Thetis Island

Long Time Listener First Time Caller

Mr. Bunndini met a new friend in Victoria who, despite his red weepy eyes and single testicle, was the life of the party. They call him Camaro but he will always be Pinkeye McGee to me.

Thunderbolts And Lightning Very Very Frightening

CAROB BIRTHDAY CAKE (noun): The promise of something great that spectacularly fails to live up to expectations. 

Also know as: vicious kitten, flatulent centrefold, stale nachos.

It's A Fact

You are more likely to be killed by a champagne cork than by a poisonous spider. With that nugget of wisdom Mr. Bunndini bids you adieu until next year as house guests are arriving any moment for a week of cheese eating, wine drinking and butchering of the french language. 

Pickles and Ice Cream

Mr. Bunndini's five basic rules for expectant parents:

1. Do not include your babies name on your answering machine message until your baby is physically and emotionally able to call me back if I leave him/her a message.

2. No one wants to see your ultrasound photo.

3. It is wrong to call yourself a "Yummy Mummy" or let anyone else do so on your behalf.

4. If the boundaries of our friendship do not extend to seeing photos of you naked regularly then please resist the urge to share aforementioned photos with me when you are expecting (also btw it does not make you less naked because your husband is standing behind you cradling your milk-laden bosom with an uncomfortable look on his face).

5. Friends don't ask friends to change their babies poopy diapers. It's like waxing your bikini line or doing your taxes; either you do it yourself or pay someone else to do it.

Tabasco Shots For All My Friends

In four short days Dr. Mavis Stapler will be enjoying the Vancouver rain, nachos at the Foundation, an entire case of wine and the tasty plethora of cheeses that $100 buys at Les Ami Du Fromage. Mr. Green Onion Pancake the hamster is so excited that's he's stress eating between bouts of grocery shopping and re-runs of The Golden Girls.

Christmas At The Narrow

A jew, and irishman and an indian walk into a bar.......

My Motto's Always Been When It's Right It's Right

Can You Do The Fandango

FANOUCHE (noun, adjective): An seemingly classy, educated and upwardly mobile man or woman whose exterior belies the fact that they are actually an ignorant dolt. Often seen ordering the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu. Derives from the words "fancy" and "douche bag".

* The degree of fanouche-ness is directly proportionate to the thickness of European accent used when talking about aforementioned person.

Louis I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship

Mr. Bunndini received his first fan letter yesterday and is not sure whether he should get a restraining order or send a bouquet of flowers.

Nerts

I'm going to make spaghetti and faux-meat balls for christmas dinner this year with Polyanna and Mavis Stapler. There is also a 24-36% that Sister Mango will be joining us. 

Schmancy

Saturday night is my second ever office christmas party. It's incredible enough that I'm even typing those three words together let alone attending and strapping on the obligatory dress and heels. Don't get me wrong I am no slob. I carry a purse and shave my legs regularly. I have a closet full of cashmere sweaters and $200 jeans but christmas fanciness and forced frivolity is giving me hives (which will clash with the dress I have yet to purchase). Pray for me.

100 Posts About Nothing

Dear Tiny Kitten: I feel the exact same way about barf coloured shag carpeting.
With love Mr. Bunndini

Keep Calm And Put The Bacon On

Au Revoir Ma Nouille D'amour

My neighbourhood is going to hell in a hand basket. First Apple Hill Farms shuts its doors and now Sha Lin Noodle House burns up in an early morning blaze (along with the sushi restaurant next door that I heard was good but had not gone to yet because why would I ever forsake the spicy fried cutting noodles). Not mustard at all. I have phantom limb pains for the green onion pancakes already. 

Nobody Puts Bunndini In A Corner

It's holiday party season and Mr. Bunndini is flying solo. This is both a blessing (not feeling responsible for socially awkward and/or whinny and/or inappropriately drunk boyfriends) and a curse (no one to secretly mock people with or appreciate that I'm wearing heels). Here are some gentlemen who have offered their services as an escort to my office christmas party next weekend. I'm liking the jaunty look of suitor number one but he looks high maintenance. The other three are clearly a bunch of cheap gigolos.

http://www.buzzfeed.com/awesomer/31-cats-in-formal-daywear

I Can’t Believe It’s Not Gutter!

