Not worth arguing about.

A party, late at night. Born Slippy by Underworld comes on.

Me: Ooooh! Born Slippy!

Know-it-all guy: No. This is Underworld.

Me: ...whatever.

Heather is...

...finding it easier and faster to come up with quippy status updates on Facebook than writing new blog posts.

Life has been extra good lately. This blog has turned out to be the start of my writing career, if that doesn't sound too self-important. I don't mean it to. Writing in pen in a private diary never really worked for me, no matter how many books on writing suggested it. I've got just enough Leo in my sign to crave attention and blogging turned out to be a great way to put my big toe in the water and get a couple of accidental readers - friends mostly.

At first blogging was enough of a creative outlet. Then it wasn't, so after a few 3 a.m. wakeful soul searches I started taking journalism courses at night to learn more about how to get published and further work on my writing skills. I've now been published in a few places, which has turned out to be one of the biggest rushes of my life. Bylines are sexy, they really are.

I smiled blissfully for several hours after my first pitch letter got accepted. Jeff bought me a bottle of Veuve Cliquot champagne to celebrate. Fitting, I suppose.

Let's raise a figurative glass to ChampagneMinimalist - I couldn't have gotten started without it.

Hooray!

There's going to be a Sex and the City movie!

Just the same, I don't think I can be bothered to see it in the theatre...

Jeff, Have I Told You Lately How Much I Love You?

My new daily read is passive aggressive notes.

Every time I read it I am flooded with love for my spouse and the ease with which we handle household responsibilities together. Except for ice-cube trays, I could use a little help on the re-filling them if they're empty thing, kthx. But other than that, 10-plus years of living together with great communication and sharing resources, food and drink have ironed out any possible issues we may have once had.

And hey co-workers, you're pretty awesome too. I can't remember the last time someone had to write a note about anything, to anyone, in any of the common areas.

A perfect rejoinder

Whenever I get hit with an unexpected volley of verbal sparring, I usually fall victim to a bad case of "staircase wit", described so perfectly by Peter over at Man vs. Clown! in this hilarious post.

L'esprit de l'escalier -- or literally "staircase wit"-- is a French phrase referring to the clever things to say that one inevitably thinks when it is too late, such as a cutting, Dorothy Parkeresque retort to an earlier jibe that suddenly occurs to one only when he is on the staircase, leaving the party.

With a few notable exceptions that I sometimes cherish in the wee sma's of the morning, or recount when I've had too much wine, I usually come up with my best lines at 3 a.m. Oh well.

However, I once read some excellent suggestions in a women's magazine about how to deal with people assuming you're pregnant when you're not. Women wrote in with their favourite responses, some nice and subtle, some designed to discomfit the offender, and one struck a chord with me. I read it and thought - "that's useful...I'll have to remember that one".

It lay dormant in an airless corner of my brain for years.

One day, as I got dressed for a wedding, I modelled my dress for Jeff, asking the age-old question "Does this outfit make me look fat?" (I'm sure he said no, he's good like that). This was a bias cut dress, which emphasized my well fed belly (plus pms, some pizza and diet coke didn't help matters along). I really didn't want to wear control top stockings, and SPANX weren't every woman's best friend yet. He said I looked fine, so despite my misgivings (we were probably running late), I grabbed my coat and we left.

Dinner at the wedding was fantastic - I ate several courses of delicious food, plus some nicely carbonated gin and tonics before and after dinner.

After dinner, as we walked away from the bar with a fresh drinks, the mother of the bride (bride previously described here, with apple not falling far from tree) approached Jeff and I. She had met Jeff at an earlier wedding-related function and wanted to be introduced to me. And, this was weird; after the usual introduction, she reached out, patted my belly and said "when's the baby due?" in a silly sing-song voice. After a pause, during which I downed some of my drink, I said "Oh, I'm not pregnant, I'm just kinda fat". I waited for her smile to fall off her face, and walked away.

Ladies - use this line, if needed. Any woman who does not know the rule "Don't comment on another woman's pregnancy unless you know without a doubt that she is actually expecting a baby" deserves the kind of abject humiliation a line like that delivers. I mean, that's basically someone calling you fat. And who likes that?

Line Rider - One Eyed Giant

You may recall my post about this neat game, Line Rider.

My grade school art teachers were correct in giving me Cs and Ds in art class. I am a horrid visual artist, confirmed by the fact that while playing Line Rider, all I ever drew were squiggly lines for my little toboggan guy.

There have been a lot of stunning Line Rider games saved and posted on YouTube. This one is amazing! It helps if you have played the game a couple of times to appreciate the amount of work that went into this.

Pooch-related products, a roundup

Hotdoll
for the dog who just won't stop with the lovin'.

Dog-end Towel Holder
pretty much exactly what you're thinking.

Doggie Bag
gives picking up your dog a whole new meaning.