Searching

Alcohol, Allergy Meds & Me

2010-06-27T09:54:00.002-06:00

Yesterday was an exceptionally busy day. I worked up quite a sweat washing floors and straightening up in the morning, then it was off to a ball wind-up and then to the fair. It was during the housework portion of my day that I began to notice an increased need for Kleenex due to the excessive sneezing and snot production. Then it was off to the ball park where I literally wanted to rip my own throat out. So so very itchy. So before heading to the fair I stopped at home and took some Reactine.

I must preface this by saying this is Reactine my son purchased when he went to Europe in April. They are much bigger pills than the stuff we get here in Canada. I was slightly concerned but the itchy throat and abhorrent mucous production involved made me a likely candidate to take just about anything. So I did.

Off we went to the fair which is really just a sociologist's dream. Or anyone who enjoys people watching. Why do some people look at the fair as an opportunity to shake what their mama gave them? I'm not saying they were actually dancing but I saw so many unsupported breasts and uncontained bellies it was just not okay. And always with the booty shorts. Please for the love of God unless you are under 25 and in shape and have all your own teeth and they are not rotten, please put the booty shorts away. It's not fair to me, to you, or your children or anyone else.

And the children. Suffer the children. I saw a four year old girl with a mullet. She had cute little jeans and a top on but a mullet. Hardcore mullet. No blending. So so very sad. She has no choice in the matter. Sob.

The carnies themselves are always a source of amusement and fear as well. Leathery skinned, toothless and bleary-eyed they are running contraptions we willingly put our little face-painted, sometimes mulleted children on and hope for the best.

Back to the Reactine though. After a long day of housework and child focused activities it was time for Mom and Dad to do a little recharging so we headed over to a friend's house for a drink or two. I, of course, took my very new bestest gal pal, Grape Vodka, and off we went. To be clear I only had maybe four drinks. I was home by midnight and made a stop at McDonald's on the way home. I ate a cheeseburger, six nuggets and some fries. Yes I'm aware I have food issues. Anyway, I was in bed by 12:30 at the latest and promptly passed out.

This morning I first attempted getting out of bed around 8:30. I am not nauseous, no headache, all in all I felt fine. Then I got up and felt like maybe I was in the Funhouse with the tilty floor. I staggered to the bathroom, remembered there wasn't any toilet paper and rather than get another roll, careened back to bed. What the fuck? I laid down where the bed continued to spin for a moment or two. Then I decided I really had to go so got up and tried again with more success. It comes and goes in waves. When I was cleaning up cat vomit this morning (I think my cat binges and purges) I had to lean up against the wall.

I'm blaming this entirely on the Reactine. I took it well in advance of the drinking (like eight hours before) but why else so dizzy? And given I have roughly 12 hours of laundry ahead of me and cupcakes to bake for a Kindergarten year-end party tomorrow, I need to get my sea legs back! Ha, I 'm not even sure that's an appropriate reference. It's the Reactine.

Damn you to hell Seasonal Allergies!

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Calves Don't Like Humping

2010-06-23T21:53:00.001-06:00

Completed another road trip today. I swear to God, no word of a lie, I think in the last week I've logged close to 2000 km. I was going to Bengough today which is right in the heart of rural Saskatchewan. Well wait, pretty much all of Saskatchewan is 'rural'. Today though I saw something I really enjoyed. One calf was trying to hump another calf who was less than appreciative. I enjoyed this a lot. What I did not enjoy was trying not to hit the thirty-odd gophers and other rodent-like creatures hell bent on crossing the highway. I don't like these animals but I don't want to run them over either. Little fuckers have a death wish though. I hit one. Probably my first one ever. Sigh. It was sad.

I'm watching America's Got Talent which seems to be more 'Who has the Saddest Story and Passable Made-up Talent with which to Accompany It'.
MY EYE WON'T STOP TWITCHING. I didn't sleep well last night and to add to my stress-induced insomnia my three year old amped up the fun by peeing in my bed.

I also had to drive a Cavalier today so no music save for the radio. I tried to listen to the Gospel Hour but couldn't do it. As soon as they asked people to "pray for them or maybe even financially contribute to their cause" I was out. I don't think Jebus was a capitalist.

To sum it up I feel like the calf I saw being violated today...poor little fucker.

Father's Day

2010-06-20T22:20:00.000-06:00

Father's Day. Blah. I know that's not very nice. I did get my husband a gift and cards and got up with the boys this morning and let him sleep in. Also, the dog decided, as he oft will on holiday type of days, to shit on the rug in the basement. So, with respect to Father's Day, I cleaned it up. I should add we went out last night and I was running on about five hours sleep and may have been a tad hungover, so cleaning up doggy diarrhea was a huge feat and show of love for my husband.

I attempted to call my Dad tonight. He wasn't home. He likely does not even realize what today is. He's not good with dates. In recent years I called him to with him a Happy Birthday on his birthday and he was not even aware that's what day it was. He keeps birthdays written down and in the last couple of years has really improved on remembering them.

My Dad and I aren't close. We now, at this point, have a sort of mutual respect for each other. On my part it's bred out of the realization he is my dad, he was there for my younger days and does the best I think he can at this point. There's not a lot of give and take between us. We see each other once every couple of years. He's seen my youngest child maybe twice and the second one not much more. At this point, that's okay. I'm not into forcing relationships and as it stands our kids do fine with this set up, so good enough.

When I was 12 I found out my Dad is not actually my biological 'father'. Because, at that point, I had decided I was not a fan of my Dad, and I had some help with this, I was thrilled. I imagined 'father' as a rich man coming along to save me from the depths of despair in my trailer in Elstow. The funny part is it never dawned on me there was any difference in parentage between myself and my siblings despite the fact they are both very Caucasian looking and I had a year round tan. My 'father' is from El Salvador. Anyway, he and I finally spoke when I was 18 and met in my early 20s. He is not rich. He is not poor. He did not save me and I don't want him to. When I separated from my first husband, he chose at that time, to separate from me. He is a very traditional Catholic Latino man. Our one face to face meeting included him speaking to my husband in front of me as if I weren't there and looking alarmed every time I voiced any opinion. I have lots of opinions. So not necessarily a match made in Heaven.

I've had bad luck across the board in this department. My Dad didn't come to my Grade 12 Graduation because he had a flying fishing trip booked. A-hole. My Graduation, I felt, was particularly significant given I had given birth during the second half of Grade 11, raised my son, sometimes on my own when his dad was away at school, and managed to maintain an average of above 90% for all four semesters of Grade 12. When the fish are biting, you've gotta do what you gotta do I guess.

Then came my University Convocation. He had a cold. Couldn't make it. That one, that one I could not let go. So I got half-cranked on wine one night and called him to share my thoughts and feelings on this. Again it may be prudent to add I am the first person on either side of the family to earn a University Degree but the event was pretty low-key. Which is probably why I will nearly kill myself making my children's various graduations and coming-of-age events into actual events full of fanfare, balloons and cake. It's why I'm the lunatic mother on the the sidelines of the soccer field, football field, volleyball court and soon, the ice, cheering to the point where they may have suggested I should tone it down. Actually my daughter's actual words were: "I can't hear the coach over you yelling 'Stay with it!'".

This is a self-serving, slightly self-pitying little diatribe so I will end on a more positive note. If there is anyone, besides my husband, I want to wish a Happy Father's Day to, but can't anymore, it's my Grandpa. He is the first man who made me feel like the most special person in the world. As a child (and maybe still now, truth be told) I had a really hard time saying the words 'I love you' out loud. Like I didn't say it. Ever. Unless I was leaving him. Then I mustered up every bit of wherewithal I had to make sure I told him I loved him before leaving. I loved him very much. He's been gone for over ten years now and I still think about him all the time. I think about him when I'm feeling proud of myself and/or my children and I think about him when I'm not proud of myself because I always always wanted to make him proud of me. He was a quiet man with an unbelievable sense of humour. He may have liked a drink or two as well. What matters is though, is I always knew he liked me. I knew I mattered to him. Last summer we sort of accidentally drove past the road leading to 'his' cemetery. I haven't been back since the day he was buried. We didn't stop that day because I felt my family didn't need to see my fall apart but I unsuccesfully fought back tears in the vehicle knowing I was that close to him. I need to go back. But when I do it will be with a beer for him, a beer for me, some Sen-Sen and the song Coca-Cola Cowboy.

Happy Father's Day.

Karma?

2010-06-18T23:44:00.000-06:00

Just as a point of interest, my assigned vehicle today was: A minivan.

ooo, one more thing: If you're 33 years old, as I am, you should be an adult. I mean obviously don't throw away your watter bottle microphones, but be a fucking grown up.

That's all I have to say about that.

Sporadic Bouts of Bitchiness

2010-06-18T22:49:00.000-06:00

What does it mean if twice in one week you crave a cigarette? Well probably not much if you are a smoker but if you quit nearly eight years ago? Well then I think that means you had one fuck of a week. At one point today I was literally willing to peel off my own skin such was my level of irritation. Accompanying that was the strong urge to smoke. Happened Wednesday too; well not so much wanting to do the skin-peeling thing Wednesday but I had company for part of my travels today...hence the strong desire to rip off my skin.

The music didn't even help. Plus I'm a selfish bitch when it comes to music. When I hear a song I like, I don't wish to be spoken to. One should try to even keep the breathing to a minimum. My companion today would not have accepted that concept. My companion asked me, without exaggeration, nearly 14 times if we were there yet, over the span of ONE HOUR. Therefore we listened to the radio.

