WMBS. It's an acronym my friend JJLB came up with the other day. It stands for Well Meaning But Stupid people.

We all have them in our lives, and sometimes (gasp!) we are them. Not sure if your actions cross over from well meaning to WMBS? Take this wee test:

1. Your friend is on a diet and having a bad day. You:
A) Send her videos of cute kittens, knowing that she likes them.
B) Send over your friend Raphael, your next-door neighbour who just happens to be a massage artist.
C) Bring over four-dozen chocolate cupcakes.

2. You've been bad about responding to a friend's emails and she asks which method is the best way to contact you. You:
A) Tell her to call you instead -- that way she can talk to your kitten, too!
B) Pick up the phone and call her, and apologize for being such a sloth when it comes to emailing.
C) Insist that email is the best way.

3. A friend asks you for help. You:
A) Ask what she needs, and ask if the kitten can help, too.
B) Tell her you'll do anything for her. And so will Raphael.
C) Offer to do something that's already been done.

4. You see a person approaching a door who has her hands full. You:
A) Hold back your kitten so he doesn't accidently chew the woman's legs off.
B) Hold open the door and offer to puch the elevator button for her.
C) Ask her if she'd like to purchase a box of Girl Scout cookies.

5. You see a homeless person on the street. You:
A) Give him some spare change and tell him about your pet kitten.
B) Buy him a sandwich or a coffee.
C) Ask if he has change for a twenty.

Okay, now tally up your scores.

Mostly As
You are a crazy cat person. Stop forwarding all the cute kitten videos to people who don't have cats -- they don't deserve it or understand it. Save it for your other cat-crazy friends. And don't volunteer your kitten to assist with anything. Your purrfect loved one is way too bizay to help a human.

Mostly Bs
You are a well-meaning person who goes that extra mile or volunteers other well-meaning people who happen to be masseurs to assist when things get bent out of shape.

Mostly Cs
I'm afraid you may be suffering from a case of WMBS. And that's okay. It happens to the best of us. You've got good intentions, but they get lost in the delivery. Now that you're aware of the problem, you can take the three cupcakes left over to the homeless guy. And throw in a box of Girl Scout cookies. ;)

And, for some strange reason, I've been listening to Weird Al's "I Bought It On eBay" while I wrote this. Here's the link: www.youtube.com/watch?v=YKtlK7sn0JQ

Labels: fun, ideas, kitten, parodies

Just when I thought the shopping was done, we found out that it is not. Ugh. Must get out to the stores before the storm hits. In the meantime, please enjoy a holiday-inspired take on Depeche Mode's "People Are People."

Presents Are Presents

Presents are presents
So why should it be
The one from Uncle Eddie smells so awfully
Presents are presents
So why should it be
The one from Uncle Eddie smells so awfully

So they’re different colors
And they’re different shapes
But one’s a step closer
To the Pearly Gates
It’s obvious he hates me
Though I’ve done nothing wrong
Except posting those photos
Of him wearing a thong

I can’t get a grip
What makes a gift
Feel like such a rip
Christmas is a trip

Presents are presents
So why should it be
The one from Uncle Eddie smells so awfully
Presents are presents
So why should it be
The one from Uncle Eddie smells so awfully

Christmas is a trip
Christmas is a trip

They’re all pointing
And they’re laughing
And they’re waving with glee
Pushing Eddie’s present closer to me
So far it hasn’t blown up
You lucky boys and girls
It’s the tell-tale scent of old milk
That makes me want to hurl

I can’t get a grip
What makes a gift
Feel like such a rip
Christmas is a trip

Presents are presents
So why should it be
The one from Uncle Eddie smells so awfully
Presents are presents
So why should it be
The one from Uncle Eddie smells so awfully

I can’t get a grip
What makes a gift
Feel like such a rip
Christmas is a trip

Labels: parodies

Okay, the dancing wore me out, so I think a song parody is in order.

Singing Out of Tune
(sing to the tune of "Walking on the Moon by The Police)

Big screeches are sounds you make
Singing out of tune
I hope windows don’t break
Singing out of tune
I could go forever
Singing out of tune
Bill Hung and me together
Singing out, singing out of tune

Singing from the back yard
Singing out of tune
Singing from the front yard
Singing out of tune
Animals scatter on the ground
Singing out of tune
Getting away from the sound
Of my singing out, singing out of tune

Some, they say
I’m driving neighbors away, no way
For my silence some will pay, out-lay
But I refuse to obey, José
I’m gonna still bray

Big screeches are sounds you make
Singing out of tune
I hope windows don’t break
Singing out of tune
I could go forever
Singing out of tune
Bill Hung and me together
Singing out, singing out of tune

Some, they say
I’m driving neighbors away, no way
For my silence some will pay, out-lay
But I refuse to obey, José
I’m gonna still bray

Labels: fun, parodies

I looked at the calendar this weekend and realized that the RWA National Conference is approaching much faster than ever before. I'm excited and nervous and basically wondering what the heck I'm going to wear. ;)

Which reminds me, thank you to all who are voting for me, I truly appreciate it! Please help me win clothes in time for Nationals by voting every day until June 30:

http://www.thebay.com/stores/shop/content/en/bay/contest_reveal_fashion#storyID=8393496
Okay, where was I? Oh yes, Nora Robert's den.

