this house before, despite passing it every day, sometimes several times, on my way to and from town, which is I guess why it stood out in my mind. "Huh, that family just got a dog" I said to myself when my light turned green and I made the turn.

I was a total slacker on Saturday. I had a bit of a hmmm, how shall you say...wine-induced low grade headache (we do not call this a hangover, but you might) so I had spent the day hanging around the house in my PJs, watching reruns of the RIP Patrick Swayze movie marathon until it was time to head to town for date night with my man who was playing big important hotelier for the weekend. So by Sunday morning, after two nights of boozin' (and for me, boozin' means I've had more than 1 glass of wine) I desperately needed to get my derriere to the gym for a double workout and so headed to town.

There he was again, this beautiful little dog, except this time, instead of running in a yard full of children, he was crossing Highway 2, one of the island's busiest thoroughfares, and I had almost hit him. With two beasts at home, you can only imagine my state of mind at having almost hit a dog. A dog that was still on the loose. Crossing four lanes of traffic on his own. Shit.

I quickly pulled over and got out of the cranberry cruiser and after waiting for the semis, motorcycles and cars to pass, crossed over to the other side where the little guy was waiting for me. Or so I thought. Every time I got within 2 feet of him he'd dash just out of reach, run back to me again and then turn and dodge out of arm's length. Quite a game player this little boy was! After chasing him about the lawn of the Christ the Redeemer Church and eventually into the cemetery I gave up. I thought, "Well, clearly this dog does not need to be rescued by me and if he wants to go run amongst the dead people so be it" and I went back to my car.

Just as I was about to pull back onto the highway I caught a glimpse of him in my rearview mirror - dashing amongst the tombstones at a breakneck speed, headed right for the highway and a cavalcade of motorcyclists out on their Sunday ride. WTF!!!! This guy was going to be roadkill before the morning was over, so when traffic cleared I pulled a u-turn and stopped on the other side of the road. I flung open the passenger door and in he jumped - happy to have a lift it seemed and happier to be clear of the bikes.

He was a beautiful dog - with a long black coat and a tan head, bright eyes and a sweet disposition and it seemed he liked to ride in cars. Thinking the only place I thought for sure he belonged was that little bungalow back at the corner so I parked in their driveway and knocked on the door. No one was home.

What to do, what to do? Of course he had no tags or any other identification. What to do, what to do? I don't have a cell phone, so I couldn't even call the Humane Society to report him. What to do, what to do?

Oh, you know damn well what I did. That's right, my new little buddy and I headed straight to the hotel where I planned to drop him at Buzz's office while I got my workout in and figured out what to do. You know the road to hell is paved with the best intentions, don't you? I had no sooner gotten to the hotel, arrived at Buzz's office, new dog in my arms when he took one look at it and after listening to me go on and on about how I almost hit him and how he had no fear of the road and how I had seen him on the loose the day before and, and, and. "And you're going to call the Humane Society, right?" Buzz asked.

"Of course!" I assured him. "He's young, but he's obviously well cared for. He has no mats in his coat. SOMEBODY must be missing him!"

So, Buzz dialed the Humane Society and shockingly, no one had reported this guy missing! I had the dog for over an hour by this time and I was stunned that no one would be missing him. He had such a sweet disposition. The Humane Society said they'd send someone right over to pick him up and hold him until his owners called.

Of course by this time, I'm even more beside myself, because:

1) This guy's owners were obviously idiots not to know he'd been gone.

2) He was destined to spend at least the day, if not the night or maybe even longer in a cage at the already over-crowded Humane Society.

Shit.

While we waited for the phone call that the dog-catcher was there, we took the young guy out for a walk. We knew he was young because a) he hadn't been neutered yet and b) he had absolutely no manners on the leash. I was starting to understand why he had been running free.

I'm pretty sure he was a Yorkshire Terrier or a very large Silky, but after spending the better part of the morning with him, it didn't matter what he was, quickly he was becoming "ours." We even had a name for him: Guinness. Because of his black & tan coat.

