Susieboldt's Blog

Random Comments from a Dreamer

My Thoughts on “Sex and the City”

Here’s my question of the day: What is the big deal about “Sex and the City II”? No wait, here’s a better question: What’s the big deal with “Sex and the City” in general?

I’ve seen countless advertisements showing off four middle-aged women who still think they’re eighteen and can pull off high fashion. It’s odd to me. Why are these women so famous and why are they so incredibly influential? I wish I could answer these questions, even just for myself. But, unfortunately I don’t have the time or energy to philosophize tonight. So, instead I’ll make fun of “Sex and the City” and hopefully let out some pent up sarcasm.

Watch the trailer for “Sex and the City II”. I know it might be painful for you, but it’s only a few minutes, so try to endure it.

So, let me break it down for you.

First we’ve got this woman (Carrie) emerging from her grand and luxurious hotel/home. As she walks outside she sticks out her tongue a little, as if to say: “I’m so hot and rich that I could do anything or go anywhere right now and no one could even stop me.” Her indecisiveness comes across as arrogance, not cuteness.

Then after parading around town with three other girlfriends all wearing clothes worth thousands of dollars, Carrie enters her closet. Here’s where I want to throw up. She leans against her closet doorframe, no doubt thinking about all her wonderful and glamorous choices. She could wear a purple thirty-thousand dollar dress with forty-thousand dollar high heels, or she could wear a seventy-thousand dollar gown just because she can. I wonder, as she’s leaning against her closet doorframe, does the thought about starving children enter her mind at all, even in a simple fleeting thought? Is she wondering how better she could use her money… probably not, I presume.

Let’s dig further.

Suddenly over a course of shots reflecting odd fashion and grown women, the girls have found a way to ride camels in the desert…in high fashion. I wonder how many people besides these girls can ride camels in high fashion. And when will these women find the right men? How old are they? Why aren’t they able to settle down? This is not a story about four women and their transition through life. This is a story of four women who can’t accept that they are no longer teenagers!

And who in their right mind made the decision to have Carrie wear a black Dior tee-shirt with a huge poufy skirt? In what country is this fashionable? Perhaps I’m missing something and someone who knows more about fashion can enlighten me…but until that happens, I’m sticking with it being ugly.

Here’s what needs to be done:

One: That poufy skirt needs to be burned, and since the fire is already going, you might as well thrown in that ugly white dress she tries to pull off in that first scene. I’m sorry Carrie, it’s just not working for you.

Two: The public needs to go to and see what the critics thought about their beloved Sex and the City girls. That’s right, “Sex and the City II” got a humble 16%. That means that only 16% of people who’ve already seen it, liked it. That’s a very low rating, my friends.

Three: Somebody should probably point out my multiple bias’ throughout this blog; as I’ve never seen a single episode of “Sex and the City”, nor watched one of its’ way-too-long movies. But again, until that happens, I’m sticking with my thoughts, whatever that’s worth…

over and out.


May 28, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | 5 Comments

The Gum Chewer

We’ve all encountered people who chew their gum like cows chew their cud. This is a sad reality.

The other day I walked into a store that I don’t normally go into. I was with my sister and her friend, and they needed special, sparkly paper. This is the same store that I bought all my wedding invitation paper from. Only, I bought my paper three years ago, silly me for thinking that the store was the same store it had once been. My sister still got her paper (apparently they sell paper in the back…), but the rest of the store comprised of $295 jeans and $100 tee-shirts. I was appalled. I wondered who buys these things. I was then greeted by an employee, or possibly the owner, and my whole world turned upside down for a brief moment.