You know how I can't resist celebrating life with a song parody or two, so here's my take on the Bare Naked Ladies' Brian Wilson, titled Nora Roberts.

Flew to San Fran in the rain ten-thirty on a Tuesday night
Just to check out RWA Nationals
Call it proactive, call it attractive, call it hopeful
but I booked early and I paid full pop
Cause right now I am

Holding a pen, in Nora Robert’s den
Right now I’m holding a pen in Nora Robert’s den

Well I’m sitting here, waiting for the muse to come
And I’m thinking about, what to write about
Just listening and re-listening, to workshop tapes
And I’m wondering if Nora’s brought security out
Because I am

Holding a pen, in Nora Robert’s den
Right now I’m holding a pen in Nora Robert’s den

And if they wanna find me I’ll be behind the bookshelf
Holding releases from two thousand one-un-un
If this shelf tips over I’ll be crushed by nine titles, whoa oh-oh-oh
Talk about fun, fun, fun!

Holding a pen, in Nora Robert’s den
Right now I’m holding a pen in Nora Robert’s den

I had a dream that I wrote three hundred books
And though I was prolific
Agents wouldn’t give me a second look
Agents wouldn’t give me a second look, uh-oh
Somebody help me, give me a second look
Somebody help me, give me a second look
Somebody help me because I am

Holding a pen, in Nora Robert’s den
Right now I’m holding a pen in Nora Robert’s den

Flew to San Fran in the rain ten thirty on a Tuesday night
Just to check out RWA Nationals
Call is proactive, call it attractive, call it hopeful
but I booked early and I paid full pop

And here's the original if you need to get the song in your head:

Labels: fun, parodies, writing

Back in the day, I was a huge Depeche Mode fan. Heck, I still am, but more for the early stuff before they started getting all religious and super-angsty. I like my angst with more of a pop beat, thank you very much.

Hey, did someone mention angst? My current WIP is moving along swimmingly, and I wrote ten pages today, a freaking record and miracle. The bucket of words had no limits today! Yahoo!

I have found the love again with this novel, right when I have a gazillion other projects on the boil, including on-site work for a client. Le sigh.

So, instead of bitching about it, I rewrote Depeche Mode's "I Just Can't Get Enough." Squee!

I Can't Write Fast Enough
When I’m writing baby, I get into my head
And I can’t type fast enough, I can’t type fast enough
All the characters in a scene and everything they said
And I can’t type fast enough, I can’t type fast enough

The fingers fly like I’m wearing gloves
And I really can’t type fast enough

Words string together, creating a new scene
And I can’t type fast enough, I can’t type fast enough
Every time I think of them my knuckles feel the heat
And I can’t type fast enough, I can’t type fast enough

My deadline’s fodder, sleep I'll have to shove
And I really can’t type fast enough

And when I block, the muse is there for me
And I can’t type fast enough, I can’t type fast enough
Get me some aspirin, my hands are killing me
And I can’t write fast enough, I can’t write fast enough

It’s like an angel who dictates from a above
And I really can’t type fast enough

Labels: fun, parodies, writing

After seeing Mr. Jackson recently (in action-figure form, but it was still a momentous occasion), I thought it would be appropriate to have a little fun with his lyrics:

My inner critic always comes around here
Don’t need him in this space, he better disappear
My word count’s on the line and the due date’s coming near
So write it, just write it

This ain’t no fun, I have to do what I can
Don’t wanna be unpubbed, don’t wanna be a sham
It’s gonna be tough, better pick up the pen
So write it, but it’s gonna be bad

Just write it, write it, write it, write it
Even if you’re too excited
Spelling’s all funky and tense is a plight
It doesn’t matter if you get it right
Just write it, write it
Just write it, write it
Just write it, write it
Just write it, write it

The doubt will get you, does whatever it can
You don’t wanna play it coy, or be an also-ran
You wanna get published, better sit on your can
And write it, just write it

My keyboard’s melting and it’s got me all scared
I'm writing for my life, I ain’t got time to spare
Tasks taunt me, then distract me
Because life isn’t fair
So write it, but it’s gonna be bad

Just write it, write it, write it, write it
Even if you’re too excited
Spelling’s all funky and tense is a plight
It doesn’t matter if you get it right
Just write it, write it
write it, write it, write it...

