tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73188288982636424372012-03-03T03:37:21.944-08:00I talk about things that are funny and shiny - so you don't have to.andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.comBlogger211100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7318828898263642437.post-25378735855276180082012-02-07T04:21:00.000-08:002012-02-07T06:28:38.702-08:00

None of this will make much sense, unless you read THIS first. No, really. (http://www.andreamulderslater.com/2012/02/oh-crap-thats-no-elephant.html) by Andrea Mulder-Slater There's something about poop - I suppose - that inspires some of us to make shitty things. Case in point - artist Paul McCarthy and his homage to dog crap. Complex Shit is a group of inflatable turds the size of a

andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7318828898263642437.post-75020311971813491302012-01-23T04:41:00.000-08:002012-01-23T05:32:36.860-08:00

by Andrea Mulder-Slater I hated the school bus as a kid. No, wait… I didn’t hate it. I loathed it. I despised it. I dreaded it. With good reason. From the time I was in grade one, a girl named Jill* bullied me – relentlessly - on the big yellow torture tube. She called me “the little rich bitch”, she sneered at me and she tripped me (regularly) when I walked down the aisle. Now, here

andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7318828898263642437.post-76771610838621316492012-01-15T17:05:00.000-08:002012-01-15T17:05:28.898-08:00

by Andrea Mulder-Slater Last week, while I was trying to wrestle a Brazil nut out of its shell, my three-year-old daughter stealthily transported 7 rolls of toilet paper from the bathroom to the living room. By the time I pulled myself away from the nutcracker, it was too late. She had created a pathway of "wipe-away" in the living room, around the corner and down the hall. She even used

andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7318828898263642437.post-80250019871750723382011-12-31T12:24:00.000-08:002011-12-31T18:50:07.015-08:00

by Andrea Mulder-Slater The Champs-Élysées - but not on that night because on that night we had no camera. Or common sense. Read on, it will all be clear eventually. Geoff and I were in Paris. It was getting late and we were hungry so we decided to venture one street over from our hotel to the Champs-Élysées because someone told us that this is where everything happens in Paris. It was

andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7318828898263642437.post-34233606959671287012011-12-25T08:38:00.000-08:002011-12-31T12:25:08.956-08:00

by Andrea Mulder-Slater Geoff and I were in London, waiting for the Eurostar train to Paris. We were happy to sit, after making it through customs, and with the pause had a chance to look around at our travel mates. Some were sleeping. Others were reading newspapers. A few were deep in conversation. One gentleman in particular was doing all three at once. Geoff offered to get me a

andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7318828898263642437.post-10083281845690108692011-12-18T00:00:00.000-08:002011-12-31T12:25:25.888-08:00

by Andrea Mulder-Slater I was wandering through a big box store, when something caught my eye in the toy department. I didn’t take the time to investigate but when I got home, I did a quick search using the two words that had registered in my brain. “Wipey Dipey.” When I was a kid, dolls were fairly simple. Several of them had eyes that opened and closed. Others writhed around when a

andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7318828898263642437.post-75102297023281047632011-12-11T06:00:00.000-08:002011-12-31T12:25:41.497-08:00

by Andrea Mulder-Slater When I was a teenager, I worked in a record store located in the downtown core of a rapidly growing city. Beside the store was a run-down hotel where lived an assortment of characters – many of whom had an appreciation for Elvis Presley music and heavy metal t-shirts. I still remember the time an exotic dancer came in to purchase a Metallica shirt. She asked if she

andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7318828898263642437.post-35354582477846796042011-12-04T17:16:00.001-08:002011-12-31T12:25:56.750-08:00

by Andrea Mulder-Slater It was the first time Geoff and I had ever stayed in such luxurious surroundings. Ornate furnishings, a marble sink and endless lengths of cascading fabric filled our Paris hotel suite. Of particular note were the plush velvet curtains that reached clear up to the 14-foot ceilings. After our first full day of sightseeing, we were eager to get some sleep. We

andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7318828898263642437.post-34286917029829629382011-11-20T08:11:00.000-08:002011-12-31T12:26:14.672-08:00

by Andrea Mulder-Slater My name is Andrea and I have small veins. There, I’ve said it. Not sure what's in her syringe, but my blood it ain't. Truthfully, tiny blood vessels aren’t much of an inconvenience when it comes to regular day-to-day living. However, they can be a real hindrance when your doctor is trying to determine your B-12 levels. Take it from me; having blood removed from

andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7318828898263642437.post-90492378319444697672011-10-30T13:41:00.000-07:002011-12-31T12:26:32.169-08:00

by Andrea Mulder-Slater As kids, my cousin Glenna and I had a knack for getting into trouble. We often spent summers together and though while apart, we were both fairly levelheaded people; together we magically morphed into a couple of numb-skulls. blog.urbanoutfitters.com Case in point… the clog incident. We had a certain amount of freedom at Glenna’s house. We could walk to the

andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7318828898263642437.post-29226437900226898392011-10-23T04:39:00.000-07:002011-12-31T12:26:48.986-08:00