 

Mr. Bunndini allegedly starts up the Tuesday night bowling league at Grandview Lanes again in January. This year the team is getting matching shirts with our names embroidered on them but I'm having trouble deciding what my bowling moniker should be. Here is a list of suggestions. Please let me know your top three choices as soon as possible:

• Fingers

• The Hurricane

• Lois Lane

• Lefty

• Strike Tyson

• Hambone

• Walter Sobchak

• The Gobbler

• Barracuda

• Alley McBowl  

• Pee Wee
• The Mole

• Osama Pin Laydown

• Rack Hudson
• Nails

• The Fonz

• Conan The Ballbarian

• Knuckles

• Shrimp Cocktail

• Gutterfingers
• Roxy Bowler

• The Dude

• Muffin
• Sparey Bowlafonte
• Captain Whippy
• Splits McGee

Because I Get Stoopid, I Mean Outrageous

Happy first day of Hannukah to all the jews around the world. Mazel tov!

So If You Want To Love Me Then Darlin' Don't Refrain

Arbeit Does Not Make You Frei

I like to keep Mr. Bunndini's blog light hearted and pithy because there are enough bad vibes in the world already but I've been working on a project for the past few days which has made me very reflective. I have been scanning my grandmother's photo albums for a family blog and among the shots of scenic picnics in the alps was this little gem:

My grandmother Hedi and great grandfather Bruno Valentin in the summer of 1935 on an autumn bike ride in Hannover Germany. Jews standing in front of a nazi flag. Doesn't get much more eerie.

My Hatred Of Christmas Starts Earlier Every Year, My Love Of Monkeys Never Wanes.

Christmas carols are making me a shut-in. Sure I could blame my broken foot which is healing at the speed of molasses, my eternal hacking cough or the sub zero temperatures outside but I've dealt with worse. In 1985 I went to see a band at The Arts Club immediately after getting hit on the head with a bottle thrown from a speeding car, knocked unconscious, driven bleeding to the hospital by strangers and stitched and tetanus shotted up. Just last month I was hobbling around The Narrow on a cane doing Jager shots. I can make it through bloodshed, bar fights, bank robberies, break-ups, family dinners and most other uncomfortable situations with a generally positive attitude but something about the month immediately proceeding christmas makes me want to kill. This year I'm not buying anyone over the age of 12 presents and both Pollyanna and Mavis Stapler will be in town so if I can just avoid too many stores with canned holiday music the world should be safe from my wrath.

I'm Not Internationally Known But I'm Known To Rock The Microphone

When life blows sometimes the best thing you can be is a dick.

Wham Bam I Am A Clam

Why can't you do it?

Why can't you set your monkey free?

Always giving in to it 

Do you love your monkey or do you love me?

Why can't you do it

Why do I have to share my baby with a monkey?

With a monkey
Monkey

Lalalalala

St. Elmo's Fire

So as we all know I "mysteriously" broke my foot in Philadelphia many weeks ago but it did not stop me from enjoying the rest of my time in New York with Polyanna and Mavis Stapler (or subsequent business trips to scenic Winnipeg and Kelowna). I also acquired a lung infection because lets face it kids when Mr. Bunndini gets sick he really gets sick; 8 weeks of limping and coughing horrifically loud until I throw up kinda sick. I now appear to be on the mend and would like to thank some of the friends who helped me through the tough times:

Tiny Babybel cheeses they say that great things are only worth having if you have to work hard for them and you and your multiple layers of red shiny packaging prove just that.

Mr. Strub's pickled eggs I wish I knew how to quit you.

I was just a Bunndini standing in front of a Ventolin inhaler asking it to love her. And love me you did. You even loved me when I went out and smoked a cigarette and had a coughing fit at the bar. 

Ciao Bella coconut sorbet from Whole Foods you complete me.

Lasty to my trusty couch Captain Cozy I salute you. I also want to give a shout out to my PVR Mr. Furley who has been my rock for years and continues to stand by me no matter what I put him through.