She was chewing gum as if she was running a marathon and needed water desperately; using her own saliva as a substitute. She was chewing gum like Violet chews gum in her gum-chewing competitions in “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory”. I watched as her mouth moved violently up and down, then sideways and around. It was un-natural and disturbing. I stared as the moisture from the gum exited her mouth and moistened her lips, making them oddly discoloured and slobbery. She had small, thin lips too, making this whole ordeal that much worse. Thick lips might have been able to contain all that gum moisture, but not thin lips, not at all. I shudder just thinking about it. When she smiled I could see the poor gum piece smushed in her teeth, then she’d pry at it with her tongue and roll it around her mouth all over again. In complete astonishment, I continued to stare. I really couldn’t help it. How was this even legal?

I chew gum too. Don’t think that I don’t. The only difference between how I chew my gum, and how the gum-chewer chews her gum, is that I chew gracefully. Well, I’d like to think that I chew gracefully. I don’t try to kill the gum with my teeth, nor do I try to use the gum as a lip gloss. I have chap-stick in my purse, thank you very much.

My sister thinks she has this pathological fear of gum. She won’t chew it, buy it, or touch it. She just hates gum. Why, you might ask; well, the answer really is unknown. My theory is that one day she woke up and decided to hate gum. That makes the most sense to me. Although, after watching the gum-chewer go to town on her gum like that, I think I’ve become a little afraid of gum too. I mean, what if other pieces of gum see how the gum-chewer chews it, they’ll want revenge for the sheer torture being inflicted on their kin. Gum pieces will band together and before we know it, we’ll have a full blown gum/human war on our hands. They’ll demand better rights. They’ll demand better health care and dental benefits. This is a lose/lose situation, my friends. It’s clear what needs to be done. Some brave soul must enter the confines of that dismal store. The soldier must then reach into the gum-chewer’s mouth and pull out that horribly mangled and tortured piece of gum. He must then offer it up to the rest of the gum society as a peace offering.

It won’t be easy, but it’ll be worth it.

Image from:

May 27, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Too Much Skin!

I’m a Mennonite, as most of you know. A Mennonite is a cultural background and in some cases a religion. If you want to know more about what a Mennonite actually is, I suggest you find sources other than me! Anyway, in my case, it’s a cultural background.

Mennonites have a gazillion rules, (and yes ‘gazillion’ is a word. I looked it up). One of the rules that I’ve grown up with, and have been unable to shake, involves modesty. I wasn’t supposed to wear anything that showed too much skin. Now you might be asking, “What’s considered too much skin?” Well let me demonstrate:


 A perfect Amount of Skin (only hand-skin and face-skin visible) 

Too Much Skin! (Arm-skin visible)


Last night I had a dream.


I was on a beach, the sun was shining full force, and I was surrounded by beautiful bikini monsters. Women everywhere, clad in the skimpiest of bikini’s, hands out-stretched, moving slowly like zombies towards me. It was then that I heard a female voice say in the most shocked of voices,

“Susie! Your shoulder-skin is showing! Cover it up, quick!”

I looked over at her only to witness her disintegrate into a pile of polka-dotted bikini material over my horrid immodesty!

The dream then went into slow-motion mode, and as I craned my neck slowly to the side I noticed my bare and gleaming shoulders. I had somehow walked onto the beach in a tank top! Oh horror of horrors! Nothing could be worse. This was a nightmare! I quickly crossed my arms to cover my bare shoulders with my hands, only to be concerned with the sheer amount of arm-skin that I was showing.

Suddenly, before I could do anything about it, the bikini zombies (all with their straight blonde hair flowing in the wind) grabbed hold of my sweater lying on the sand and ripped it to shreds. Now I was truly doomed. How would I escape the beach without anyone noticing my nakedness? With my hands over my shoulders, I cried.


Okay, okay, so that dream didn’t really happen, and the bikini zombies are only a figment of my imagination; but you get the point.