Labels: fun, parodies

Big heaping congratulations need to go out to Michelle and Mike, who both have brand new daughters on their homes after approximately nine months of waiting. Woo hoo!

I dunno about you, but new arrivals always make me think of every Beatles song ever recorded. Of course, this parody isn't about the wee ones, it's all about me. Why? Because it's my blog. ;)

Dear muse-ness, won’t you camp out and stay
Dear muse-ness, it would make my day
Computer’s up, my Word is too
You’re creative and I need you
Dear muse-ness, won’t you camp out and stay

Dear muse-ness, please avoid those guys
Dear muse-ness, they keep telling lies
My word count’s low, it has no zing
And you’ve screwed up most everything
Dear muse-ness, won’t you please avoid those guys

Come around round
Come around round round
Come around

Dear muse-ness, show me all your guile
Dear muse-ness, like a girl gone wild
Pages will be like paper planes
If you don’t help me out again
Dear muse-ness, won’t you show me all your guile

Dear muse-ness, won’t you camp out and stay
Dear muse-ness, it would make my day
Computer’s up, my Word is too
You’re creative and I need you
Dear muse-ness, won’t you camp out and stay

Labels: parodies

It's been an overwhelming week for me already. First, the contest convention. Next was discovering that while I was at the convention, Zaphod learned how to jump over the kitten gate so now he roams relatively freely (and makes it to the litter box most of the time). Then I had all that stuff that I normally take care of when I can evenings and weekends. Like when I'm not at a contesting convention.

Oh, and did I mention that the monthly newsletter that I work on goes out next week? ;)

At least I had a cool Sunday to look forward to. My friend Joanne, with whom I co-own the VHS copy of The Boy in the Plastic Bubble, was going to come over to hang out and me and Zaphod. She was even gonna bring her famous seven-layer dip.

Then I realized that she wasn't coming Sunday, but Saturday -- the day I already have a commitment that I couldn't get out of, even if I pretended to be in a coma. I was bummed.

Even reading yesterday's post and searching for photos of Josh Holloway didn't make me feel any better. It was a total bummage that could turn into weepage in an instant, but I'm not supposed to do stuff like that. I'm a big girl.

Oh no, now Fergie's song is trapped in my head...and you know I can't help myself:

Some Girls Eat Pie

I hope you know, I hope you know
That this has something to do with food
It's personal, the lure of pie
I've got decision makin' to do
And I'm gonna choose well like a bride chooses a banquet
And I've got to get some fitness in my life
It's time to be a thin girl now
Though some girls eat pie

It turns out that Joanne can make it over on Sunday after all...as long as I don't play anything by Fergie. ;) But Josh can stay if he happens to drop in.

Labels: blahs, kitten, parodies

I just spent the last three days at Canada's first-ever Contestor Convention. It sounds like a legal thing, I know, but this wasn't for people contesting against something, it was for people who LOVE entering contests!

Oh. My. Gawd. For 72 hours I was just like everyone else. We all entered some form of contest at every opportunity whether clicking online, filling out a form, dropping a ballot into a ballot box or calling in to win on a radio station. It was heavenly.

And of course, there were prize draws! Yahoo! Luckily I left some room in my suitcase so that I could jam all of my prizes into it! Now I didn't take home any of the HUGE prizes (a laptop, a trip and a big pile of cash), but I did get to squeal with glee to collect a cooler bag, book, t-shirt and a gift certificate for a Toronto restaurant, to name a few. All in all I got to run up to the stage SEVEN times! I even made some speeches thanking my family, God, David Beckham and the contest club I belong to.

And yes, a song parody or two might have been involved:

Like a contest
Won for the very first time
Like a co-o-o-on-test
With your ballot close to mine

AND

People
People who love contests
Are the luckiest people in the world

It was so much fun! Can't wait until next year!

Labels: adventures, contests, parodies

And to celebrate, the query is going out as soon as I put up this blog post, with a nod of thanks to everyone for their encouraging words and advice.

Here is my take on Roxanne, which I thought would be appropriate:

Edits
(sung to the tune of Roxanne by The Police)

Edits, you don’t have to keep me up all night
My deadline’s coming
And there’s a really good movie on tonight
Edits, please don’t give me all that stress tonight
One day I’ll earn money
Don’t care if my tense is wrong or if it’s right

Edits, you don’t have to keep me up all night
Edits, you don’t have to keep me up all night
(Edits) Keep me up all night, (Edits) keep me up all night
(Edits) Keep me up all night, (Edits) keep me up all night
Keep me up all night, oh

There was this pesky comma
I didn't need the drama
I have to tell you just how I feel
My spellchecker’s just a toy
My motivation’s stolen
With fourteen semicolons
Told you once I won’t tell you again it’s a noun phrase

Edits, you don’t have to keep me up all night
Edits, you don’t have to keep me up all night

(Edits) Keep me up all night, (Edits) keep me up all night
(Edits) Keep me up all night, (Edits) keep me up all night

Okay, I'm outtie. See you on the other side.