by Andrea Mulder-Slater My daughter Jannique is an inquisitive child.  From the time she was born, her hands were moving – grabbing hold of anything and everything within her reach. When she learned how to walk, baby proofing became a full time job. At times, our dog's life depended on how diligent we were. (I still remember seeing her chubby hands clutching mounds of  Bodie hair). We

andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7318828898263642437.post-80279949743278807472011-10-16T14:12:00.000-07:002011-12-31T12:27:04.141-08:00

by Andrea Mulder-Slater Houseflies have become a hot topic of conversation at our house lately. It all began a number of days ago when, after spending the morning away, we arrived home to find a sold out housefly convention taking place in our living room. The place we are living (a rental while we build new) is a recently constructed log home with large south facing glass. It is here where

andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7318828898263642437.post-50485136277996102792011-10-09T18:21:00.000-07:002011-12-31T12:27:19.838-08:00

by Andrea Mulder-Slater When I married Geoff, his dog was part of the package. A 100-pound, purebred malamute with a stubborn but intensely sweet temperament, Bodie was true to his breed and always on the hunt. The prey itself was of little concern - a mosquito, a fly, a dog biscuit – all were equally exciting conquests. Not to say that he was incapable of more significant captures…

andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7318828898263642437.post-10833623824389786882011-10-02T15:58:00.000-07:002011-12-31T12:27:34.258-08:00

by Andrea Mulder-Slater As a youngster, nothing was more exciting than watching Harry the hardware store man divvy up flat headed nails. Moving with the grace of a newborn calf and the speed of an earthworm, Harry, who was approximately 125 years old, would spend his days counting, sorting and color coding his nails. "Yeah it's a good day, no rain coming soon." he would say whenever anyone

andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7318828898263642437.post-88046214171378750632011-09-26T10:18:00.000-07:002011-12-31T12:27:50.648-08:00

by Andrea Mulder-Slater I was nearly sixteen years old and the “in” crowd at school had recently accepted me and my best friend into their clique. Mine was a simple and relatively painless initiation. One of the coolest boys in school - his name was Keith - snuck up behind me, picked me up, flipped me upside down and shook me until all the tictacs I had stashed in my pockets, fell onto the

andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7318828898263642437.post-89923601281361097062011-09-19T12:14:00.000-07:002011-12-31T12:28:07.126-08:00

by Andrea Mulder-Slater If you were a Canadian kid with access to a television in the 1970s, then you might remember a show called Hammy the Hamster (Tales of the Riverbank*).  This was a delightful, if not slightly creepy, television program featuring Hammy – a surprisingly dexterous hamster who lived in an old boot, G.P.  – an inventive guinea pig who lived in a house with a water wheel,

andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7318828898263642437.post-15506014394958568552011-09-11T11:05:00.000-07:002012-02-21T12:03:23.528-08:00

by Andrea Mulder-Slater When I was 8 months pregnant, my husband and I were given the hospital tour. “The maternity ward,” said the nurse in a singsong voice, “is a wonderful place to be.” She showed us the birthing areas, the shower room and the nurses’ station, complete with flowers and chocolate bon-bons on the counter top. “It’s never very busy here,” she continued, “so you

andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7318828898263642437.post-36803749130856715102011-09-04T11:31:00.000-07:002011-12-31T12:28:50.853-08:00

by Andrea Mulder-Slater I have a thing about bugs... The thing is, I don't like them. No, actually I despise them. A lot. I come by this honestly. My father was the kind of man who meticulously sealed any and all cracks in our houses with a caulking gun (or 10 or 20). So fastidious was he, that there was no way any vermin (not tiny bug nor giant rat) could infiltrate our compounds. Me, I

andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7318828898263642437.post-11446628163019830092011-08-28T11:36:00.000-07:002011-12-31T12:29:13.808-08:00

by Andrea Mulder-Slater There I was... sitting at my art studio on one of our comfy Adirondack chairs. The sun was low in the sky - the day drawing to a close. I had dragged the chair to the side of the studio - so it faced the ocean. And, as it had been a rather warm day, a large bottle of Evian was sitting on the ground next to me. As I contemplated whether or not to lock up a little

andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7318828898263642437.post-23719011665807223972011-08-20T08:49:00.000-07:002011-12-31T12:29:48.615-08:00

by Andrea Mulder-Slater We had just picked up a "new puppy pack" from our veterinarian. Included was a chew toy, some flea medication, dog treats and a tiny sample bag of dog food. Anytime I am presented with a container - the contents of which cannot be seen - I must open it. And so, I did. Inside the little foil bag was a handful of teeny dog food pieces, just the right size for a little

andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7318828898263642437.post-41335791969193210142011-08-13T18:40:00.000-07:002011-12-31T12:29:31.001-08:00

by Andrea Mulder-Slater I was thinking about pigs this afternoon. Wait, let me rephrase that. I was thinking about the time we (my husband, mom and daughter) were driving, down a dark country road, when from out of nowhere, pigs appeared. Big, fat pigs. One was at the side of the road, munching on some grass. Another was wandering happily across the lane. And another - was standing right in

andreamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08043890124204469426noreply@blogger.com0