My whole entire life, I couldn’t and still cannot, wear tank tops without feeling as if I am sinning. I wore my first pair of shorts when I vacationed in Florida at the age of fifteen. To be honest, I can’t even wear sandals without first thinking about my feet-skin immodesty. This has become quite the problem recently, since the weather has finally turned warm. I see girls around me wearing tank tops and shorts and immediately judge them. I shout horrible words inside my head, such as: “Immodest!” or “Skank-o-rama”. Yet, they’re not immodest or skank-o-rama’s. Really they’re just warm and are wearing summer clothes. This ingrained and brain washed idea of showing too much skin has become ridiculous, and for once in my life I would like to be able to wear a tank top in one hundred degree weather instead of a tee-shirt with an accompanying sweater!

So, with my arms outstretched and my fists clenched tight, I shout with written words across the World Wide Web: “IT’S TIME FOR CHANGE! NO LONGER WILL I WEAR WINTER SOCKS WITH SNEAKERS IN THE MIDDLE OF SUMMER. NO LONGER, I SAY!”

May 26, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | 3 Comments

Trust Issues

My husband and I went on a trip this past weekend, celebrating our third wedding anniversary. I figured it would be like any other trip we’ve had: relaxing, kind of boring, and un-eventful. I’m not saying that I don’t like our trips; they’re just always very laid back. This past trip however, was everything but laid back.

I was the one who planned this trip. I chose our location with meticulous care and tons of internet research. I surfed the web for reviews of a few hotel options, and their food locations around the area. And finally, I decided on Oakville. Oakville is located on the outskirts of Toronto. It’s near Hamilton and Brantford. It seemed like a great place…not. I hated Oakville. Basically, it was the city of Toronto with five lane town highways and traffic EVERYWHERE. It took us forever to find our hotel, and then eternity to find food. After spending one night in Oakville, we decided to leave and drive to Guelph, and stay there the rest of the weekend. That was a much better choice. It was relaxing, and a whole lot less stressful.

While the city of Guelph was not stressful, our travelling was. You see, we have this GPS, and it decided that during this trip would be the best time to malfunction. Countless times the GPS mislead us. During our drive on the 401 highway, the GPS told us to make a U-turn…multiple times. Sure, GPS, we’ll just veer left, crash through the concrete divider, and merge onto the 401 in the opposite direction! We were led in dozens of circles, and one point during our trip I contemplated whipping the GPS out the window and watching it crash onto the highway; all while calmly saying, “Make a U-turn when possible”. Because of this GPS, I now have major trust issues with anything technological. Never again will I be able to trust the directions of a GPS. In fact, every time someone says “U-turn” I’ll have horrible flashbacks to a computerized female voice telling me to “turn around when possible”. We ended up relying on our not-so-good directional senses and written directions from mapquest. It worked though; we made it to our hotel in Guelph and found food when we needed it. Using paper directions made me feel as if we were from the Stone Age. I didn’t like it at all, but since I don’t trust GPS’ anymore, paper directions will be all I’ll use from hence forth.

I’ve always trusted technology, now I can’t help but wonder what else will malfunction. Is my lap top’s webcam a spying device in which someone on the other side of the world is watching everything I do? Is my satellite dish recording all of my words said throughout the day, and then sending that information to the government? Who knows what my technology is doing when I’m not watching.

Bottom line: GPS’s should not cause trust issues.

May 25, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

What Not to Say When Crossing the Border

A few times a year I will go shopping in the States; never alone of course, because that would be lame, but with friends and family.

This means that we all have to cross the border into the United States. Now, I don’t know about you, but this is a nerve-racking experience for me. It has a little something to do with those border police. They have an assortment of scary-looking guns wrapped around their hips and intimidating footwear covering their feet. I don’t like it, not one bit. Occasionally as cars are idling, waiting for their turn to cross into America, border police will check for bombs underneath cars. This scares me. What if someone as a prank thought it would be funny to attach a device that looked like a bomb, but wasn’t a bomb, and then while my husband and I were fast asleep, attach it to the bottom of our vehicle! How would I explain that!