This is going to be a random post.

I saw a woman today who is roughly the same height as me but maybe 15 pounds heavier wearing a top with a tie around the waist. Now if you possess the much coveted 'hourglass' figure, this is a nice choice. Emphasize the waist.However, if you are built like me, and this woman was, it's a shape akin to a potato on sticks and the waist shall NEVER be the focus.

I was compelled to use my water bottle as a microphone upon hearing "Your Love" by the Outfield on the way home. Experimented with it as if I were an actual singer. You know how some artists have their lips pressed right to the mike? I was trying to see why. I learned I would probably sing with the microphone pressed only to my top lip.

I know. Scary.

Further frightening news: I bought throat lozenges this morning in an effort to keep my throat in tip top shape so I could sing for the next 7 hours I was going to spend in my vehicle. It worked. I did struggle a little through some Patsy Cline but I really think I nailed the Outfield song.

I also have rediscovered my love for Pearl Jam's 'Yellow Ledbetter'. I love love love the guitar in this song. I mentioned as much to my son the other day. His response was "isn't that the song where you can't understand anything he's saying?" Um yes it is but I tried really hard to hear the lyrics tonight and as per usual I was left swaying with my eyes closed to the guitar riffs with my water bottle microphone clutched to my chest and sang the line: "I know, I know". (Ironically the only part of the song I do know). The rest sounded like vowels and only vowels. Still and always will be a fan favourite though.

Best dancing song today: 'Say Hey (I Love You)' by Michael Franti and the Rebel Rockers

Best text I received today: 'JESUS HELP ME. THIS LADY KEEPS YELLING TO HER BOYFRIEND THROUGH THE WINDOW SAYING THINGS LIKE 'I miss you already' and 'behave'. (This incidentally came from my 13 year old daughter; she was on the bus. I like her).

Things I almost hit today: a deer, a coyote and a black Ford truck.

Well that pretty much sums it up. 'TGIF' my ass.

Friends

2010-06-11T20:50:00.000-06:00

Friends. I used to consider myself both lucky and not when it came to friends. Lucky in that the few that I had were of the highest quality; unlucky in that I didn't have a real wide circle of friends. I have a storied history with friendship.

When I was little, my very first best friend's name was Amber. I, however, insisted on calling her "Hamber". That's all I really recall about that friendship. Well that I do believe 'Hamber' had some cooler toys than I and I think I was quite bossy. Sorry.

Next was my friend, Jaycee. This is where my lifelong issue with comparing myself to others began. Jaycee had a Cabbage Patch Kid before me. Jaycee and I both got 'Preemie' CBP's the same Christmas. Then she got twins. She had like eight of those fucking things! I had two. Meredith Flora was the preemie and Mindy Theresa was my 'Cornsilk' hair Cabbage Patch Kid. She would've been fantastic had 'Santa' not thought it too cute to get me a CPK with glasses because I had glasses. Fuck. You. I hated my glasses. The last thing I needed was a reminder of the bane of my existence. So Mindy 'lost' her glasses pretty early on into Christmas morning. Anyway, Jaycee also had a kick ass collection of Barbies and cool Barbie stuff but still had the audacity to steal the skates from my 1988 Olympic Barbie. Anyway, I could never wrap my head around why she had so much more than I did. Then, in Grade 4, her Dad went to jail for "selling beer" and let's just leave it at that.

Next would probably be my friend Brigette. A friend who wholeheartedly embraced hair metal with me. A friend who let me bully her into playing dolls long past anyone else our age wanted to play dolls. In my defense, she was the youngest of five kids and she had some really cool dolls of her older sister's. Yeah, I know, still mean and still lame. I was mean to Brigette more times than I care to remember or share. She did not deserve it and I am lucky she never kicked my ass.

My point is, and I do have one, aside from those early friendships and two or three adult friendships, I have been known to say, on more than one occasion, that I prefer male friends to female.

I love men. In all regards. It always seemed to me they were more fun, less offended by my foul language, listened to better music and did not want to discuss, ad nauseum, "girly things".

Well now I'm 33. I still have my fair share of male friends, some of whom I'd consider best friends. Now though, I have a strong contingent of wonderful women whom I'm proud to call my friends and even prouder that they consider me the same.

Today, for example, I needed to get Justin Bieber tickets for my daughter but had a hair appointment booked for the same time the tickets went on sale. With that, I left my Visa with the girls and asked them to get the tickets for me. They did and got kick ass seats at that!! There was much drama and a little perspiration involved but they rock! These girls are not only great ticket-getters but these women I've come to know in the last four years, have taught me to really appreciate the privilege it is to belong to a female circle of friends.

At this point though, I think it's beyond boy vs. girl. All in all at this state I consider myself more than lucky when it comes to friends. Today, in particular, one friend who is the very antithesis of what I am, in that he is always positive, laid back and generally just makes people feel good about themselves; well, let's just say I'm glad he's my friend and glad he'll continue to be so for many years to come.

And finally, I can't blog about my friends without giving Vodka an honourable mention. Tonight she has upped the ante with a delightful grape flavouring. I really like her a lot.

Thanks a million times over to Trisha and Nadia. Get well soon to Ron. To everyone else, to quote the infamous and now sadly, nearly all extinct 'Golden Girls': Thank You for Being a Friend.

The Eternal 13 year old in Me

2010-06-11T18:36:00.000-06:00

I may have just had a small temper tantrum because I was trying to watch a clip of Eclipse but could not hear it because my husband as the audacity to be watching the freaking news and it would appear my six year old is attempting origami with an empty microwave popcorn bag.

Just thought you should know.

Guilt is a Vicious Girl

2010-06-10T23:06:00.000-06:00

Okay, so obviously it isn't any secret that I don't care for my job much. Unfortunately, on one level I do care what people think about me. How are these two things related?

In my neverending quest to be away from work with a legitimate reason, you'll remember how desperate I was for my children to get the chicken pox. They did. What that amounts to is less than 20 days worked since April 30th. (This is partly due to forced holidays taken the first week of May due to child care issues). Couple that with an insanely busy workload and it spells trouble. So eventually, no matter how much I hate it there, I do feel responsible for my work and don't like having to leave it for others to do.

Last night my youngest was up a lot with fever and a cough; this morning I decided it best to keep him home since he was coughing to the point of nearly vomiting. Then by 11 a.m. he was asking to go play outside. Guilty conscience kicked in and I called my child care provider and asked if it'd be okay if I brought he and his brother. She said yes so off to work I went.

I have so much work to do I don't even know where to start. Tomorrow should be a busy day and hopefully a productive one. I do have some banked time to use so was planning on getting my hair done but am feeling guilty about that too. It may not matter though as by 7 tonight, the little man's temperature was back up to just over 101 and he was in rough shape. I gave him some Advil and it did perk him up but what will the night bring? Tomorrow morning?

I don't know...what I do know is if he is sick, and I have to stay home (and it's me who has paid sick leave so it's not really a viable option for Mr. Man to stay home), that bitch Guilt will have me feeling like an ass when I call in to work.

I can't believe I'm actually hoping to be able to go to work tomorrow. It's wrong on a number of levels.

And on that note, he's awake, crying and coughing right now....

Sweet Pox

2010-06-02T22:17:00.000-06:00

So here it is, a Wednesday night at nearly quarter after 10, and I'm slowly sipping on a beer and checking my various favourite sites. You wanna know why? Well, because, dear Friends, Reese finally got the much coveted chicken pox! I worked a total of eight days in May between holidays and Rhett's pox and June is off to a fine start as well!

Really it's going to bite me in the ass, hard, upon returning to work full time because the work keeps piling, the crises keep coming and it's just all awaiting my valiant return.

For now though, I shall focus on the positive for two reasons: I don't have to go to work tomorrow and I'm slightly buzzed from the beeeer. tee hee. Anyway, so far Reese is holding up well. Slightly less energetic than usual but not too itchy yet, but it's early. I promise to take veery good care of him as a reward for earning back my love and taking his hit for 'Team Mommy Stays Home from Work'.

Disregard the spelling errors. This too can be attributed to my friend in the can. Ha ha. That sounds like my friend is in the bathroom. No, this is my liquid friend in an aluminum can. I'm fancy like that. No glass for me, thank you very much.

Yes He is My Favourite

2010-05-27T13:52:00.000-06:00

My family often accuses me of favouring my youngest child. Three year old Rhett. I previously wrote about how he may or may not have me wrapped around his finger. At times I have felt slightly guilty about this but today, I don't.

I don't because, bless his three year old little heart, he saw his brother was not going to comply with my never-ending quest to have a valid reason not to go to work and he promptly got the chicken pox. FOR A SECOND TIME.

How do I not give him a little extra snuggle for that? Or maybe even whisper sweet nothings about him being my favourite in his ear when no one else is around? He is putting his soft little toddler body through a second spell of itching and potential scarring just so I don't have to go to work. Or at least that's how I see it...

If you follow along and remember, he broke out with the pox Monday before last. Which meant I got to stay home from Tuesday to this Tuesday because of the long weekend. I went back to work two days ago and am home again today. He has sprouted three new solid pox and the beginnings of three others on his face. I love him so much. And with any luck at all, the six year old will still eventually get them.

That is, if he wants any of my love, he will.

