Thursday, April 29, 2010

New Profile Picture

For those of you who are curious this is a self portrait of my oldest son and I at the ACDC concert this summer.  No, he is not special needs.  Just a teenager which may be paramount to the same thing. I'm not sure why I look like I just did five lines of cocaine, but at least I look happy, which is no small feat.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

I'm Screwed

I have four children and I am the oldest of three children. I've always taken a keen interest in those articles about birth order and the impact it has on one's personality.  I've always taken pride in being the first born and a leader, etc.  I've always wondered what kind of bullshit really takes place with the 'baby' of the family.  Now I know.

My youngest child is a boy. He will be three in just over two weeks. He is the infamous tracker of my penis-less existence.  He also has me completely wrapped.  He is very soft.  He has ginormous green eyes.  He is spoiled rotten.  I like him.

Here's the problem. He is already big for his age and by the time he's a teenager will no doubtedly be much taller than me. And judging by his current attitude and aptitude for not missing a beat, I'm in big trouble.  He is the first child who has really made an issue out of the fact that I swear. A lot. He has said to me on more than one occasion, ever so gently, "Mom, don't say fuck to me today, okay?"  Which, for the record, I don't swear at him. I'm more of a "The fucking cat puked again" kind of person.  Although now I try not be.  One night he asked for a third hot dog at supper and when I commented "For the love of God, that will be your third one", his response was "Ah,fuck!".  My response was to duck into the hallway to laugh. I know, I'm a bad parent.

Case in point. He is, like I said, going to be 3 very soon. May 14th, to be exact.  He, like all my other kids did, has/had a choo-choo.  To clarify for those people who did not have to wipe anyone's asses but their own today, this is a soother. Some people call it a pacifier or a suckie.  Around these parts it's a 'choo choo'. He, at almost three, has had it far longer than any of his siblings did.  Why? I'm tired.  The thought of losing sleep in the weaning process is more than I can bear.  Then the other night, I thought, it's now or never, so told him it was lost.  He was disappointed but really, it wasn't so bad. He went to bed with little fuss. This was two or three nights ago.  Then this morning he was up before 6 a.m. so by 7 p.m. this evening, he was barely managing to cope with anything life has to offer.  I put him to bed and he was crying and so sad and so overtired and mentioned his choo choo. I told him I didn't know where it was. He was upset.

I gave it to him.

I'm fucked.

To Spin or Not to Spin?

I am so so so tired.  In approximately fifteen minutes people are going to be looking for me to go to spin at lunch.  I know I should.  It will be the teensiest bit easier today.  Maybe.  Or maybe it won't be and after I'm done I'll die and be unable to carry out my tasks this afternoon for work.  I will most definitely be beet red and sweaty and no longer wearing make-up.  This might prove effective when considering some of the tasks at hand this afternoon.  Or it might mean by 5 p.m. I will barely be able to drive home and will fall asleep at the wheel potentially injuring countless seniors on my commute.

On the other hand, if I don't go I'll feel guilty and weak-minded.  That being said I will not be sweaty.  Fresh complexion, make-up still in's a hard question.

Why am I so tired?  Maybe because at roughly 12:30 a.m. I wandered down to the couch.  My husband followed and asked me what I was doing to which I apparently replied: "I have a stomach ache". I have no recollection of this.  I do recall waking up and wondering what I was doing and being cold so getting up and going back to bed, but not without first picking up the remote to turn off the TV.  The TV wasn't on.  So when I was nearly across the living room the TV did actually turn on as I had pressed the power button.  For a moment I panicked and was a little scared that the TV turned on by itself.  Yep.  Then I realized I turned it on.

No I did not drop acid before bed last night.  I ate a chocolate bar, had a glass of milk, and watched some American Idol. Which for the record, I'm over Michael.  Too much drama.  I'm also over Casey's hair.  I mean I like it but they really need to stop coiffing it to that extent. What happened to the ponytail? And what the hell was Cara wearing around her neck?  Thank God for mute and fast forward because I was able to muse about what exactly that was in peace and quiet rather than listening to her judge (whine).

Eight minutes...should I or shouldn't I?  Stay tuned after lunch...either I'll be guilty and fresh or sweaty and further disenchanted with physical fitness.

p.s. I do shower afterwards but it's almost a futile effort.

