Archive for the ‘humour’ category

Jenny McCarthy Gets Jabbed

November 1st, 2009

If you have not figured it out by now, I am anti-antivaxx.

A couple friends of mine are currently at the Victoria ComicCon. There is an artist there by the name of Tyler Nicol who will turn anything horrible and make it adorable for $5. My friends, knowing how much I wanted to be at the VCC this weekend but couldn’t because of previous commitments and how much I loathe Jenny McCarthy and the antivaxx movement, had this beautiful thing made for me. Sorry for the poor quality but all I have at the moment is a camera phone picture of this awesome.

Drawing by Tyler Nicol

Do you get what it is? It is the newest myth surrounding what will happen if you get vaccinated. Unicorns will impale you. What causes me to love this even more is the likelihood of getting the various things McCarthy et al say will happen if you vaccinate is about as likely as being impaled by a unicorn. The female in this drawing is none other than Jenny McCarthy. Bloody Brilliant!

Thank you @Chibi_Tzar for this!

A Picture Of Teenage Laziness

November 1st, 2009

I heard a chuckle coming out of my 14 year old so I decided to investigate. The following conversation took place.

Me: What are you watching?

Kid1: I think it’s called The Reef. It is pretty stupid.

Me: Then why are you watching it?

Kid1: Because it is on TV.

Me: There are other things on TV.

Kid1: Yeah but I don’t have my glasses on to read what else is on TV and I am too lazy to put them on and my eyes, Kid2, is not here right now to tell me what else is on. So I am watching this.

Me: Gotcha.

Is It Really Friday?

September 18th, 2009

I have been really lax the past few weeks when it comes to updating my blog. There are many reasons for this: I was away for 2 weeks in August; I am sick; I have been working on my book which I am happy to report is being completed much quicker than I thought it would be. Turns out that I had more of it written that I had thought.

This week has been a very emotional week for me for many reasons. It has been a roller-coaster between many moments of surrealism and “Wow, I can’t believe this is my life” to moments of fear and panic as my book gets closer and closer to being ready to go to the printers.

One of my followers on twitter asked me why I am so terrified of publishing this book as I am on the radio, and tweet and blog personal things. The answer is really simple. The radio is a fleeting moment in time. Tweets and blogs can be erased. This book will be in a permanent print form available for the whole world to see.

And to be honest, this scares me. One on one, I am an open book and will share anything. This book is not one on one and once it goes to the printers and becomes available, I will lose control over how some very personal information about me is distributed. On one hand this excites me as I feel I have a very important message to share. Then when I really think about it, I feel as if I am going to vomit. There is a small part of me that feels I am about to do something pretty awesome. This may be the most important thing I do aside from being a mother. This part needs to be the loudest voice in my head at the moment so that I do not chicken out yet again and not publish.

But it is now beyond the point of no return. The word is out there and all that is left is for me to receive the cover and off it goes. Earlier today I received the sales copy for my book. When I read it, it brought tears to my eyes. I am going to take time right now to once again thank Chris Knight for all of his support as I go through this process. Without him, I do not think I would have found the personal courage to continue through this process. Besides providing emotional support he also proofread my manuscript and wrote the following sale copy.

“Julia Sherred’s From the Mundane to the Insane is the touching tale of one woman’s love of life and hope for the future despite overwhelming challenges. Written as a love letter to her two children in an intimate, conversational tone, Sherred explores the contours of her fascinating life as a dancer, actor, daughter, mother, and Lupus sufferer. It is a tender and humorous celebration of life and family, of creativity and geeky obsessions, and is an inspiration and invitation for each of us to grab life by the horns and truly enjoy every aspect of our wonderful journey without destination.

One dollar of each sale is donated to the scientific search for the treatment and cure for Lupus.”

The One With The Orange

August 19th, 2009

So, I am home safe and sound back in Canada.  I had an amazing time in Seattle and it was very hard to say goodbye.  At least I get to say hello to Seattle again in a couple of weeks.

