"I said 'Brr' -- it's Cold in Here!"

"How about that weather EH?" No Canadian wants to admit this, but we secretly love attention when it comes to one thing: The Weather. We are all complete weather whores. If you say "it sure is cold here in North Dakota" we'll say "Bring it on!" and tell you how freezing it is here. And then we'll throw in the windchill factor to really get your jaw to drop. (Unless, of course, you're from Russia. We'll tip our hats to you and proudly take the Silver medal for frozen tundra).

And with that, I post this mornings temperature: -37C locally (-34.6F my American besties). Ahhh, it's with much satisfaction I watch your jaw drop to imagine the unfathomable cold. It's the 31st of January today and this is a milestone for a lot of us "northern" folk. We survived the coldest effing month ever. We've heard the terms "Deep Freeze" and we've dealt with the "Exposed skin freezes in 8 seconds!" news broadcasts. We made it.

I'll be honest. February will probably be freezing too but there's a promise of a warmer day. Come summer, we'll all complain about how scorching hot it is and how 'just a few months ago it was -30 and now it's 30 above!" -- but nothing, nothing at all, will compare with the pride we feel when we ask another Canadian "Is it cold enough for ya?"

Wanted: Dead or Alive

Why is this kid a wanted felon? Well, he's not. I mean, he might be someday; I don't know his parents or if they give a damn about his upbringing. But little Charlie Manson's not concerned about parole in this photo --> he's enjoying a sweet sweet Rocket Pop(sicle). I hate when I have a craving for something totally weird and can't satisfy it.

This very same issue began today's fiasco. Of course, I do all my slacking off here at work (like now) and that includes indulging my cravings. I've been pretty good about staying healthy lately. This morning, I brought delicious flax cereal with fresh strawberries for lunch. Then, I was (once again) overwhelmed by my Rocket craving. I haven't had one of these things in years and sweets aren't really my bag. But today, I found it consuming me.

After writing an email to Mr. RocketPop and doing Rocket research on my bosses dime, I decided if anything was worth leaving work for, it was this craving. I quickly told my boss I was having a medical emergency and ran from the building screaming. I stopped at the first grocery store that was within 50 miles of my office. I squealed into the parking lot on two wheels only to discover this alluring food fair had fake-o rockets.

Why do companies do this? They take something awesome and they turn it into something "almost-the-same-but-less-awesome". The box depicted the sweet frozen treat as red (check), white (check) and purple (wtf?). Well, it was close enough and they were called Rockets. I ran out of the store without paying, screaming that my boss was having a medical emergency. I got in the car, rolled up the windows, pulled down the sun visors and broke into the box. They didn't taste like real rockets at all! And the colored depiction on the box was just plain false advertising! It may shock you to know that the phallic frozen pop I pulled from the soggy cardboard box was PINK, white and purple. Now I'm no "Rocket" scientist but this couldn't possibly meet the delicious frozen-pop specs.

Plan B was activated and kicked into high gear. I hit up a gas station, a mom and pop food store and an Orange Julius. No luck anywhere! And then, like a beacon in the night, giant black letters emerged in my splattered windshield. God bless you, Corporate America. Superstore. It was there I found the tasty treats. The box denoted the classic red, white and blue smiling popsicle. Everything happened so fast from there. I remember parading the box, proudly hoisting it above my shoulders as I did a victory lap around frozen foods. There was high-fiving, butt-slapping and paging on aisle 13b.

Next thing you know I was back in the office graciously offering everyone a 'treat' for the day. This was, of course, after I had shredded the box like a manic hamster and attacked the flavored ice like a man on fire. After 4 popsicles, I decided to call it a job well done.

I'm packing up the laptop now and heading out. It's been an incredibly emotionally exhausting day. Mmm... I sure could go for a rocket pop.

Mr. Hotness: An Introduction

Have you ever absolutely adored someone completely unattainable? Okay, we all have. In our teens. The prom queen, the highschool jock -- or, if you're this guy (and I am) the cute nerd in Science class.