My fear of the border police probably stems from the time I lied to them. Yes, I lied to the border police. Well, technically not me…

My husband and I were coming back from a trip in the U.S. and like many people we wanted to get across the border as fast as possible. So, I looked at my husband, who was driving, and told him to lie about our purchases over the weekend. We hadn’t bought much, maybe two hundred dollars worth, but I told him to lie anyways. This was a stupid move on my part. You see, my husband is quite literally the worst liar in the entire universe. When he told the border officer that we had bought nothing, my husband’s face flushed all red and he turned to me quickly to ask, “Right? Nothing?” Yeah, as you can imagine, we were pulled in to be investigated. They searched our car, then our bags of bought merchandise, then through our dirty laundry, underwear and all…all this while we were forced to stand and watch. This is probably why I get all nervous at the border. Needless to say I learned my lesson. I will never lie to a border officer, ever again.

The other day I went to the U.S. again, and as my carload crept up the border to go back into Canada, the border officer asked my mom (who was the driver), “What did you all buy?” My mom, being flustered I’m sure, replied, “Some clothes, and stuff.” “AND STUFF”. Yes, that is what she said. I thought for sure that we would get pulled in to be searched, but amazingly we were free to cross without having given the total of our merchandise. It was a miracle, a miracle I tell you.

So naturally being creative and all, I’ve compiled a few examples of things NOT to say to the border police.

Border Officer: “What did you all buy?”

Civilian: “Some clothes, and stuff.”

Border Officer: “What’s the total amount of money spent between everyone in the car?”

Civilian: “…about six grand…” *nervous laughter “I’m just kidding, only a hundred dollars….” *more nervous laughter…

Border Officer: “Are you bringing over any alcohol today?”

Civilian: “Only the vodka sittin’ in ma belly!”

Border Officer: “What do you have in the trunk?”

Civilian: “Uh….I don’t know….wait! Rags! I have rags in the back.”


Civilian: “Nothing of any particular interest…” *Civilian says as he nervously shifts his eyes to his passengers…

Do you have any more things not to say to a Border Officer, or any personal experiences?

May 14, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | 5 Comments

The Missing Letters

To Billy.

I’d like you to take a long look at the above picture. By now I’m pretty sure you’ve noticed the exact same thing that both me and my cousin Billy noticed as we drove past Reitmans. Clearly there are letters missing. I’ve seen other stores with the same problem.

A Starbucks becomes S ar        s.

Target becomes Tar   t.

Burger King becomes Bu ger  ing.

But what happens to the letters in this particular case? These letters are not illuminated by hidden bulbs, which after they burn out, simply need to be replaced. No, these specific letters on the Reitmans sign are blocks of plastic that can come crashing down at any moment. Have you ever stood under a store sign and then looked up? It’s a frightening experience; especially when that particular sign that you just happen to be looking up at is missing half its letters.

So, what really happens when these letters fall? I’ve made a few scenarios:

Scenario One:

A women who is desperately in need of a new Reitman’s wardrobe, is walking towards the store while whistling tunes that everybody should know, but can never put their finger on. As she walks uncaringly under the sign, a “t” crashes down beside her. It thumps hard on the ground and her heart begins to beat a million beats per second. She jumps back unaware of what just happened. As she jumps back she has the sad misfortune of landing in the trajectory of the falling “m”. The “m” lands on her head and she slumps to the ground thoroughly unconscious. When she awakens, she finds herself in a dark enclosed place. She can somewhat make out the details of a furry coat and a possibly an umbrella. She screams and flattens herself against the adjacent wall. As she realizes that the furry coat is just a part of the closet she is in, she relaxes. Unfortunately, her relaxation does not last long. The coat really does belong to a person, and that person is a Reitman’s employee! She’s holding a flashlight to her face and an umbrella which is pointed at the woman’s face. The employee is screaming, “If you ever tell anyone about the falling letters I will sneak into your house and steal every last article of clothing. Then I will find your shoes….yes…you know what that means.” The women who just wanted to shop, now finds herself in a precarious situation. If she tells anyone what happened to her, her precious and deeply loved shoes will be taken from her. No!!!! She can’t stand the thought of it. After nodding her head in sheer fear and compliance, she is freed. The next day the very same woman is seen shopping in Reitmans. Is there more to this story than I let on? Perhaps hypnotics….?