Monday, April 26, 2010

And One (or Two) More Thing(s)

Exercise is supposed to make a person feel better and give them more energy. I've had a headache that won't quit since about 3 p.m. and can barely hold my own head up right now. In no way shape or form do I feel any better for having exercised today.  But I'll go back.  Because I'm competitive and bitchy and have some messed up inner motivation to conquer spin.  Which is ridiculous and I know it.

Um, a little bit of a sidebar here, just got back from Wal-Mart where I went to pick up a prescription.  The pharmacist was a little over-eager for my liking. Very very 'white bread' sort of boy.  Trying to edge it up a little with some strategically used hair product and those wood-like earrings but really he's a tiptoe away from being the poster boy for Abercrombie & Fitch.  To begin with, Opie, if I were to discuss my side effects with you I think you'd wish you'd never asked and secondly, why don't you just run along now. I'm sure you have better things to do like thanking mommy for cutting the crusts off your sandwiches for all those years. 


The title most accurately reflects my mood at present.  Remember all that bullshit about trying to be less angry? BULLSHIT.  That's right. I said it.  Complete fucking bullshit.  Now some of you are asking, why Angela, why?  It was so nice to hear you sounding upbeat and positive and all turning over a new leaf-y.  Yeah, that was nice, wasn't it?  It's over.  What happened? I'll tell you what happened.  I returned to spin today.

After a six week hiatus bred of work engagements, lunch engagements and sheer laziness I decided I'd better get back to the gym and more importantly, back to spin.  Now if you follow along you know I've been to spin before and never have I really been a fan.  That being said, I had gotten to a point, roughly six weeks ago, where although it was still hard, I didn't hate it.  Today, I HATED it.

About five minutes in my legs were burning and my heart was asking me why.  All I could think about was why was I intentionally causing pain to myself? And who the fuck is the new chatty guy in the corner?  Hey, guy, shut up.  I don't care if you drank a lot of beer or if you crave hamburgers every day. The bigger question is: have you ever been on a date? Didn't think so.

Okay, maybe that's harsh.  Maybe he's a super nice positive guy.  Maybe he loves fitness and was feeling all good and energized by the exercise.  Maybe he should just shut the fuck up.

Now the regulars, most of whom are friends of mine, know my rule about talking during spin.  When I first started I could sometimes take my mind off the burning and lack of oxygen by focusing sheer rage at the people chit chattin' it up about the weekend while I hung on to my bike for dear life and scoped the room for a trash can to vomit in.  Unless you are swearing, I don't want to hear you talking. Then again, about six weeks to two months ago I was conditioned enough I would partake of some of the small talk and not feel so angry about it.  Today it made me angry.

Today I was angry about everything and everyone.  And after the class, when one usually feels a real sense of accomplishment, I felt like I didn't like my friends anymore.  I felt like being by myself and laying on a cold floor with a roll of refrigerated cookie dough.  Just lying there, sweating, cooling off and eating cold dough.  And maybe crying a little.  Instead it was back to work.  I'll admit, I had difficulty speaking to my friends after class. They understood.  They are good friends in that respect.  Well, except for one in particular who actually teaches the class.  I'm not sure what her deal is but if she ever ever eats something she thought she shouldn't have prior to teaching spin again, I will flatten her tires and key her car.  (I'm talking to you Kar Kar).

Sunday, April 25, 2010


I was recently asked by someone, who shall remain nameless, to list both the pros and cons of being angry. Shall we try this together? I'll start.

Pro: good adrenaline rush and sometimes it's fun to see just how many curse words one can string together to fully express their inherent rage.

Con: requires a lot of energy to maintain said level of rage and therefore I have great difficulty remaining awake while watching movies or TV after eight o'clock at night.

Pro: I feel being angry is part of my identity and it's always good to have a strong sense of self, right?

Con: some people find me intimidating (this is kind of pro too, I'll admit), hostile and fail to see the 'softer' side of me.

Pro: Further to anger being part of me, I'm funny when I'm angry. Unless you happen to be the person I'm angry at, then it's back to scary.

Con: Cardiac arrest before 55.