Help Needed

2010-05-23T17:15:00.001-06:00

As I become further immersed in the world of blogging one thing has become very clear. My title sucks. Not of the actual posts; if you ask me, some of those are quite clever. I'm referring to the actual blog title. I recently stumbled across one titled "Mommy Wants Vodka." Now why in the hell didn't I think of that? There is also "The Sassy Curmudgeon" and a whole host of clever catch-ily titled blogs out there.

"Searching" was originally chosen in an effort to reflect how this blog was a way of me looking for a way out of my job or maybe for a sliver of contentment in my life. Which I suppose it still is but still, I think I, or we, could come up with something better.

Thinking back the common themes of my blog are hating my job, loving and hating Vodka, and parenting. How should one combine all those? I suppose I could change it to "I Hate My Job and Drink Only to Cope". Not catchy or all-encompassing enough.

So friends and neighbours, any suggestions??? Throw any and all you got at me, because I'm completely drawing a blank.

Thanking you in advance for what I'm sure are going to be some kick ass ideas!

Out of Ideas

2010-05-21T18:33:00.000-06:00

I want to write about something but am drawing a blank. Maybe I'm slightly distracted by my normally reserved daughter's gyrations to the Glee soundtrack in the kitchen. Maybe I'm too tired. Maybe I've run out of things to say. That's really unlikely though.

My husband wants to go out tonight. We've talked about taking in a movie. Do you people know what time a late show starts these days? Freakin' 10:15. I'm not really comfortable falling asleep in the theatre. Don't get me wrong, I've done it before and so would like to avoid it. Actually I wouldn't have minded falling asleep during 'Inglorious Basterds' but the theatre was freezing so no such luck.

He also suggested drinking. I'm not really in the mood for that either. I'm tired. My three year old must have just won a Guinness World Record award this week for the child with the most energy in the history of the world while 'down' with the chicken pox. I'm afraid I'd have one drink and nod off.

He though, had a very stressful week as he is working for the real-life equivalent of, well I want to say Marie Barone from Everybody Loves Raymond but I'm not really sure that encapsulates it. Ryan really is patient by nature but this woman has put him over the edge. She gave him food and he THREW IT AWAY. He does not throw food away. Ever. He really does not like her and having met her myself and having her ask me my name three times within seven minutes, I can't say I'm a fan either. She then decided she'd remember my name, Angela, by associating it with 'angel' as in and she said: "Ryan's wife is an angel. Angela." Okay then, I guess I'll remember her name with the following: 'Marilyn is a moron'. I think if Marilyn could've read my mind the other day, that is if she isn't illiterate, and believe me I have my suspicions, she'd have a whole other word association with which to remember me by.

Gotta go, time to Busta' Move.

Critic's Choice

2010-05-19T15:45:00.000-06:00

I don't get it. I am currently reading a book that won the 'Man Booker Prize' in 2007. I don't even know what that is but when a book has won an award, any award, one assumes it is a good book. What I have found, more often than not, is these award winning books seldom make me smile. They are dark books full of dark wordy imagery. I don't overly enjoy these books. So why am I reading it? I have a strict rule, made for myself by myself, to finish every book I start no matter how much I dislike it. So there, I'm obligated. Plus, in this instance, I'm waiting for the author to just get to the point already. I'm waiting for the climax, one would say. However, like many women, I just don't think I'm going to get there. At least in this instance.

It's called 'The Gathering' by Anne Enright and is about a large Irish family. So far the biggest thrill of this book has been the cultural references and language. I enjoy that no matter what. 'Angela's Ashes' was also about a large Irish family but it was entertaining despite the dark theme of it all. This book also has a dark thematic element but is also convoluted and aimless.

Maybe it's me. I consider myself an intelligent person. I also enjoy being entertained but what seems to be the common cultural perception is the darker or worse or more confused one feels after reading a book or watching a movie, the more critically acclaimed it is. Why do we have to feel unhappy or disconcerted after seeking out entertainment? I suppose thought provoke-ment is a positive thing but really, and this maybe attributed to the work I do, I don't want to think that hard while being entertained. I want to laugh and feel good upon completion. After watching the movie 'Monster' with Charlize Theron a few years back I was angry and wanted to cry. So yes, excellent acting and story but I did not feel good or entertained. I cannot tell you how many times I've watched 'Anchorman' with Will Ferrell. It did not win any awards. I always feel good and highly entertained after watching. Also good acting.

I love lamp.

Okay, maybe it is me.

Stay Classy San Diego (which I believe means "whale's vagina").

Cheated

2010-05-19T15:13:00.000-06:00

Remember how Rhett the 3 year old has chicken pox and yesterday he was extra cuddly? Well he still has chicken pox but is slightly less cuddly. In fact you can hardly tell he's sick. At this very minute he's doing laps around the house.

Um, I'm not sure how many of you are familiar with the benefits of a sick child but they are supposed to have less energy and be quiet pathetic little souls who watch movies on the couch and ask for juice. Instead my child is attempting to re-enact Avatar.

He got up at 5 a.m. today. At 12:30 p.m. he announced he was ready to sleep and did so for two hours, thank Jebus. I had a nap too followed by the rapid succession inhaling of a chocolate pudding and chocolate covered granola bar but I'm still bitchy. I need to keep a stash of actual chocolate hidden in my house for just such occasions. However, much as with cookies, if I know it's here, it's not hidden and it's gone.

Sigh. Anyway, I am mature and good enough of a mother to appreciate the fact that my little boy is not suffering. I just want him slowed down a little. Is that too much to ask?

I think not.

Play-Doh, Power Rangers & the Pox

2010-05-18T12:40:00.000-06:00

So yes, he officially has the chicken pox. I am not at work. I am wearing the coveted elastic-waisted pant. I tried to monopolize the Play-Doh play this morning. No, I'm not kidding.

See it was just Rhett's birthday and he got a Play-Doh set for making hamburgers, fries, etc. He wanted to play with it this morning and so I joined him in a little creativity. Is it wrong that I really like the smell of Play-Doh? Also, is it wrong if you are not good at taking turns with your three year old and may be just as excited as he is at the prospect of making Play-Doh french fries? I don't think so. Well, maybe it's okay to like the smell but in hindsight I probably could've let him make his fries before I finished mine. Also because of the crazy Type 'A'-ness of my being I had to make my fries out of the yellow Play-Doh and shuddered when he wanted to make brown fries.

Yes I'm aware I have issues.

Anyway, so far so good. He's got maybe six or seven pox at present and he's a little warm. Runny nose and cough and extra-cuddly. For those of you who are wondering just what my damage is in regards to him getting the chicken pox, it's really more about him than me. Yes I like having a valid reason to stay home from work but the younger these little people get the chicken pox, the less they suffer during.

That being said, I took a special delight in calling in and informing my supervisor I would not be in for likely the remainder of the week and really wasn't overly upset when Rhett got up at 6:10 a.m. Why? Well number one, he's not feeling well and number two, I didn't have to go to work. That never gets old.

Never.

Mission Accomplished!

2010-05-17T20:51:00.000-06:00

You know I was quite pleased with this title to begin with, then when I realized it encompasses more than one thing, I was doubly pleased.

Mission #1: Steven getting his license.
Accomplished: Today!! Yee haw. No more carting that guy back and forth to work, or otherwise. No more driving with him with jaw clenched praying to Jebus he doesn't take off my side mirror on a parked car. Don't get me wrong, he's a good driver, but my vehicle is considerably nicer than his....I have now decided my second least favourite parenting job (#1 being toilet training) is Driver Training. The actual driving is tense and waiting for them while they go for their test is a special kind of torture of it's own. This was the poor kid's third run through and if he didn't get it today I was prepared to do the 'Bend & Snap' a la Legally Blonde if need be. Not sure that would've changed anyone's minds but maybe they'd have felt pity for the poor kid? In any event, it was unnecessary.

Mission #2: Acquiring the Chicken Pox
Accomplished: Today!! Rhett climbed into bed with us this morning and I saw a slightly suspicious looking mark on his arm but mosquitoes are already out so I thought maybe that was all it was. Well, now tonight, his nose his running like a mother-trucker, he is slightly warm and has four or five more spots. Chicken Pox is in the hoouuse!!

Part of me is slightly concerned as I am very busy at work and getting more behind by the minute and then the other 97.8% of me is thinking 'Woo Hoo!'. I will regret it when I go back next week and am swamped but whatevs. Right now I could care less. Right now I want to eat chocolate. Right now I'm wearing a nice elastic-waisted pant and fantasizing about wearing such pants all week. And not going to work. Not trying to remain professional while talking to some of the stupidest most ignorant people I have met (clients and co-workers alike) all day.

So people, for a Monday, in the end, it wasn't too shabby at all. The pets helped me keep it real as I did get to clean up some cat puke. Oh and for those of you concerned at my apparent lack of empathy as to the well being of my poor little three year old who'll soon be very itchy; back off, I'm not the one who had his brother licking his mouth when all was said and done in an effort to ensure he gets the chicken pox too. Okay, so Ryan didn't tell Reese to do that, but Reese got carried up in the moment of our family glee in the pox discovery and licked Rhett's mouth...gross, I know. I honestly believe it would never cross a little girl's mind to do such a thing. However 13 year old boys don't make each other's lives miserable just for sport, so it's a fair trade.

Good Night. Expect a full Chicken Pox (pock?) update in the morning. God willing, he'll be covered...