Before going into the States, I was very worried.  I was worried because my luck crossing the border has not been the greatest my last couple of trips.  So to make sure there was no insert-foot-into-mouth disease occurrences again, I rehearsed what I would say to the border guards over and over again so that it became root.  I had it down pat.  When they would ask where I was going, the answer was simple, Seattle.  When they would ask who are you visiting, again very simply, friends. When they would ask when was the last time you saw them, again simple 2 years ago, the last time I was down in Seattle.  I had the address all ready this time and I was not going to make any stupid jokes about produce that would land me in customs when they asked if I had anything to declare, because I did not have anything to declare…

Within minutes, I was past the first hurdle.  Without even a second glance at my passport or myself, the guard moved me through the queue and onto the baggage check.  The guy scanning baggage told me to put my bags on the belt.  I did so smiling.  I walk to the other side to grab my bags, when I hear the words, “Hold it a second miss.  We have to inspect your bags.” WTF? Really? What is in my baggage?  I proceed to list off all the things that are in my bag.  Lets see I have scissors that are pretty big since I was working on a cross-stitch on the ride down.  He said that wasn’t an issue.  I had my phone charger, some papers, shoes… What else could be in the bag that he is currently ripping apart?

He reached his hand in the bag and said, “This is it.” I think, this is what?!? My shoes are in that pocket? As he pulled out his hand with a very serious and scary tone he said, “It says here on your declaration papers you have nothing to declare.  But you have an orange in your bag.” Seriously? An orange? In my bag?

Then it all came rushing back to me.  I packed myself a lunch for the 10 hour trip and completely forgot there was an orange in my bag.  Its just an orange, how bad could that be? It is not like I am carrying a gun, right? Right?

Shocked and terrified, I replied, “OMG. I completely forgot the orange was in there! Seriously.  I packed myself a lunch that I meant to eat on the ferry and must have forgotten.  I am very sorry. It will not happen again.” Phew, that wasn’t so bad, I thought to myself.

“Well miss.” Well miss what? It’s an orange and it was an honest mistake. “You need to declare all produce when crossing the border,” the border guard continued. Completely bewildered I responded, “I am extremely sorry.  I honestly did forget it was in there. It will not happen again.” Thinking that would be the end of that, I tried to gather my bags, but he continued.

“People make “honest” mistakes and “forget” all time.  However, you signed this declaration form and you stated on the form you did not have any fruits on you when you in fact had an orange.” I gulped and tried to apologize again, but he interupted, “We take these things very seriously. Failure to make a proper declaration statement, especially when fruits and vegetables are concerned is an automatic $300 fine.” My eyes went bug-eyed. You have to be fucking kidding me! I am going to get a $300 fine!?! Over a bloody orange?!? FFS!  My heart sank. I wanted to yell, “But I am a model Canadian citizen!”

Writing on the back of my declaration form the guard continued on as my brain was trying to understand what the hell was going on, “I should really be fining you.  This is not a light matter. However, I will not fine you this time. But what I will do is put this on your record that you lied on your declaration form and forgot to claim an orange.  Listen to what I am saying here miss.  This will be on your permanent record. You do not get to “forget” again. If you “forget” again, since this is now on your record, you will automatically get a $500 fine. Do you understand me?  Welcome to the United States.” And with that, he stuck my orange on his desk and handing me back my bags.

Being the polite Canadian, I smiled and said, “Thank you.” What I really wanted to say was, “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! IT WAS A BLOODY ORANGE! I NOW HAVE A RECORD WITH IMMIGRATION OVER A FUCKING ORANGE! It is a good thing I am a nice Canadian, because I have 6 inch scissors in my bag that would love to stab you right now, you fuck! Have a nice day you hoser!”

Remember children, oranges are dangerous m’kay?

Seriously, I cannot make this shit up. An orange!

Panties For Breakfast

August 12th, 2009

Sometimes I get these crazy ideas.  And I always find them quite hilarious.  Others tend to disagree from time to time.  I just chalk that up to them not being in my weird and wonderful head space.

The following is about one of those weird and wonderful ideas that has been in my head for awhile. Today, reading these comments on Wil Wheaton’s blog about PAX made it come from the back of my mind to the front once again:

Melissa: What’s this about dodgy lingerie?

Wil: DODGING.

DODGING.

Like, all the pretty ladies will be throwing their lingerie at me while I’m on stage, and I’l be all, “Oh my! Please stop! I can’t possibly continue dodging all of this lingerie!”

You know, like I’m Tom Jones or something. (Which I kind of am.)

Me: Cause you eat panties for breakfast (at least that is how my youngest interpreted your Tom Jones tweet)

Now to back up further, here is that whole sequence of events:

@wilw “Anne: Dude! Look at that billboard of Tom Jones! Me (Tom Jones Voice): “I’m an old man, but I’ll still eat your panties for breakfast.””
To which this conversation occurred that I just had to tweet:
Kid2 (reading over my shoulder): Why is @wilw eating panties for breakfast? Me: Because he can.