Before too long Buzz's phone rang and I thought, well, here we go...this is my last chance to convince him that I'd sooner go door to door where I found Guinness to locate his owners - anything rather than having him go with the dog-catcher.

So it was agreed.

I would retrace my steps and knock on every door I could until I found his owners. So off we went, he and I, with him riding shotgun in the front seat, nose out the window.

My first stop was to the local country market where I inquired if anyone had come in looking for a missing dog. The young girl behind the counter told me "no" and when I offered to give her my number in case someone did, she asked "what does it look like?" I described Guinness - a young, un-neutered, black & tan terrier about 15-lbs.

With that, she rolled her eyes and said, "Oh, I know that dog. That damn dog is always getting out of its yard. It belongs to the house next door. It's always running across our parking lot and getting in the way of our customer's cars. He's a real nuisance."

I have to say, I was kind of heart-broken. I had sort of hoped that finding his rightful home wouldn't be so easy. I gathered up Guinness and headed over to his yard where I found his owner just getting into his car. He greeted us with "hey, I was wondering where he was!"

At this point all I'm thinking is "You've GOT to be kidding me! I've had this dog for 4 hours! I've notified the Humane Society as having a found dog. And you're just now wondering where he was?"

Some people should not be allowed to own pets.

Reluctantly, I handed Guinness back over to his owner who had explained that "Sarge" is a bit of an escape artist who likes to slip his chain whenever he can, which must have been what happened today. I'm thinking "You don't say?"

I told the owner the dog was very sweet and what a dangerous situation he had been in that morning when I almost hit him going 80-km/hour down the highway. I explained to him that his dog had no fear of the highway and also had zero recall and how that combination was a recipe for disaster. The guy assured me they were trying to figure out a better situation for Sarge and so with that and not so much as a thank you very much, I left.

I had no sooner walked over to the country store next door when I hear "OH NO....SARGE!!!!" coming from the direction of the house. I looked behind me and there he was, blazing his way through the trees, over the marigolds and right through the parking lot of the country store.

HERE WE GO AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

For the SECOND time that day I was in hot pursuit, and somehow convinced the dog to jump into my car. His owner came running over and shame-faced offered "I put him on his chain and he broke his collar clear in half. That's how he got out again!" I hooked him up to Snickers halti-lead we leave in the car and handed him back over.

I could not have gathered a more withering look as I said to him - "You know, these dogs are generally regarded as HOUSE dogs, not dogs to be chained in the yard."

And with that, off they headed, back across the parking lot, through the yard, past the marigolds and into the trees. I watched them retreat and thought to myself the next time I see that dog loose I will pull over again and convince him to hop back into my car.

And the next time, I'll just keep on driving.

Just like in the Olden Days...

Last weekend, as is wont to happen every three or four months, Buzz was his hotel's MOD - manager on duty. What this means is that from Friday night at 5pm until Monday morning at 8am he is the guy the hotel will call in the event of some sort of emergency - like if someone dies in the hotel or if there was a work stoppage or if say, it rained so hard sand-bagging the garage didn't work and the underground parking gets flooded, or if there's a fire in the kitchen, or a robbery. That kind of fun stuff.

The hotel has this archaic rule that says if the MOD lives more than 15 minutes from the city they must move into the hotel and live there during their MOD shift. Of course, living out in the OBB some 20 minutes from Charlottetown and with Buzz being mindful of the regulations, every time he's MOD he packs his bag and plans for a weekend at the office. When we first moved here, that sounded like lots of fun to me. Let's pack up the dogs and head to town! We can lie about in bed all day ordering room service! We can rent movies on the pay-per-view! We could take in a show! We could go see some live entertainment...just like city-people do every weekend!

Except that instead of the Charlottetown version of a weekend in Manhattan, those MOD weekends always looked something like this. Me: bored and after dinner, breakfast, lunch and dinner from room service I'd be dying to eat anything that wasn't served under a stainless steel dome. Him: he'd be chained to his office desk cranking out financial statements all day long. Dogs: when they aren't barking at passers-by our guest room they're always wanting to go out at 6:30 a.m. and of COURSE you can't just open the back door and let them take off for a whiz so someone (usually Buzz) has to get up at the crack of way too early, get dressed, leash up the beasts and head down the hallway, into the elevator, out the front door, where one of them (usually Snickers) would drop a load right in front of the departing guests.