Obligated

2010-05-16T15:45:00.000-06:00

Like most people I know I have been eagerly awaiting summer's arrival. Well, today it's kind of here. Don't get me wrong, it pleases me but right now I'm outside surrounded by my family and getting increasingly irritated by the moment.

We have the paddling pool set up; we've tried out the new Buzz Lightyear sprinkler, ate lunch outside and really, right now, I'm just anticipating the dryer being finished so I have a reason to go inside. My 16 year old is singing One Winged Dove; Reese wants a Rice Krispie square, the cat's trying to drink my pop, and the other two children are having a bubble war.

Serenity now!

I want to watch TV.

Okay, I posted this and then realized the title doesn't make any sense as is. It is nice out. Where I live these days are so far and few between we are supposed to and need to embrace every last one. For now though, I've had about all the outside family fun I can take. And we are still going to barbecue.

I am the worst mother in the world? It's Sunday. Day of family togetherness. Yet I am done with togetherness and ready for a nap. And maybe some cake. Mostly I am ready for quiet.

I escaped into the house and now they are all following me. Steven continues to do his best rendition of Stevie Nicks...

Maybe what I really need is a drink? Oh joy, the dryer just buzzed, sweet escape.

Claire Huxtable can go Screw Herself

2010-05-14T08:54:00.000-06:00

Why, you ask, am I hating on the ever-lovely Mrs. Huxtable? Because Claire, despite having five children and what always appeared to be a very busy legal career, always had a spotless home. Yet you never saw Claire in sweat pants bent over the tub scrubbing or better yet on her hands and knees cleaning around the base of her toilet. Maybe it's because there was only Bill and Theo but I'm sure even they missed sometimes. Or maybe she made them sit down, I don't know. Either way, it's all LIES. They didn't have a cleaning lady. In one episode Claire wore a bigger button down shirt and was dusting their already spotless bedroom. Sometimes Cliff did the dishes. But did the Huxtable kids ever leave bowls of watermelon rinds in the living room? No sirree!

You know who I liked, Roseanne. Roseanne's house was a little more the real deal. Sometimes it was shown messy. Sometimes Dan and Roseanne fought about who should do what around the house. Dan and Roseanne's kids yelled back at them. Wait, to clarify, in the pilot episode of The Cosby Show, the house was somewhat untidy. And that was it. Roseanne's house was untidy on more than one occasion and Roseanne wore sweatpants. I will always bond with a woman in sweat pants.

So why am I fixating on popular TV shows of the '80s? Because there is a current war raging in my household over chores. I can't take it anymore. I would like to say I give up and just live in filth but really, who really wants to do that. I have a hard time relaxing if it's dirty. Don't get me wrong, at any given time, there is at least one or two (six) rooms that are not fit for humans. There are six of us and three pets. Get a cleaning lady you say? I just might. However it's not going to solve the day to day issues of who does what. And you know what, I almost don't care anymore. Maybe if the bathrooms, kitchen and floors are clean I will be able to just suck it up and deal with it. Maybe.

In the meantime, Apocalypse Now took place in my kitchen/dining room last night and I'd like to thank the neighbours for not calling the police.

And I'd like to thank the Huxtables for not only portraying an African-American family in a positive light but also setting unrealistic and potentially unreachable goals for mother's everywhere.

Assholes.

Changes

2010-05-13T09:06:00.001-06:00

This is just a super quick post to let people know I believe I may have solved the issue with people not being able to comment on my blog. Please give it a whirl again, when the mood strikes, and let me know how it works out for you.

Plain Jane

2010-05-12T22:19:00.000-06:00

So what with the fancy new laptop and all I am spending more time on line. What I am learning is my blog is beyond basic. What I also learned is apparently my comments on other blogs are not up to snuff. I tried to comment on Sassy Curmudgeon's blog and it doesn't appear she approved it. It was a funny little comment plus I said I liked her blog. I call that bitchy, not 'Sassy'.

However, through her blog I found another one I liked but lost it again but she wrote one about being on Cymbalta and therefore not being able to drink beer as well as she used to. I personally find my Vodka tales more entertaining but that being said, hers was good. The thing is, both of these woman have all kinds of stuff all over their blogs. Apparently there are blog awards, there are all kinds of blogging networks and societies. And I need to either hone in on this stuff or just write a damn book already because as much as I continue to amuse my mother, she is not going to pay me to do this which is the ultimate goal.

Why can't I just enjoy writing for the sake of writing? Because today a client gave me shit for taking last week off of work. I don't need that.

For now, it's off to bed. Rest up because I forsee many hours ahead spent on jazzing this blog up. That's right, I said it, I'm all about the jazz.

I'm also all about Glee and an inappropriate Cougar crush on Finn when he sang Jesse's Girl. Don't be a hater and judge me. Or do, and comment on my blog. Guess what? No matter how mean it is, I'll approve it. That's how I roll and that, I think, is pretty darn Sassy.

World's Most Beautiful

2010-05-09T19:15:00.000-06:00

So who else bought the Beautiful People issue of People? You know, the one with Sandra Bullock and her cute baby on the cover? I did. I like Sandra Bullock and I like looking at pretty people. What I soon found out is I do not care for everything pretty people say. Not that I would expect them to appreciate all of my musings but seriously, give people a shred more credit. Case in point: Beside a very pretty, some, like People for instance, would say she's beautiful and I would not disagree, Carrie Underwood states she feels beautiful giving herself to others like when she's raising money for a worthy cause. Hmm, that's great Carrie but I do believe that has more to do with self-esteem than feeling pretty. Carrie's picture shows her with a pretty white dress on and hair styled, make-up on and teeth whitened. Again, to be clear, not discrediting Ms. Underwood for any of that as it's within context and if I looked like her and had her means I would do the same. But in keeping with context let's save the feel good statements for another day.

Worse though is Megan Fox's statement. Megan, who barely resembles the Megan Fox in the first Transformers movie. Ms. Fox states, through her 'enhanced' pout: "My idea of beauty is self-acceptance." Hm. Is that why you have implants, a spray tan and what appears to be an allergic reaction?

Take a look at the below picture:

Now, were I to help all the hungry children of the world, looking like this, I would feel good about myself but not beautiful. Clearly.

Exhibit 'B'

Here, with make-up on, I'm all about self acceptance, minus the plastic surgery, a la Ms. Fox. And to all those boys out there who say a woman looks better with little to no make-up, take a look at the above photos and think again. Granted, some woman are fortunate enough to pull off the naked face look. I am not. I'm not one of those who refuses to leave the house without make-up but always feel more confident with it on. I don't think there's anything wrong with this although some would argue it speaks to a level of insecurity or socialization, and maybe that's so but you will have to pry my eyelash curler out of my cold dead hands.

Some of you will think I'm being hard on Carrie but if you have the issue or have looked at it, 99.9% of the players in this year's world's beautiful people list are what would be considered as conventionally attractive. With the exception of Gabourey Sidibe. It is very rare that Hollywood accepts a woman who is not a size 2. Congratulations Ms. Sidibe!

Happy Mother's Day-Part II

2010-05-09T13:38:00.000-06:00

I think by now you all know, that at times, I have somewhat of a short fuse. I have been this way as long as I can remember. It hasn't necessarily always brought out the best in me and today I had an epiphany in regards to a specific event which I believe means I owe my sister-in-law an apology.

Cut to approximately February or March 2007. I was quite pregnant with Rhett, who was born in May. My sister-in-law, Crystal, had just had her son, Daniel, in December 2006. We were having a baby shower for her. The day of the shower, where I was to organize games my Grandma showed up and wanted to go for supper. This was going to be slightly rushed but I couldn't nor did I want to turn Grandma down. Then my husband got called to work which meant either taking my then three year old with me to the shower but instead my Grandma offered to babysit so off we went. I should add my Grandma will be 87 this year so was almost 83 at the time.

So we visited and played games and ate food and then it was time to open gifts. I swear to God, my level of patience had sunk to an all time low. It seemed as though Crystal was waiting for the gifts to unwrap themselves. Was it fair of me to be impatient? No. Want to know what was less fair? Getting up, storming across the room and 'assisting' her with one gift in particular. By assisting I mean ripping the paper off the back of the box and returning to my seat. To the credit of the other guests they didn't say much. Maybe some nervous laughter and one girl, who was also pregnant but not inclined to commit gift opening abuse, asked if I tended to be impatient when pregnant. I do believe actions spoke for themselves. It wasn't until I was re-telling this story that I realized how assinine that was. So for that, I'm sorry Crystal.

Now some of you math wizards out there have figured out this happened more than four years ago so why apologize now? Well because I had my own slow-motion gift opening experience this morning. My wonderful husband presented me with a laptop this morning!! They (him and the kids) had put it in a gift bag of sorts and I had an inkling I was maybe getting one and so I wanted to savour every moment. Finally one of my older two kids told me to hurry up and open it. I didn't want to. I was so excited and so really wanted to enjoy this moment. And then it dawned on me, she was enjoying her moment and I, uber-bitch, rained or perhaps maybe even stormed, on her parade. Again, I apologize.

As for me, I am loving this laptop. Sitting at my dining room table writing and web surfing is only about a million times more enjoyable then sitting in my basement which smells like dog and looks like a Toys R Us gone wrong.

So Thanks to my husband, Ryan, for giving me one of the best Mother's Day presents EVER. And thanks, to his sister, Crystal, for not decking me that fateful night four years ago!