Labels: fun, parodies, writing

Sorry for the lack of postage. It's been an icky, whiny few days. You know, the ones where it's best not to say anything?

Okay, I've had "Girlfriend" by Avril Lavine in my head all day, so you guys must pay the price.

Rear End

Hey! Hey! You! You!
I don’t like my rear end
No way! No way!
I think I need some new buns
Hey! Hey! You! You!
I could lose my rear end

Hey! Hey! You! You!
I was once a size three
No way! No way!
Tho’ it’s not accurate
Hey! Hey! You! You!
I want to lose my rear end

Duncan Hines
Those cakes are mine
They’re so delicious
I think about them all the time
Like it’s addictive
Don’t you know that chocolate is why my pants are so tight?
I pretend like I’m Gollum with his precious
And hell yeah
I’m the chocolate fountain princess
I can tell I should work out and you know I’m right

Size two’s so whatever
Fourteen is so much better
I think we should eat some cake right now
And then we’ll let everything hang right out

Hey! Hey! You! You!
I don’t like my rear end
No way! No way!
I think I need some new buns
Hey! Hey! You! You!
I could lose my rear end

Hey! Hey! You! You!
I was once a size three
No way! No way!
Tho’ it’s not accurate
Hey! Hey! You! You!
I want to lose my rear end

I can see the way, see the way you look at me
Even when you look away my butt's in your periphery
I buy bigger pants on sale all the time again and again
So come over here, tell me what I want to hear
Better yet make my rear end disappear
I don’t want to see those jiggly buns ever again
(And again and again and again)

Size two’s so whatever
Fourteen is so much better
I think we should eat some cake right now
And then we’ll let everything hang right out

Hey! Hey! You! You!
I don’t like my rear end
No way! No way!
I think I need some new buns
Hey! Hey! You! You!
I could lose my rear end

Hey! Hey! You! You!
I was once a size three
No way! No way!
Tho’ it’s not accurate
Hey! Hey! You! You!
I want to lose my rear end

In a second carbs are wrapped around my kidneys
Cause I ate, cause I ate forty Twinkies
There’s no room left
What am I gonna fit in?
I’m so hungry
What the hell was I thinking?

Have a great night.

Labels: fun, parodies

In case you've been on the cast of Lost, Nelly Furtado has a new album, featuring a hit single that I can't get out of my head: Promiscuous Girl. Heck, she even performed it on last week's So You Think You Can Dance results show!

So I've downloaded the track and rewritten the chorus for you all to enjoy:

Fastidious girl
Wherever you are
I'm so alone
Help me detail my car

Unscrupulous boy
You already know
That I’m not your
Sweet housekeeping 'ho

Fastidious girl
You're teasing me
I've brought Armor All
And a thing of Febreeze

Unscrupulous boy
You're messing my joint
It's taking a toll
You're not ready

Now that's a ghetto fabulous groove that I can live with. Represent.

Labels: parodies

There's a song by Motorhead that sometimes gets into my own head without an invitation: The Ace of Spades. I really don't know why, since I'm definitely not a fan of metal. It could be that viewing the video while in a drunken stupor in my youth has resulted in some form of psychosis. Or it's just a catchy tune.

But why the ace of spades? Why not some other card in the deck? I really feel sorry for the two of clubs. Go to a tattoo parlour and you'll never see someone trying to decide between a ritual circle...or the two of clubs. Now there's a card that got a bum deal. Oh, that one hurt. Apologies.

So I tried to imagine how Motorhead's song would be if it were about this long-forgotten card. Feel free to sing along if you know the tune.

Original lyrics:
If you like to gamble, I tell you I'm your man
You win some, lose some, it's all the same to me
The pleasure is to play, it makes no difference what you say
I don't share your greed, the only card I need is
The Ace Of Spades

New version:
If you like to gamble, I think that's a bad plan
You win none, lose tons, it's all real lame to me
They measure cards you play, it makes no difference what you say
I don't share your need, the only card you'll see is
The Two of Clubs

Now there's a hit if I ever saw one. Bring on the air guitars!

WIP is closing in on 25K (I'll update the counter once I pass it, I promise) and only have two articles to complete before the vacay. Sweet!

Labels: parodies