I could go on but as of late my anger has somewhat subsided. I can even chuckle when I think of a few weeks back when I passed the fucknut who royally screwed over my husband and our family (read blogs from December/January to catch up) and I screamed "FUCK YOU" through my windshield at him. He looked confused and maybe slightly alarmed. I felt better. But less and less do I daydream about taking a bat to his truck, so I feel that's improvement.

That being said I did become slightly perturbed yesterday.  I'm not at liberty to reveal why but let's just say I was annoyed, irritated, and offended.  Couldn't do anything about it.  I have to let it go. And as much as it would be really most entertaining for me to write about (in fact I already did but was forbidden to publish it, for the greater good); I simply can't.  I'm sorry people, it hurts me as much as it hurts you.

Let's change the subject, outside a local grocery store, a man had a table set up, with a laptop and speakers on it and was singing 'Sometimes When We Touch'. This does NOT make me angry.  This fills me with an almost undescribable glee.  No microphone, he did not appear to be selling anything and further to the point, he had a wide repetoire because when I got there, he was singing a Hank Williams Sr. tune.  Now had I been chummin' with Vodka today I might have been so inclined to sit right down there at the table with him, especially for 'Sometimes When We Touch'. That is a classic and further to the point, it is not an angry song so fitting with my wanting to turn over a new leaf!
I wanna hold you til I die, til we both break down and cry, I wanna hold you til the fear in me subsides....

Friday, April 23, 2010

The Downfall of Deeds

For those of you who don't know who or what Deeds is, he's a character from an Adam Sandler movie. He's the butler who just randomly appears seemingly out of thin air. Scares the shit out of people. That, my friends, is my six year old.

He's been at this for a few months now. At first he didn't even realize his Deeds-like capabilities until he scared the crap out of me a few times. I am fun to scare because I react strongly. I usually attain a decent vertical and make a sound akin to gasping for my last breath. I sound like a sick dolphin. Anyway, he sort of caught on to his talent for this and from time to time has abused it but it's funny so I'm usually not all that upset once I am breathing normally again.

However, today, Deeds stealthiness bit him in the ass. I showered this morning (to be clear, I shower every morning) and then decided it's been some time since I weighed myself and since lately chocolate has been even dearer to my heart than usual, I decided to check the damage. Now I'm a girl who prefers to weigh in the buff, after I've peed, before I've eaten. So conditions were perfect for a solid weigh-in this morning.

Another key point to this story is we have a bathroom off our bedroom. I believe it's what's commonly referred to as an 'en suite'. So I mistakenly assumed I was safe to open my bathroom door, naked, to grab the scale which sits just outside the bathroom door. Well, I was safe. My son was not.

I opened the door, already bending over to get the scale and looked at my bed and into the terrified eyes of my six year old son. So let's just set the scene here. He's six. I'm 33 and have had four children. I'm not obese by any stretch but I do enjoy the chocolate, vodka, carbs and have recently lapsed in my gym attendance. That being said, if I'm standing up, sucking in and completely still, it's okay. I was doing none of these things. Poor guy. Not only did he see his mom naked this morning; he saw her ugly naked.

I quickly retreated back into the bathroom and put on my robe and then came back out to get the scale. When I opened the door again his face was buried in a pillow. Probably to muffle the screams.

At present I'm sure he's probably trying to plan a trip to the store to buy himself a collar with the bell on it...and maybe an appointment with a therapist?

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Super Exciting Stuff

Yesterday morning at approximately quarter after ten I had one of the most singly exhilirating moments of my life. Jen Lancaster, famed author of such books as "Such a Pretty Fat", "Bitter is the New Black", and the upcoming "My Fair Lazy", is following ME on Twitter!!!

Maybe this is in bad form but Ms. Lancaster is one of the main inspirations for this blog and of my writing in general. This is comparable to my husband being told he's a good hockey player by Wayne Gretzky. It's like...well it's so big that right now I can't even think of any clever analogies. And really it couldn't have come at a better time. You see in the midst of all this joy there is a dark cloud. My job. Yep, still have it, still hate it. My very best friend at work is pregnant because she's kind of a whore. That being said, her whorish ways will get her out of our place of business for at least a year. A whole year. I don't know if I can do a whole year at that place without her, whore or not. And if the opportunity presents itself to her, she may never come back. Now I don't know this for sure but if it were to happen, then what?