Happy Mother's Day-Part I

2010-05-09T13:18:00.000-06:00

Happy Mother's Day one and all! I myself am the very fortunate mother of four great kids! Steven is 16, Justine is 13, Reese is 6 and Rhett is going to be 3 in five short days. I am lucky enough to not only love my children but I really like them too. Some of you are thinking that goes without saying, but I don't think it does.

I've been every kind of mother there is, almost. At least for only being 33. I've been an unwed teen mother, a wed teen mother, a divorced single mother, and now a married mother of four. Quite a gamut if you ask me. Each of those stages of my life had it's ups and downs. Being a teen mother meant that I was judged non-stop by any and all who encountered me. However it also afforded me a beautiful son and the knowledge that no matter what those people thought or said about me or to me, we are more than okay.

Being married the second time I gave birth allowed me respect by hospital staff. The nurses no longer felt the need to treat me like something they found on the bottom of their shoe. That's directed at the Quasi Modo nurse who screamed at me when I was in with Steven. Fucking hunchback bitch. He'll let me know when he's hungry. The kid was nearly 14 1/2 pounds by 2 1/2 months old. Not starving. Anyway, it also gave me the opportunity to be the mommy of a little girl! Yee haw! Dresses and hair-dos. And now a shopping partner, chick movie pal and emotional equivalent of TNT. She never ceases to amaze me though.

Being a single mom was hard, no doubt, but I also didn't have to share them either. Selfish, yes; sorry? No. They were all mine. Sure they went and visited their dad but ultimately they were mine. This didn't necessarily bode well when my now husband came into the mix. He often commented, in the early days, that he felt he was trying to get membership into an exclusive club of three. He was right, in some ways. But we took a vote and in he came.

Then came three and four. This time, not only was I married and was a for real adult! Which meant I was also for real tired! Honest to God, at 27 having a newborn felt like a completed an Iron Man on a daily basis. At 17 and 19, it was tiring but you just naturally have more energy. Plus balancing school and parenting is difficult but full time employment and parenting is beyond that. Doable but hard. I did, of course, have mat leave, but I definitely noticed a difference between parenting as a student and parenting while working a 40 hour week.

Baby #4 was the end of the road for us but I know our family wouldn't have been complete without him. And so now, I'm the married mother of four! Who would've thunk it? Not me. Who regrets it? Not me either. Sure I'd like to live in a clean home. I'd like to have a flat stomach and pert you-know-whats. I'd even like to go on a vacation with my husband. And someday my home will be clean and someday Ryan and I will go on a holiday but I wouldn't trade any of my "babies" for nothing. Unless you're talking a trip replete with childcare right now. I'd trade them for that. And a strawberry margarita.

Tee hee. Just kidding! To all the moms I do know and don't; married, single, one, two or 12 kids, hope you have the day you deserve!

Animal Domination

2010-05-06T19:01:00.000-06:00

I think my pets are fucking with me. And really why wouldn't they? I picture them sitting around their shared water dish; to clarify it's shared because I've tried a number of different receptacles for the cats to drink water out of and they will only drink it out of the dog's dish. Anyway, late Friday night after we've all gone to bed I imagine them sitting around the dish and doing stats. Stats such as how many times during that particular week I was able to experience the joy of cleaning up their poop and/or vomit. And bursting into fits of puppy and kitty laughter when they think back to the time I vomited while cleaning up the dog's vomit. The dog's vomit on our less than a week old newly installed carpeting. I'm sure that's a favourite.

Today one of the cats, and I'm pretty sure I know which one, decided it would be extra fun to shit just outside the laundry room door. Which was open. Their litter box is in the laundry room. I had just cleaned it this morning so it was clean as I'm aware of cat's issues with cleanliness. I swear to God she noticed I was doing a fair bit of laundry today and have been all week so thought she'd try and spice it up with me stepping into her poop while doing so.

Think I'm giving my pets too much credit? I don't. These animals have watched me clean up after their bodily functions for nearly nine years (cats) and six years (dog). Why would they not think I am actually a servant of sort?

Same said cat who played the laundry room trick vomited on my bed while I was sleeping in it a few short months ago. Nice.

So why not get rid of them? Because, insane human I am, I like them and particularly enjoy my cats holier than thou attitudes and my dog's incessant good nature and love for cheese.

Sigh. I will carry on bitching about the volumes of dog hair plaguing every inch of this house and article of clothing we own; about the cat puking after what seems like every time she eats; cleaning up poop inside the house and out and then, I will go to Petland and spend $35 for dog treats (that last time appeared to make him sick so he shit on the front carpet again (reference Family Day blog from February) and cat toys that they played with for all of five minutes before ignoring.

I guess this all begs the question of really who is the higher species?

Callie
Melody

Toby

Good News, At Last!

2010-05-02T09:35:00.000-06:00

Hey party people, I've got some good news. Which I think was probably evident from the title, but what's the shame in stating the obvious? I think our society is almost built on this concept.

Anywho, remember about how my husband, and in turn, our family, got royally screwed over by a nearly toothless redneck? Well ta-dah the bastard paid up his fine on Friday! Yay, us! I suppose he was just avoiding court which would've been the next step and he did wait until the last possible moment, but in any event we got the money.

So what have we done with this windfall? Went fucking nuts at Costco. Yes ladies and gentleman we are only a tooth or two away from being rednecks ourselves...two carts and wild abandon in our hearts. At one point my six year old turned around and upon perusing the contents of our overflowing cart, asked: "Are you sure we have enough money for all of this?" He sounded dubious.

Let me tell you, I will not need to buy toilet bowl cleaner, Bounce, Shout or Swiffer refills for a good two months. I also bought a 24 pack of mango juice. That might have been pushing it. My son and I tried the sample though and enjoyed it. After cracking a can of it last night though, I was less sure of my decision to spend $11 on mango juice. Then I added vodka. Yep, still a good purchase.

We have a ready supply of breakfast cereal and Advil Extra-Strength Liqui-Gels. Those little gems are what makes our family's world go round. I could go on and on about our purchases but really it was all good. I even got one of those sweet beach chairs with the short legs and a padded head rest.

Diva, I am not.

So does money buy happiness? Not necessarily but it makes a trip to Costco a hell of a good time!

New Profile Picture

2010-04-29T20:50:00.000-06:00

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.

I'm Screwed

2010-04-28T19:52:00.000-06:00

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?

2010-04-28T11:54:00.000-06:00

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 tact...it'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.

And One (or Two) More Thing(s)

2010-04-26T21:33:00.000-06:00

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.

#$^@*&!!!

2010-04-26T19:48:00.000-06:00

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).

Anger

2010-04-25T17:38:00.000-06:00

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 then...today, 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....

The Downfall of Deeds

2010-04-23T08:44:00.000-06:00

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?

Super Exciting Stuff

2010-04-17T21:12:00.000-06:00

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

2010-04-17T20:04:00.000-06:00

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

2010-04-17T01:10:00.000-06:00

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

Hand Over the Sugar and Nobody Gets Hurt

2010-04-16T15:30:00.000-06:00

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.

I'm Gross

2010-04-12T18:42:00.000-06:00

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 bad....off to the paper towels I go.

My Wish

2010-04-06T19:22:00.000-06:00

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 slept...so 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 toilet....life is good?

A Letter to My 16 Year Old Self

2010-03-24T22:20:00.000-06:00

March 24, 1994

Dear Me,

Hold on. Funny way to start a letter, I know. In this case it has a number of meanings. Hold on, because in less than three hours your life is about to change forever. Hold on, because in less than three hours you are going to meet one of the most important people in your life. Hold on because in less than three hours you are going to be a mother, a parent, a woman? Hold on, because soon, really soon, he'll be here.

At first you are going to be very surprised when they say "It's a Boy!" You, at 16, want a girl. You, at 16, in all reality wanted someone to dress up. You, at 16, think this is going to be nothing. You, at 16, don't know that the minute you look at him, it never mattered what you "wanted" because you just fell in love for the first time. You have babysat hundreds of times. Babysat your brothers countless hours, babysat other people's children, you, therefore know it all.

No, you don't.

What you haven't done is babysat someone you love more than yourself. Not to say you don't, and still do, love your brothers. But this person, this little boy, is so much more than you even know. To this day, 15 years and 364 days later, you are still wondering at what and who he is.

The other day, Justine, the girl you will give birth to at 19, told you (at 32) that you can be proud and "talk about it out loud". At first, you didn't know what she meant. Then she said in health she learned that something like 90% of all teenaged mothers drop out of school. She learned that a majority of the children of teenaged mothers struggle at school, academically and socially. You however, will not quit school. No way, there is too much to prove, for one, and no way are you going to let that little boy down....

So when he's two weeks old, you are going to pack him and yourself up and drop him off at daycare and go to school. Two morning classes. Then you'll take the bus back downtown and pick him up and then catch another bus and go home. You'll do your homework. You'll parent. You'll overfeed the poor little guy until he spews. You, at 16, will assume crying must mean hungry. But he'll be okay and so will you.

He'll be more than okay! He will delight you day after day, make you laugh uncontrollably until you cry; make you cry out of sheer pride, make you weep out of fear of having disappointed him...