Enter Mr. Hotness. Unlike highschool, Mr. Hotness, knows I'm alive. We see each other daily we're so infatuated with each other (Okay, he's kind of required to see me daily to earn his paycheck. No, I'm not his pimp. Yes, we work together). He is incredibly gorgeous, smart, down-to-earth, hilarious and even points out how much we have in common on a regular basis. Yep, I think it's genuine love. He was *made* for me, I know it. There's just one teeny tiny problem: his girlfriend. His LONG TERM girlfriend. What's the phrase? Oh yes, I believe it's "FML".

Before you go calling me a homewrecker, let me step up onto this soapbox and declare the following things: I didn't *want* to love Mr. Hotness. It just happened. Sure he was automatically gorgeous and I noticed. But Atomic Foxxx is the type of girl who automatically sees 'relationship' on someones resume and puts all thought of romance out of her head... usually.

There's a catch with Mr. Hotness. His girlfriend is a huge C*@!. I didn't even want to hate her at first. If you've ever wanted to bone someone from first sight, the best thing you can do is meet their significant other. If the S.O. is a sweetheart you can't help but be happy for how great they are together. This has always worked for me. Until I met Ms. Wrong-For-Him. She doesn't appreciate him, treats him like a slave and screams so loud at him when they're on the phone here at work, I can hear her every bellow and demand. This might sound like a regular long term relationship to some of you. You might even cheer her on for wearing the pants. But Mr. Hotness looks great in pants too. And I'd like to see him treated with respect. She has come to our place of employment and been downright beastly to my staff and Mr. Hotness. I tried to like her, but I'm afraid she's just a mega-beezatch.

So what's a girl to do? If you've ever heard yourself utter the words, "All the good ones are taken" you could be right. And you surely couldn't blame me for declaring war on Ms. Wrong. While she has him at home washing and drying like a single mother, I will be epitome of relaxation and fun. Ms. Wrong is going down, dear ones.


My sights are set, I'm locked and loaded. Oh Mr. Hotness, it all begins here...

Howdy Stranger -- There's a Snake in my Boot!

So you're sitting at home, asking yourself, "What? Atomic Foxxx didn't have a blog until 3:01pm on January the 21st of the year 2011? Is that possible?"

The answer, dear friends, is yes.

And I call you a friend because this is my blog and that's what I declare. See how simple that was? Now I can refer to you as my tiny ducklings and it's just fine. Because you can't comment. Shhhh. Your silence is golden to me.

Now, let me take my finger off your booger-lips so that I may thrust it to the wind and detect the changing breeze. Ah yes. It's time. To write that is.

Now what does this blog have to offer you that other blogs don't? Are you asking me that? No? Okay, good. Because I don't think I have an answer to that yet. I do know this. I have a lot of thoughts and creativity just dying to wheel and deal their way out of my brains and guts. You will be my canvas. This blog will be my paints and this brain... yes this one right here sitting above my nose, will be the inspiration.

The Legend Begins

I was born on a balmy October morning, the 2nd to be precise, in the small coastal town of Porbandar - which was then part of the Bombay Presidency, British India. No wait, that's not me. What was I thinking? That was Gandhi. I sometimes get us confused because I, too, am frigging awesome. I was born waaaaaay on the other side of the world in a tiny town in Canada. But, as you'll find with most Canadian history, there was pretty much nothing eventful going on and anything worth knowing is on a dollar bill. So, if you'd like to know a little bit about me, I would like to direct you to Exhibit Eh:




Well that didn't really explain anything at all. Not about Canada and not about me. FoxCreek. I say that, FoxCreek I mean, when I don't want to drop the eff-bomb. Fuck, where was I going with this?

Oh right.

Look, let's just get to know each other the same way Richard Gere and Julia Roberts did in "Pretty Woman" -- through time and shared interests.

I'll be seeing you soon, Cuddlemuffins.