What I hope what is, is that maybe by then someone will pay me to write. How am I going to make this happen? I'm not entirely sure. It would be a dream come true though and when Jen Lancaster starts following you on Twitter, where you only post your blogs, it would suggest she read them and enjoyed them and that means, maybe, other people will too. Maybe so much so that someone else will think, hey, if they all like her so much, maybe there's some money to be made here...I think you see where I'm going with this.

For the time being though, I am basking in the glory of a New York Times bestselling author potentially reading and enjoying my writing.

And Ms. Lancaster, should you read this particular blog, I hope you don't find it in bad form or tacky. I am very honoured and beyond thrilled if you are indeed reading and enjoying my blog. I only wish you had a Saskatchewan stop on your book tour! Just a thought...

The Break-Up: Part II

Well, here we are, 8 p.m. on a Saturday night and I have been up and out of bed for a good five and half hours now. Still a little headache-y and more than a little tired. Why, you ask? Well, remember about Vodka? I was honest from the get-go and admitted we might be caught in an on-again off-again romance akin to that of Carrie and Big's. If you don't know who they are, please for the love of God, join the new millenium and watch a little Sex and the City. Anyway, point being, last night I was with her.

Now don't get me wrong, in the name of honesty, there were a couple of other smaller indiscretions in the last month or so, but they ended well. She got me again. She knew, knew I had grown tired of her ways and so when I could no longer resist and imbibed, she treated me like a real lady. We had a great time and the next day I was none the worse for wear. Then that backstabbing little bitch had the last laugh.

Cut to last night. Last night was a good time. Had all kinds of fun. We even sang again and that hadn't happened for quite some time. She was in fine form, let me tell you and so was I.

Cut to this morning. OmifuckingodIthinkI'mgoingtodieandwhatthefuckisthematterwiththesunanyway?! These were just a few of the thoughts that coursed through my brain when I attempted to open my eyes this morning. So so so so so much pain. Ow ow ow ow ow. Knife in my head. It was ugly. Then remember about all kids I have? Remember how one is two and crapped his pants at McDonald's a couple of weeks ago? Well said two year old child of mine chose this very morning to crap his pants again, in his room and leave it on the floor. Now I don't know how much you all know about hangovers but this is not good. No, I did not vomit. Thanks for asking. No, eventually I carried my bedraggled dehydrated nauseated ass downstairs and laid on the couch for awhile. I even braved some soup. Then at 12:30 p.m. I decided it was best to nap because speak of the devil, we were going back to McDonald's for a birthday party at 3:30 p.m. Yep, it just keeps geting better. Because I don't know about you, but me, I love nothing more than the thought of McDonald's Play Land on a sunny Saturday afternoon with a bunch of toddlers. Especially when hungover! Yippee!

So I had my nap, got up and removed the seven pounds of mascara from undermeath my eyes and showered and carried on with my day. I ate almost two cheeseburgers and some fries and downed a litre of Sprite. Felt slightly better. Then, then it was time to go home. Now if you've been following along you know I live in a town where seniors reign supreme and no one ever gets real excited about driving much more than 40 km/h on a good day. Today was not a good day. Today my body said, hey Vodka was here, oh look she left a note, let me see what it says, oh yep, here it is: 'Make this dumb bitch pay for thinking she could so easily enjoy my company without paying a dear price'. Hence my body rejecting McDonald's with a ferocity previously unmatched.

Bottomline is, she got me. Again. And likely not for the last time...I need to go lie down.

Should Not Even Be Blogging

Theokay I'm over here now. ha ha. I'm tired. ee hee. Remeber how Vodka and I broke up....we got back toget

Friday, April 16, 2010

Hand Over the Sugar and Nobody Gets Hurt

Today is my EDO. One of the very very few perks of my said hated job. So today, I got to stay home. And, although I get an EDO every third Friday, some are busier than others. Today was less busy. Today I got to have a nap!

This was no small feat. First I had to get my youngest to go for his nap, then I had to tidy up so as not to feel guilty whilst napping, then I had to convince my six year old we should "watch a movie" (read: he quietly watches and I fall asleep) and finally I had to overcome the hurdle of texts and phone calls from my husband. Finally, though, I slept.