When he's two he will delight in nothing more than dancing, with his back facing you and his Nana, wiggling his butt in perfect rhythym to whatever music is playing. At two, he will decide, around the time his sister his born that his shirt, any shirt, "is too busy" and that's why he won't wear it. At six, you'll break his heart when you tell him you and his dad aren't going to be married anymore. At ten, he'll amaze you with the ease in which he picks up a guitar and plays it, seemingly effortlessly. At 15 you'll burst with pride watching him play football.

At every age, he'll make you laugh. He's funny. He's musical. He's smart.

So hold on. Hold on when, sometime during the day of March 25, 1994, you and he will be alone in the hospital room and you'll have a moment of sheer terror. You'll wonder what the hell you're doing and how you're going to do it. It's not going to be perfect. It's going to be better than perfect because you're going to grow together. When he's 15 he's going to hug you and still want to talk to you and make you laugh when you don't think you can.

So to you and to the little boy, set to come along at 1:02 a.m. March 25, 1994, hold on, you're going to make it.

Anger is My Friend?

2010-03-15T19:27:00.001-06:00

At one point in time a little birdie told me it had been suggested I am a very angry person. No shit. However, I was still somewhat offended. I think what offended was the suggestion I should not be angry. I still find this baffling. Don't get me wrong, every once in awhile I try to give myself a good pep talk about positive thought and attitude and how there really truly are people who are much worse off then I am. Then I find out that either my husband can't collect EI or the phone company is threatening to cut off service by the end of the month or my daycare is closing. It becomes difficult to find the up-side.

I'm generally a cynic. A pessimist. A realist. All of the above. As I've said before I'm okay with that, most of the time. This statement about my anger had me questioning who I am. I had some people tell me not to change. My husband was one of them. Apparently he finds rage charming. Although maybe not all of the time, heh heh. Co-workers, well the ones I call friends, say the same. My mother didn't suggest I shouldn't change but validated my anger. Lucky for her. Just kidding. Kind of.

I have been impatient since Day One. Bitterness has come with age. I don't mind anger but I dislike bitter. Bitter is not nice to be around. Bitter is not funny. Bitter is self-pity in disguise. And that is a fact. I've been doing a lot of feeling sorry for myself. I'm trying to quit. I'm trying to focus on positive things. I'm trying to maintain a semblance of control over my life and learning there are certain things I can't control. And that's the hard part. I crave control. In the past four months though, I've really had to face sometimes, life is out of my control.

Bottom line is, if you find me angry, I can't promise that will ever change. If you find me bitter, I'm working on it. If you find me at all interesting or entertaining, thank you. However, if you do not find me or this blog entertaining or interesting; if you take offense to the language used, you should probably stop reading now. I've been trying to curtail some of the language recently but it is a big part of the way I speak, sophisticated or not, so it will remain a part of this blog, as I see fit.

In the meantime: "chin up", "the sun will come out tomorrow", there's always a "silver lining" and all that jazz.

See, I'm getting better already...

Do You Have a Penis?

2010-02-25T21:34:00.000-06:00

What kind of question is that? Well, that is the kind of question I am routinely asked once, if not more, a week. Let me assure you I am easily identifiable as a woman. To everyone except my two year old. He, in fact, does have a penis. He seems to be mourning the fact that I do not share such good fortune.

This morning I was getting dressed for work and said two year old and his six year old brother were in bed with my husband watching TV. I was wearing a robe with nothing underneath as I had just gotten out of the shower and was standing in front of the closet getting my clothes for the day. Rhett decided this would be an opportune, not to be missed moment on his neverending quest to find my penis. He got out of bed and came over and proceeded to try and open my robe. I held it closed and he persisted. I told him no, leave it alone and his reply was: "I need to check your body". So I advised him this would not be necessary and continued to hold the robe closed. His response this time was to attempt to reach up underneath. I then gave in and told him I do not have a penis. "You no have penis?" (yes, English is his first language but he's only two). I assured him I did not. This seemed to satisfy him.

I should add it was unnecessary for him to "check my body" as in the not-to-distant past he whipped open the shower curtain while I was in there and upon having a look asked me if I had a penis. He knew the answer but he just can't accept my apparent misfortune.

Often times, after an incident of this nature, he does what I like to refer to as 'Penis Roll-Call'. Let me demonstrate:

Rhett: "Mom, you have a penis?"
Me: "No."
Rhett: "Reese, you have a penis?"
Reese: "Yes."
Rhett: "Steven, you have a penis?"
Steven: "Yes."
Rhett: "Justine, you have a penis?"
Justine: "No."
Rhett: "You no have penis?" (he always feels the need to double check, just in case at some point in her 13 years either she or I has missed it)
Justine:"No, I don't have a penis."

He then checks in with his dad, who, of course, has one. He is quite pleased with the many members in our home who do have penises and seems to feel a distinct sadness for those of us who don't. He is my third boy. They've all had their 'a-ha' moments when it comes to their respective penises but this guy's committment to his is second to none.

As for me, I'll carry on, penis-less and maybe, just maybe, all the better for it... ;)

A LIfe of Glamour & Privilege

2010-02-15T09:41:00.000-06:00

First let me start by wishing all my fellow Saskatchewanites a Happy Family Day! Now let me tell you how my Family Day has gone thus far.

I have a raging head cold right now. Why is this important? I have not been sleeping well at all but finally last night had a lovely uninterrupted almost dreamless sleep. Yay. Then my six year old came in around 7 and wanted to get into bed with us. Sure, why not? He likes to sleep on his dad's side anyway and promptly went right back to sleep. After awhile he decided he would go downstairs and watch TV or play video games. Great. Works for me! Then sometime between 7:30 and 8 a.m. my two year old came in. He did not settle quite as nicely and I ended up putting the TV on for him. Still manageable. After awhile he decided he too would go downstairs. By this time I'm awake but it's after 8 a.m. so I'm not that concerned. I decide to lay in bed for awhile. I even dozed off momentarily and briefly dreamt about 'A Different World'. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about that was the spin-off of the 'The Cosby Show' that featured Denise at college. Why the hell was I dreaming about that? Beats me. Anyway I woke up again, pondered the origin of the dream and started to think about getting up. What happened next is where it all went awry.

My six year old came running up the stairs announcing he had "bad news" for us. And that, he did. Turns out our dog, who had all of three accidents as a puppy, had pooped on the carpet by the front door. Now he has a bit of a stomach ailment and sometimes he gets really sick and for whatever godforsaken reason this is where he feels the need to relieve himself. This isn't all that remarkable except for the fact our entire main floor has laminate flooring. There is a rug by the front door and a rug by the back door. He routinely chooses to deface either one of these when feeling under the weather.

The other good news was the two year old had peed on the couch. Well, glory hallelujah and Happy Family Day!

In the two year old's defense he was still wearing his diaper from last night so that was likely an overflow leakage situation, but still.

So up and out of bed. Sent the two year old upstairs to get cleaned up by dad, steam cleaned the couch. My husband came down and dealt with the dog's work, which by the way, was not evidence of his stomach ailment. Perhaps he is upset about something, I'm not sure, either way, thank God for the head cold because our house, according to my husband, has the distinct aroma of dog shit.

On top of all of that, I'm out of French Vanilla creamer for my coffee. When will the madness end?

I'm Broke

2010-02-13T19:34:00.000-06:00

My husband needs to get a job. Pronto. And here's why:

At present we are very tight on cash thanks to my husband getting royally screwed by the last guy he worked for. Also thanks to same guy we have been a single income family since January 4th. Lots of families rely on one income, of this I'm aware. The difference here is that from the get-go we have always had two decent incomes. Anyway, this is not news to many of you but let me explain what happened today.

I was bored. There is no money for mindless shopping (or necessary shopping for that matter), movie rentals, restaurants...I'd already watched TV for a good part of the morning, so what to do? Well, I guess I could clean. Yuck. However I was overtaken by boredom and then music and set off cleaning this place like nobody's business! I am telling you I scrubbed bathrooms, note the 's', washed walls, again note the freaking 's' and did laundry and vacumned and dusted. Now I am exhausted.

The cleaning alone would've done me in but to avoid some of the drudgery of these necessary but dreary tasks, I listened to my Ipod. I used my headphones as my two year old was sleeping. My husband and other son went out for the afternoon (no, not to spend money). Oh and then there are my other two children who are on a cruise somewhere in Mexico. Don't even get me started! =)

Okay, back to the music. I love it all. I mentioned before when vodka and I used to chum I was quite the singer. Well what I may have failed to mention is that whether or not I'm with vodka, I love singing. Keep in mind people I love singing but am not necessarily good at it but that usually doesn't stop me. Just ask my husband, children, close friends, neighbours, acquaintances... Today, though, I couldn't sing. I was washing walls right outside my sleeping child's room so if you can't sing what do you do? You dance. Which I did. By myself. While lip syncing furiously. I have the feeling I may have slightly resembled someone seizuring with just a touch of rhythym. I couldn't help myself. The number I really got down to was Jealous Again by the Black Crowes. Right there in the little nook by my daughter's bedroom door I cut the rug until it was shag!

Maybe just to better aid your visual, keep in mind I had not yet showered today and was wearing zero make-up and a semi-fitted pink t-shirt and sweats. To complete the ensemble I had on a sports bra which equals uniboob. And as the shirt is somewhat fitted and I was really shakin' it from time to time my belly may have snuck out from under said shirt. Not cute. This belly has been through four pregnancies and my previously disclosed sugar addiction. Hot stuff, I know.