One morning Wil tweets this:

@wilw “Anne: Dude! Look at that billboard of Tom Jones! Me (Tom Jones Voice): “I’m an old man, but I’ll still eat your panties for breakfast.”

To which this conversation occurred that I just had to tweet:

Kid2 (reading over my shoulder): Why is @wilw eating panties for breakfast? Me: Because he can.

I also had to tweet to Wil one day when he was having nerves about a reading that he needs to tell those nerves to go away because he is Wil Wheaton and he eats panties for breakfast.  Seriously, everyone goes on and on about Chuck Norris this and Chuck Norris that BUT Chuck Norris doesn’t eat mother fucking panties for breakfast, WIL DOES!

So maybe a t-shirt needs to be made that says something along the lines (or other variations):

Chuck Norris may be able to piss his name into concrete BUT Wil Wheaton eats panties for breakfast because he can!

I know the above is way feeble, however I am sure with time panties for breakfast could become epic.

Fruit Anyone?

August 12th, 2009

This is yet another blog about my children and so much more.

My youngest came bursting through the door (as he does quite frequently) to inform me he is selling 2 Japanese Plums to the neighbourhood for $0.25 and he has already made a buck.  Funny thing is, they are not really his plums to sell.  They belong to the landlord.  Even funnier is that the landlord’s teenage daughter is going to buy some from him.

Now this reminds me of myself when I was his age (10).  What a weird year that was.  I started off the school year by getting detention 2nd day of school for getting into a food fight and then shattering my arm on a dare  the 4th day of school(that is another blog in itself).  And let me tell you, this was devistating for me as I was a model child and student.

During that same year, I decided I was going to make money and lots of it.  Not only was I going to make money, but I was going to be “found” for this idea and the whole world would be exposed to my brilliance.  And part of me thinks someone found my idea and stole it (but that is my 10 year old self talking.  Someone else must have had this idea at some point).  However, my brilliance got me in a little trouble at school for “taking advantage of my friends.”  Let me tell you, it is not always easy having great ideas, especially when you are 10 and no one takes them seriously.

I started to draw comics during that year.  My comics were about hamsters.  They were not just ordinary hamsters, they had super powers.  These super power hero hamsters lived in their own little communities with other animals by day and by night would fly around and save the world. The main super hamster was styled after my own pet hamster, Harry.  Do you see any similarities between this and a cartoon that came out later *cough*Hamtaro*cough*?

I put the comics together very quickly.  They were nothing really to look at.  They had a construction paper cover with a drawing, title, price and comic number.  Inside was a hastily drawn, uncoloured comic.  They were maybe 16 pages total.  The price on the cover a mere $0.50. What a deal! And my friends thought so as well.  Who wouldn’t want an original Jules comic?

Well about a month into my venture, my mother got a phone call from the school.  They were not happy at all with this idea.  They had confiscated one of my comics, called my mother into the office, showed it to her and went on to say how I was taking advantage of my friends selling comics for $0.50 and even made a note that the comics were not even coloured.  They were quite disappointment in me as I was this great student and my actions were just not acceptable.  My mom tried to act serious about the matter and told them she would talk me about this.

And thus ended the first of many ideas.  So of course I find it ever so amusing that my youngest is following in my footsteps in a round about way without knowledge of my own attempts to make money as a 10 year old child with brilliant ideas.

Are You Infected With Nuditis?

August 10th, 2009

Imagine my surprise (well I cannot be too surprised if you have read my previous blogs about my children) when my youngets peers around the corner and asks me, “Are you infected with nuditis?”

What?  What on earth is nuditis you may be asking yourself.  I know I asked my youngest that question.

Forget worrying about being bitten by a zombie and becoming a zombie yourself, there is a new virus spreading throughout the country.  And the original infection started something like this:

My youngest was outside playing with his friend when one of them started to strip.  My youngest pipes up, “OMG, you are infected with nudistis! Everyone run!”  So the rest of the gang started to run away.  The stripper caught up to one of them, tagged them and thus the second Nuditis infection started to take place.

But have no fear, there is a cure (well to an extent).  If you quickly rub soap on the part of your body that was touched, it will stop the infection dead in its tracks.  However, there is a catch.  If you get touched a second time, there is no cure and you are stricken with this disease.

I asked my youngest, “If you get touched a second time, do you have to strip?”  He looked at me like I was an idiot for not understanding this game, sighed and replied, “No mom.  You have to run around and try to infect others until the whole world is infected with Nuditis!”