So, yes. Weekend at the hotel? Not as much fun as you might think.

After getting storm-stayed at the hotel over New Year's Eve last January I declared that forever more when Buzz was MOD he would be on his own. Too much stress and inconvenience on the dogs, don'tcha know. Plus, remember the room service? There's nothing healthful on that menu and even though they have this motto "our kitchen is your kitchen" as soon as you deviate from the room service menu, you're served congealed Eggs Benedict or a salad with so much dressing on it you'd swear the lettuce jumped into the vat and swam around for a while.

So yeah, last weekend with Buzz being MOD we both got to return to our bachelor/bachelorette days. He stayed at the hotel working countless hours on end, just like he did B.K. (Before Kim) and I? Well, I hung out at home, lounging about, reading Vanity Fair, drinking tea, watching reality television (or in the case of last weekend the Patrick Swayze -RIP - movie marathon) eating soup and generally, enjoying a quiet weekend on my own. Gidget stood vigil on our chair by the window (all the better to observe the driveway from) waiting for her man to come home. Snickers never left my side.

Now, don't go reading anything into this! Time away from each other is good for a relationship! Plus, I like being alone. It gives me time to think. And sleep without the snoring on the pillow beside me. It also means I sleep on the couch because being upstairs with no-one else but Frieda (our ghost, who you can read all about here) and the dogs can sometimes be a tad bit scary. I'm just saying.

I'm sure Buzz enjoyed time away from me and the animals equally as much. No 6 a.m. argument about who's going to get out of bed to let out the animals. No-one digging their elbow into his ribs with every (loud) breath he took. I'm sure it was pure bliss, in fact.

Oh, we still saw each other. Friday night we met up with a friend of ours from Jasper for dinner at one of the local seafood joints and had a blast. Saturday we actually had a date...dinner for two at a nice restaurant. Both of those are things we used to do all the time and both are things we hardly ever do anymore.

So yeah, time alone. Date nights. Dinner with friends. Just like in the olden days...

Is it Just Me or...

...is Mariah Carey getting a tad bit chunky? I've just finished watching the big Oprah Fridays LIVE from NYC where Mariah performed a remake of the 80s Foreigner classic "I want to know what love is" and I swear to God, when the camera caught her in a side shot, it appears that now that's she's happily married she's put on the new bride 5 (lbs) - more like 10 or 15 in her case.

I only bring this up, because the evil side of me that is working out twice five days a week and counting calories and being mindful of what I consume and only eating good for me, healthful things - well - that evil bitch in me doesn't want to be the only fat broad on the planet and so it makes me feel better knowing I'm not alone. I'm just saying. There's comfort in numbers. And I'm shocked that Mariah is part of the group.

Things that Make You Go Hmmmmm...

So yesterday I was commiserating with my office-mate about in the classroom techniques to manage those unruly few students who either like to dominate the class discussion to showcase how smart they are, or the ones that think whatever's going on in the classroom is less important than the conversation they're having with the guy sitting beside them.

I mean, I don't want to be the bitch teacher or anything, but you kind of have to nip both of those in the bud, otherwise you'll never get any control over the group and essentially you're just wasting everyone else's time.

So there we were, chatting about a couple of our challenges, one of which for my colleague was remembering his student's names.

I shared my technique with getting to know everyone's name - I made tent cards with their names for each student and have them placed in front of them on their desks. This way I don't have to call them sir or ma'am whenever I call on them, but can use the actual name their mother gave them.

My colleague, who has been teaching for 23 years and is just 3 short years away from retirement looked over at me, with a withering glance and said "Well Kim, in my classes most of my students are girls. They all look alike. And most of them are named Brittany. What the hell is up with that? I mean, why Brittany?"

I'm sorry to say I couldn't answer his question. Instead, I had a question of my own and that is this: If you have a class of twenty students, most of whom are female and more than half named Brittany - how difficult is it to get to know the other student's names?

I'm just asking.