Please for the love of God and all that's right in the world, help my husband find a job before I start actually choreographing this shit.

Logic, where have you gone?

2010-02-12T16:52:00.000-06:00

So I'd like to talk to you all about Wednesday. Guess what I did that day? I went to spin for the second time this week. Guess what I did after that? Went to 7-11 and purchased a two pack of Hostess cupcakes, 75 cents worth of gummy candies and an English Toffee Cappucino. I'm not sure I even tasted the cupcakes being that I inhaled them. At any rate, I finished this explosion of sugar and preservatives in less than 45 minutes. To be honest, the 'food' was gone within about 15...it was the coffee that took a while to drink. Once at home that night I had a few Hershey kisses, some chips and then right before bed, just one more cupcake (homemade this time) and a big glass of milk.

*Note: there is no mention of supper in here. Because I didn't have any. My perfect world would consist of eating a diet like Will Ferrell's in 'Elf'.

Now there are some who will say the reason I go to spin or to the gym at all is so I can eat like that. I argue that if I did not eat like this but continued to go the gym I could throw away my elastic waisted dress pants. Sigh. Although I do have to say it was a magical day when I found those pants at Reitman's. I felt like Forrest Gump when he sees Lt. Dan and comments on his "magic legs". I had found "magic pants".

I am a fan of the show Intervention and on days like Wednesday (or Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, ...you get the idea) I feel I could qualify for a food addiction intervention. Or at the very least a sugar addiction. Wednesday I ate a banana and today I ate some mixed veggies at supper. That'll likely be the extent of my fruit and vegetable intake for the week. I've tossed around the idea of quitting sugar. Then I laugh and eat a King Size Twix (Kit Kat, Aero, Snickers, Mars,...again, you get the idea).

Will I go back to spin? Yes. My friends make me. Will I continue to go on rampant binges involving cupcakes and high fructose corn syrup? Yes. My life makes me.

For the record and back in relation to Fargs' untimely demise, I used to binge drink. Sadly now I'm left to Peanut M&Ms and baked goods...

Fargs is Dead - Part II

2010-02-08T22:02:00.000-06:00

So some of you may remember a few months ago when I wrote about Fargs. Remember how she used to be so much fun and a party girl, etc etc etc and how I killed her? She suffered a second death this weekend; let me elaborate.

I went to Saskatoon this weekend for a little break. Went to spend time with my mom and my brothers. Nothing wrong with that. Fargs would do that. Okay, all's well. Not quite. I started out the day okay, had a couple of drinks and visited and pissed off this drunk pessimist cynical self-righteous self-pitying fellow, but had a good time doing so. Which by the way was an eye opener because I thought I was angry and bitter, but there are far worse out there. But I digress.

The big goal of the evening was to watch my brother's band play. He plays in two bands but this was the grindcore metal band, Mechanical Separation. Not my usual genre of music but watching him play is awesome, so I go and love every minute of it. The catch was, and brace yourselves, they didn't go on the stage until 11:30 p.m.!!! Can you even believe it? How the heck am I supposed to stay up for that business? I need my teeth brushed and flossed, moisturizer applied, digestive aids taken well before then, this simply would not do! As I said though, I love to see him play and my other brother was coming out too and it's always fun hanging out with him...so I pressed on.

Back in the day, Fargs would've started drinking at 3 p.m. and not thought twice about carrying on right through until show time and beyond. However, this currently was not the case. All I could think about was not wanting to be that drunk (which is a sign of maturity, I know, blah blah blah) and how hungover I would be the next day and I had a two hour drive home. So I took 'er easy. Booorrringgg. However, made it to the bar to watch the show. My brother showed up, yay, let's have some more drinks. Yay, I'm out at a bar. Yay, I'm having drinks. Yay, those people are 22 and yay they have a wide assortment of piercings, tattoos and dreads...Yay, I look like a fucking soccer mom headed to the PTA meeting (of which I'm not a member, I tried that when my oldest child was in Kindergarten and those are some heartless bitches). Anyway, it was so depressing. My mother looked cooler than I did. Granted, she's a young looking trendy person but for the love of God I might have well taken Rice Krispie treats and Kool-Aid for the band....

In time I got over the horror of it all and figured what the hell, these people don't know who I am, technically I am a soccer (football, hockey, volleyball) mom, so fuck it. Then the show was over. I was inspired by my brother's passion for music and his ability to play it. My other brother wanted me to go party with him. I said no. Why, you say? I was scared! He's 27 and I'm not. He's single, childless and sowing his wild oats, so to speak, and I'm not. I'm married, riddled with children and the only thing I do with oats is eat them to ensure some form of regularity. I honestly did not think I could possibly cope with what his night might entail and could not get away from the thought of death by hangover nor did I really want to ditch my mom. He teased me a little, which I deserved, but I just buttoned up my cardigan and put on my sensible winter wear and went home.

RIP Fargs...

The Break-Up

2010-01-22T17:54:00.000-06:00

Before anyone gets all worked up, my marriage is intact. However, another relationship may have finally come to an end. A girlfriend of mine is no longer welcome in my life. It's a sad parting because we used to have so much fun. I'm not kidding, she and I have been on road trips, to concerts, house parties, camping, weddings; really, you name, we've done it. And how we'd laugh. We'd dance and sing too. We were really really good at singing. Now don't get me wrong, we didn't hang out every week, with maybe the exception of a period in my early 20s. She's fun but she'd wear me out. But for the longest time the fun outweighed the cost. Then the bitch turned around and stabbed me in the back...

The last time we went out was New Year's Eve. I had a good time. I sang, I laughed and I broke a glass. Whatevs. Then sometime during the night, my "friend" decided to put on some steel toed boots and practise karate kicks on my head. I think maybe she pooped in my mouth and she definitely had something to do with the fact that on January 1 I spent pretty much the entire day in bed. I'm positive she had something to do with becoming reacquainted with the appetizers from the night before too. Bitch. Oh there had been a few fights prior to this, don't get me wrong. But for the most part it was all good. Times when we'd go out and I'd be none the worse for wear. What happened to those times? I just don't know.

So with that said, I think it's time to say good bye to my dear friend, Vodka. It was grand whie it lasted.

(This might be one of those sticky situations where we break-up and make-up more than once, I'm just forewarning you).

'Twas 12 Days Before Christmas

2009-12-13T19:24:00.000-06:00

People suck. Yeah, yeah I know, that's harsh and cynical and pessimistic, but guess what fuckers, they do. Not all of you. Certainly not those of you who read and enjoy this blog but, some people really suck hard and in so many different ways. I don't even know where to begin, but I'll try...

1. I know it's been said before, but it's true, people should have to get a license to reproduce. Easier said then done, but there are so many people who shouldn't be allowed to care for goldfish, nevermind a child, that it's ridiculous. That being said I wish PETA would fuck off already. Where's the big activist group for children's rights? Is there one? I don't even know which tells me if there is one, they suck too and/or aren't getting any publicity because it's so much more media friendly to talk about puppy mills and dead cats found in homes on 'Hoarders' than it is to talk about physical and sexual abuse and neglect. That's just a stab in the dark.

2. Bullshit is rampant in our society. Everyone's so concerned about what other people think of them that it's nicey-nice all the time and saving face and kissing ass. End it people. Maybe, if just once in awhile, we were all straight with each other, people wouldn't suck so much. Of course, I tend, apparently, to share my thoughts too often and people think I'm mean. My favourite was when a 35+ year old man recently shared his thoughts on the horrors of bi-racial marriages. Seriously?! It's 2009. The scarier thing is, this fucknut has children and is likely sharing those views and opinions with them. Or maybe the scariest thing is he thought it was okay to say this out loud. I really don't know. My husband, however, placed himself between me and this man, because not being a fan of bullshit or pretending to like someone I don't, I was sharing some strong feelings and opinions in response to his ridiculously ignorant remark.

3. Christmas is 12 days away. Not even close to being done shopping. Number of barriers in the way including the flu that attacked us this weekend, but really that wasn't the biggest obstacle. At present I'm not prepared to get into what the biggest obstacle is; my point is, I used to LOVE Christmas. Now I'm more like those other a-holes who whine and gripe about it all December long. And I hate that. People are messing with my Christmas spirit. I've decorated, listened to Christmas music ad nauseum all in the name of trying to get into the spirit and for the most part it just ain't happening.

This is depressing and so is this blog. However, I needed to vent. It was either that or go off on people who don't deserve it and/or resort to underhanded manipulative shit I try to stay away from.

Merry Christmas...

The PMS Chronicles

2009-12-02T19:11:00.000-06:00

Hello. I do realize I've covered this topic before, but I think it bears mentioning again...