I thought to myself well that is good that they are not stripping while running around the streets trying to infect each other.  However, if Nuditis were to really spread throughout the world with more fury than the zombie virus, I know a few people that would take the game literally.

Hmmm nude zombies drinking game anyone?

Are You Sure You Haven't Had Sex With Ares?

August 9th, 2009

My children are a constant source of amusment and humour.  They ask me random questions all the time. (Note: my youngest is currently reading over my shoulder as I type this and is wanting me to correct the above to: My youngest is a constant source of amusement and humour and asks me random questions all the time.)  Today is one of those days.

I was trying to take a short nap before getting back to the crazy that is going to be my week getting everything together for my vacation on Friday, when my youngest asks as he is bursting through the door after being outside playing with his friends:

“Are you sure you haven’t had sex with Ares?!?”

I give my head a quick shake to make sure I heard him correctly before I respond with shock and amusment, “What?!?! Why would you ask that?”

“Well we both have orange hair.  I am fearless and a daredevil.  I am good in combat.  I find myself escaping near death situations all the time.  I am an Aries.  Like seriously mom, I should have died many times and I am still here.  I could be a demi-god!”

I chuckle and respond, “Honey, I don’t think I have had sex with Ares.  Ares is not your father.”

He walked out of the room shaking his head as if I were crazy to not see the simularities.  I ponder on this conversation for a few moments before I follow him down to the living room.  I then asked him, “What brought that question on?  That was a bit random.”

Looking at me like I should already know the answer, “Mom, this is me.  Most of what I say is completely random.  But seriously mom, just think about it for a bit.  We are like the same person. I know you don’t believe in luck so how else do explain my many escapes from death and my Ares like abilities.  I am a demi-god.”

I have come to the conclusion that I let him play way too much God of War.

One Of Those Days…

August 9th, 2009

You know the days that I am talking about.  Where you wake up and you just know its going to be one of those.  Where you wake up and you feel as if someone once again stole your body while you were sleeping, ran an octoathalon and then returned it without your knowledge.  Where you see the signs of daylight peaking through your blinds, taunting you and you just want to throw your pillow over your head and tell the sun to go back to bed, only to remember you have a lot to do.

Then you walk down the hall in zombie mode.  You go through the automated motions of making coffee, saying good morning to the kids and head to your office waiting for the coffee to finish.  There are many things out of the norm that part of you brain picks up on but you and Self are not fully communicating with each other just yet.  Self is yelling at you in the back of your mind but you tell it to shut up because you haven’t had the blessed coffee yet.

Mechanically you check your e-mails, overnight tweets, Facebook and surf other sites that are part of your waking up routine.  But Self won’t stop nagging at you.  You wave your hand at Self to shoo it away as if it were some annoying fly buzzing around your head.

Ah, you hear the coffee is done.  So back down the hall you head, robotically.  You grab your mug, fill it with coffee and add your cream and sugar.  You look over into the living room and say, “Self something doesn’t seem right.”  Self replies, “I have been trying to tell you…” “Shhhhhhhhh, I haven’t had my coffee yet”, you respond before Self has time to finish its sentence.

Back to the office you head, coffee in hand.  You sit and stare in a complete daze at your computer screen, unblinking.  Moments pass, maybe even minutes before you realize you are staring and were about to do something, only you do not remember what.  You sip your coffee as if it were nectar from the gods.  “Something doesn’t feel right” you say to Self.  Self tries to speak up again but you shut it down quickly.

15 minutes later, you realize your coffee is done and it is time to go get your second cup.  Now you are a little more open to communication.  As you are pouring your second cup you notice that your feet and the bottom of your sweat pants are wet.  Why would they be wet?  Self, not feeling brave enough to speak up, “I have been trying to tell you!”  You look over at the fish tank and notice that there is 3 inches of water missing from it. What the hell?  Self is now annoyed, “I have been trying to tell you!!! But no, you won’t listen to me yet again!” FUCK!

You put down your cup of coffee and walk over the fish tank to see water all over the floor.  You pull it away from the wall to find the water pump has sprung a leak.  You grab towels to clean up the mess and that is when you definitely know its going to be one of those days.  Once you have cleaned up the water and refilled the tank, you grab your coffee and head back to your office wishing you had nothing to do.