Scenario Two:

The letter “t” falls, crashing onto the hard pavement beneath it. The fallen “t” causes the pavement to shake, and suddenly the employees of Reitman’s are ducking under clothes displays shouting “Earthquake!!” This in turn sets off an unfortunate chain reaction involving the employees of the adjoining Smart Set and Wal-Mart. Soon everyone is yelling “Earthquake!” and cars are bumping into each other, creating a slew of broken bumpers and tail-lights. People are running through the parking lot looking up to the sky, as this is a normal response of someone yelling “earthquake”. After the initial “t” falls, more letters decide to follow and they collapse onto the pavement creating miniature aftershocks. This creates panic which reverberates through the entire town of Leamington and soon everyone is running around like chickens with no heads!

It was the worst earthquake Leamington has felt to date. Fortunately, no one was injured, except for a small weed who’s sad last thought involved, “Oh, crap” before a large black “t” barrelled down towards it.

May 6, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | 5 Comments

A Problematic Situation

I was going to blog about this a looonnggg time ago…as in three months ago, but I got lazy and never did. So, although it doesn’t relate to our current season of late spring/early summer, I think you will still enjoy it.

The month was February, and the weather was, well, cold. The snow was falling and I was at home watching it plaster our driveway. I knew what needed to be done, but how was I going to convince myself to do it? I thought of the lonely shovel sitting in our garage, hardly ever used, and the mitts and hats gathering dust in the closet. My husband was at work, and I knew he wasn’t getting home until six. That would mean he would have only half-an-hour to an hour of daylight to shovel the driveway. This seemed cruel to me; wait till he came home only to make him work harder after a long days work. Yet, this still did not motivate me. I sat on the couch watching the snow through the window and decided to write an essay instead. It was then while I was knee deep in words and thoughts that a knock sounded at my door.

I was not prepared for this. I was in my robe and my hair looked as if an entire bird’s nest could be sitting comfortably within it. I gathered courage, flattened down my hair, and decided to open the door. My heart stopped racing as I notice that it was a couple of kids; a young boy and an even younger girl. They were equipped with shovels, mitts, and hats. They were here to shovel my driveway. This was perfect! I wouldn’t have to do it, and I wouldn’t have to feel bad making my husband do it! They asked if they could shovel my driveway and without hesitation I said yes. As they went out to start their daunting task, a single thought ran through my mind: money. These kids wanted money. What if I didn’t have any cash? This was not good, not good at all. I ran to my bedroom, lifted the mattress and located my secret stash of one hundred dollar bills….oh, wait, that was my fantasy, not what actually happened. Instead I went to my wallet and slowly checked its contents, my heart sunk. All I had was two twenties. I didn’t want to give them one twenty and make them go through the hassle of splitting it, and I didn’t want to give them each a twenty, because well let’s face it, they were just kids, and they were doing a horrible job.

I began to wonder then what it would have been like to receive a twenty dollar bill as a kid, and I decided that it would have been pure awesomeness. So I did it. I gave them each a twenty. Was it a mistake? Yes, yes it was. You see, here I thought I was doing this super cool thing by being so generous and yet it had become a real problem. Those kids came back the next week wanting to once again reap the benefits of the crazy robe lady. It had snowed only one inch. I told them that it had barely snowed and I would not need their services. The following week they came back again; once again I told them no. They didn’t come back again, but that did not solve the problem of word of mouth. During the next two weeks I had kids coming to my door who didn’t live anywhere near my neighbourhood. Word of mouth had already spread, and I had become the crazy-twenty-dollar-robe-birds nest-hair-lady. Wonderful. One time it had snowed only one centimetre, and kids still showed up at my door.

I wonder what I’m in store for next winter…

May 3, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | 7 Comments