Then I woke up. Obviously. Thrilled that I had actually managed a nap and also pleased I would have some energy for the evening ahead. There was something to contend with first though and thankfully there was some Easter chocolate on sale at grocery store today. Since time began, at least in my world, an afternoon nap must be followed by inhaling anything containing copious amounts of sugar all while staring blankly ahead followed by the gulping of a glass of milk. In fact it's best not to even try to engage me in conversation until I've eaten a cookie or four or some chocolate or even just licked a marshmallow. I must have sugar. This is no laughing matter. Before I get it I'm mean. Like don't even look at me sideways or it will be the end of you, mean.

But I've had my nap, had my chocolate and so today, today was a good day.

Monday, April 12, 2010

I'm Gross

Let me start by clarifying I'm not gross in the sense that I "eat my own dandruff". And if you don't get that, please stop reading right now and go rent some old SNL; preferably the best of Chris Farley. Now to carry on...right at this very moment, about four feet away from where I sit is some form of animal vomit. I'm pretty sure it's dog vomit. Why am I writing about it instead of cleaning it up? Because I'm exhausted. Plus I'm passively aggressively ignoring the vomit. If I pretend it's not there, maybe it won't be? It seems nearly every day I clean up some form of human or animal waste or excretement. Can anyone say glamour?

Why am I so tired? Bad night of sleep. Lots of fresh air yesterday. I slept well until about 3 a.m. when my ever loving husband began to alert the troops with his nasal passages and throat. Snoring. First a tried a few gentle taps to let him know I loved him but not the snoring. Eventually I gently laid a hand on his chest and asked him if he could maybe move (before I smothered him). And wouldn't you know it, without violence, my usual tactic, he stopped and it was quiet. Then my stomach rebelled. My stomach and I aren't the closest of friends...and last night I tested her limits with a combination of milk, ground beef (we had tacos for supper) and Doritos. My stomach is not a big fan of any of those things, nevermind all three in one night. So at 4 a.m. I was in my kitchen downing a big salty glass of Eno. Yum. Not. But that blessed stuff did the trick and back to bed I went.

Cut to the work day. Busy busy. Lots of people. People making me want to say bad words and drink. And just overall a busy day. Then I drove home from Regina and was fortunate enough to have a vehicle with an Ipod jack so...time for a dance party!! Yes, to burn off some steam I sang and danced a good portion of the drive. Point of interest, the minivan I was driving, which I believe is a Voyager (I don't know though) has excellent cruise control and steering. I could let go and snap and gyrate all with an impeccable sense of rhythym and keep well on the beaten path! FYI.

So lack of sleep, irrations, job stress and a dance party...and now puke. Hey Monday, how've you been? Ooo, one last thing, I did get to enjoy the scent of actual rotting human flesh today. In comparison the dog barf is not that to the paper towels I go.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

My Wish

My wish, today, was that my six year old had chicken pox.

Last night he was having a bath when I noticed a spot on his thigh that very well looked as though it could be the beginning of chicken pox. I was thrilled. Odd reaction you say? Well, I took the day off work yesterday because my daycare was closed. Nothing thrilled me more than the prospect of potentially staying home for the rest of the week if he indeed did have chicken pox and his little brother caught them too.

So this morning I dragged my butt out of bed at 7 a.m. and got into the shower. I feel it's prudent to point out that I have been off for the last four days and not once in those four days did either of my two youngest children stay in bed until 7 a.m. A-holes. Anyway, I got up, showered, got dressed and began the humanizing process (read: hair & make-up). It was getting later and later and my son (well both of them actually) was still asleep. Maybe this is a good sign, I thought. Maybe he's not feeling well, hence the sleeping in. So I dawdled. Did my hair first because it doesn't hurt to have my hair done but I really really didn't want to put make-up on unless I was going to work. However, still he finally I caved and put make-up on and thought, oh well, I'll be pretty at home for once.

Then, he awoke. I'm telling you I checked every square inch of that little boy's body. Nary a pox to be found. Reeling from disappointment I covered him back up and went and broke the bad news to my husband. He kindly offered to get out a red marker but I declined. I did happen to have one small shred of dignity left that stopped me from becoming a full out Munchausen Mama.

Off I went to work. Defeated and in no way prepared for the shitstorm that was about to hit me once I got there. Nor was I prepared for my two year old to actually shit himself in the McDonald's Play Land tonight.

Well, there you have it, another day, another healthy child, another pair of training pants rinsed out in the is good?