But you have a lot to do.  All day long your find yourself completely spacing out and having to snap yourself back to reality.  It one of those days where things normally guaranteed to perk you up and bring you to reality, fail miserably.  And you cannot afford this.  Especially when you are going away in a few days and have a list 9.4605284 × 1015 meters long needing to get done and there doesn’t seem to be enough hours in the upcoming week to get it all done.

Your day is full of just going through the motions.  Nothing seems real.  Everything is in a thick, heavy fog.  You go back into the living room every few moments to make sure it is not yet again flooded.  The minutes of the day swing from dragging on to all of a sudden realizing 30 minutes or more have passed with you doing nothing but staring off into other worlds.  These other worlds you don’t even know what they were.  It would be okay if the other worlds were inspiring productive ideas but they are just black holes.  You just come to realization that you were lost somewhere unknown.  The day is many variations of the above.

You start to hear things.  Strange noises, such as the sound of dripping water coming from your ceiling.  You look up and down and all around trying to find the source of this noise.  Seeing nothing, you realize you are just paranoid because of the mess you found earlier when you finally became somewhat aware of your surroundings.  These noises won’t stop.  You keep swinging back and forth between getting sucked into the void to becoming aware of things around you.  You hear the noises many many times and everytime you look, nothing is there to make them.  The noises are taunting you.

Then you look over a final time because you are yet again hearing these strange noises (and even so you look over, you expect not to see anything) only to find something standing there.  It is a figure of some sort.  It takes a moment for you to comprehend all that is going on in your environment.  You were not expecting to see anything and something is there and making noise none the less.  Your heart leaps into your throat (especially since not to long ago your house was broken into in the middle of the night while everyone was in it) and you scream WHAT THE FUCK.  Then you come to the realization that it is your child making Darth Vadar noises.  You break down into tears and start to shake uncontrollably.  Your normally sweet child has just transformed into some type of demon monster and starts to laugh uncontrollably because he just scared the living shit right out of you.

Tears start to stream down you face.  The demon spawn is very proud of himself.  One of the reasons why he is so proud is because you have a habit of scaring him yourself.  You do not mean to though.  It is never purposeful.  You are just a quiet person and the child gets lost in his own little worlds while he is playing video games.  You go into the kitchen to do something and he jumps after you have been there for a while asking, “When and how did you get there?”  Your child thinks you have the ability to apparate.  You remind him if you could apparate there would be a definite cracking noise everytime you did so.

Regardless of the above, the demon spawn has made it his life’s mission to try and scare you.  He tries to sneak up on you at every opportunity and startle you.  But it does not work as the demon spawn is never quiet enough.  Finally he has victory! And he wasn’t even trying.  However, due to your lack of awareness throughout the day and you finally sticking a gag in Self’s mouth, you have no warning that the demon spawn is approaching your office.  He won’t stop laughing and you can’t stop crying and shaking.

Poor demon spawn starts to think you are angry.  So you have to give him a hug and kiss and reassure him, no my love I am not angry.  Today is just one of those days…  Happy in the knowledge you are not in fact angry or upset with him, away he goes.  Every now and then you hear him laugh and snicker and yell down the hall, “I still can’t believe I finally got you!”

Yes today has been one of those days for me.

Name Game

August 6th, 2009

Every once in awhile I run across a Facebook note where I think, “HA! That would be funny to do.”  Now I know this is a silly blog, but I found it funny.

Here is one such note:

1. YOUR REAL NAME: Julia Christine Sherred

2. YOUR GANGSTA NAME: (first 3 letters of real name plus -izzle.): Julizzle

3. YOUR SPY NAME: (favorite color and favorite animal): Blue Tiger

4. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (your middle name and street you live on): Christine Hawke

5. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name): Sheju

6. YOUR SUPERHERO/CRIMINAL NAME: (Your 2nd favorite color, and favorite drink): Purple Coffee

7. YOUR IRAQI NAME: (2nd letter of your first name, 3rd letter of your last name, 1st letter of your last name, 2nd letter of your moms maiden name, 3rd letter of your dads name, 1st letter of a siblings first name, and last letter of your moms first name): UESACCS

8. YOUR WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (parents’ middle names): Mary Ernest

9. YOUR GOTH NAME: (black, and the name of one of your pets): Black Fish

10. Your ghetto girl name (first 3 letters of your first name and add -iqua): Juliqua

11. Porn Star name: (Name of your first pet and the first street you lived on): Skipper Beaver (Beaver isn’t the first street but its the first street I remember living on)

Are you brave enough to share your names with me?