So here we are, another month, another uncontrollable surge of hormones. The emotional roller coaster I've been on this week has taken me everywhere from fighting off tears whilst singing along to Amy Grant's "Tennesee Christmas" (not sure what this was about. The farthest south I've ever been in my life is Minot, North Dakota) to having chest pains earlier today from sheer rage at the car dealership. Oh and there was a brief stop in Gull Lake, Saskatchewan where I came very close to committing manslaughter. Maybe that's where I'll start:

Monday I drove 697 kms. In one day. On my way home, I needed to stop for gas and food. I was hungry enough at this point that I was considering eating my lip balm but settled for a disgusting gas station sub instead. I was very tired and when I got to the gas station, which was full serve, I was more than ready and willing to let them pump my gas for me. So I waited a bit and when no one came out, decided, I am not above pumping my own gas and really I just need to get back on the road, so what the hell? Just as I had finished filling my tank, the stunned Oompa-Loompa (for the record she is not actually a "little person", just short ) who works there came out and cheerfully said,"Fill it with regular ma'am?" Um, nope, all done here. Thanks though. So as I may have been quite abrupt with this little ray of retarded sunshine, she looked confused and tried a different approach; "I love your purse!". I did not reply. It was really just for the best. So after trying to find something halfway suitable to eat I made my way to the till. By this time Farmer Ted had come in to get some gas as well and instructed Pollyanna the Wonder Tool to go fill his truck with gas. So, after awhile, Farmer Ted, who I assume was not PMSing began to do that exaggerated sigh thing a person does when they are becoming annoyed and tired of waiting. He did this again and looked at me. At this point I muttered "Good Lord" and looked outside to see where she was. She was, in fact, making her leisurely way back inside. No hurry. I like bunnies. (I'm assuming these were some of her thoughts).

Another woman then came to the front and helped my farmer friend with his purchase. Which left me with fuckface. So she apologizes for the wait, and again, I did not reply. How rude! Really, considering what I wanted to say, it really really was the best option. After a short time she became distracted by her belly button or maybe it was just a shiny object, I'm not sure, but I could take it no longer and reached across the counter and ripped my own receipt off the debit machine and signed it. She did not quite know how to react. This is one of those times where after I realize my reaction may have been slightly extreme. However, patience is not my virtue. Any I do have I use up every single day at work and there is none left for the rest of the idiots I encounter. And really, I don't think it phased her. She looked a little startled but then probably remembered that Skittles also come in tropical flavours and all was well with the world.

As for me, I have chosen to not partake in anymore of Amy Grant's Christmas carols this week. In between bouts of rage I continue to have overwhelming feelings of love for my husband and children and stop myself from sending them a group text stating so...really that would frighten them more than the anger.

Bottomline is Mother Nature is mean and right now, so am I. (except when I'm crying). ;)

The Dissolution of Friday Night

2009-11-06T21:54:00.000-06:00

Once upon a time I was known as Fargs. Fargs was a good time. She was the go to girl if you wanted to have a few drinks and a lot of laughs. Nary a Friday night passed without a drink or two, maybe a house party or a trip to the bar. Want to party til 4 in the morning? I was your girl? 6 a.m., why not? Bring it.

Cut to a Friday night in 2009. I just washed all my floors. Including my large living room floor on my hands and knees. I folded some laundry and put it away before that. Did some filing, so to speak and have plans to later go through the flyers and make a list of which sales I'd like to try and hit tomorrow.

What the fuck?!

The craziest thing I've done tonight is partake of this lovely little cocktail sitting here in front of me (vodka and cranberry Gingerale is delightful). And at most I'll have two because I have to be up at 6:30 a.m. tomorrow due to various sporting engagements (not my own).

Sigh. Where have all the good times gone?

Part of the reason for my fierce house cleaning tonight is a) my husband isn't home so I always get more done and b) last weekend my husband's very nice aunt came and watched our children for us overnight and c) she very likely partook in a flea dip and looked into getting her Twinrex (sp?) shot after spending the night in our home. As I've mentioned before, we've got the four kids and both work full time. I don't know if I have bothered to mention we also have a Golden Retriever and two cats. The hair in here is like something out of a horror movie. We had to leave unexpectedly and it wasn't a trip for pleasure so my usual obsessive compulsive clean up before anybody enters our home wasn't able to happen...it wasn't pretty. Now my husband's aunt is an awesome lady. She's so nice and would never dream of mentioning the shape our home was in but I can't get it out of my head. Hence the guilty clean. Oh I've done it more than once. Someone will show up unexpectedly and our house is gross (which is more often than not) and then within either minutes to a day or two of them leaving I do a full scale attack on the house. And inevitably we don't have company again for two months and/or until the house is back to it's "charming" self.

But I digress....the whole point of this was I think I killed Fargs. And damnit, I liked her.

PMS and Why

2009-10-15T19:29:00.001-06:00

Okay lady friends (and those gentleman who've decided to peruse this entry), we all know how much we hate to be accused of having PMS. Sure, sure, it's fine for us to admit we have it or joke about having it but please, for the Love of God, don't tell us that's what our problem is...

For example, I had a mood swing so extreme this past Saturday that I'm sure a slight tsunami was created. Had a great day. So relaxed. Caught up on a bunch of TV shows, laid on the couch, just vegged. It was super fantastic. Felt really good about it. Then it was time to get up and get moving again. Off to work a fundraiser for my son's upcoming trip to Europe. I didn't want to go. I dislike 98% of the people in the fundraising group. It was cold out. I was going to be mixing drinks, in the cold, for the next three hours straight. With idiots. Anyway, my youngest had woken up from his nap and I was trying to get ready so I called (yelled really loudly and probably somewhat demanding-ly) down to my husband to ask him to come and get this guy up and out of his crib. And my husband had the nerve to respond in kind. He yelled at me! Can you believe it? I certainly did not. I was only raising my voice to be helpful and heard over the TV....and even if I was being somewhat 'curt' there is certainly no need to yell back. So then after a mild discussion in the bedroom where he had the audacity to accuse ME of freaking out, I lost my mind for about 30 seconds. I may or may not have picked up and slammed down a decorative basket. I may have raised my voice ever so slightly to impress upon an important point I was making. Really, the details are not important, what is important, is I was fucking mad. So mad I was even kind of surprised at myself. In the moment, I was convinced this was very likely HIS fault. So I left the house without saying another word and drove to the meeting spot for the fundraiser.

Cut to Tim Horton's parking lot. I inform my co-fundraisers I will be driving in by myself and am relieved when they don't ask why. Actually, to back it up a bit, on the 10 minute drive to Tim Horton's I considered saying "fuck it" and heading to Saskatoon or to Regina and using my credit card and just having a night away and not telling my husband where I was or what I was doing. As this likely would've really smoothed things over between us. I should point out that Saskatoon is the farther place from me, and it's only two hours away. I'm a rebel. So rebellious, in fact, that instead I went to the fundraiser.

Anywho, I tell the ladies I'm going alone. And maybe there was a touch of crazy in my eyes because no one argued or asked why. They simply accepted this. I did not look at what they were driving, just got into my SUV-crossover type of vehicle, that seats 7, and sped off to Regina. I beat them to our destination and waited in the parking lot. They pulled in. Five people in a little four door sedan. They all saw me get out of vehicle and then shoe-horned themselves out of theirs. Now, I'm not a fan of some of these folks, but I felt like a real a-hole.

So then it was time to start bartending. Myself and my 'partner' (read: idiot) were supposed to be making rye & cokes. Just for future reference and for those of you non-drinkers, rye and cokes are comprised of two things: rye. and. coke. So football fans are thirsty people and apparently when it's cold they can't get enough rye and coke. There was some pressure involved in this situation. So I set to filling cups with ice and shots of rye. I looked around for my partner/idiot and noticed she and her big ass were filling up a jug with pink lemonade. Confused? I was. And enraged. It took every last ounce of self control and common decency not to go over and yank the jug out of her hand and ask her what the fuck she was doing. Sorry if you are offended by the language (if you are, we probably shouldn't ever converse in person, especially if I'm at work) but I literally just stared at her for awhile, bottle of Rye in my hand and a tiny bit of irrational hatred in my heart. This carried on for most of the evening. She bumped into my with her ass more times than I care to mention and always managed to be in the way. Helpful, thanks.

But I've let this get away from me...by the time I got home that night (after offering a ride home to some of my co-fundraisers so as not to feel as quite as big of an ass) I was in a good mood again. Cuddled up with said husband who I nearly shanked prior to leaving the house and all was good.

That was definitely the biggest swing but it happened on the worst possible day. I've had little ups and downs since. Today I was not waited on in a timely fashion in a clothing store so left all of my stuff on the counter and walked out....maybe some leftover hormone issues there. Patience isn't really my strength to begin with.

Point being, why the hell does PMS have to be so crazy? You never know from month to month what it will bring; it could be cramps from hell or bloating that just won't quit or several small or one major psychotic episode. Really, Mother Nature, what's the point? Give us girls a break. Then I got to thinking, maybe the whole point is to make this special time of the month so miserable, us girls will just keep getting knocked up to avoid it. Aha! I'm sure there's some kind of study done on that. Either way I'll carry on with being crazy because if I have anymore kids someday one idiot is going to get in my way and end up with a jug of pink lemonade shoved up her ass.

Just One More Thing

2009-10-02T13:29:00.000-06:00

Just a little addendum to my previous note to our precious senior friends:

Rinsing your dentures off in the sink in the public bathroom in Zellers is NOT OKAY. #1: this is very unsanitary. Ger-ross. #2: I don't ever ever want to see your dentures out of your mouth. However if I'm in said bathroom and am washing my hands after using the facilities and I happen to glance over to see what it is your flinging back and forth under the tap over there, do not glare at me like I've commited some crime! I'm just following basic hygiene practises, you are the one bucking several accepted norms of proper social behaviour! And, #3: I had to work very hard not to get the giggles after you glared at me whilst waving your teeth around in the sink next to me. If I can't maintain control I come off lookin' like the crazy. #4: it's just not okay!

I'm so tired and why "fitness" blows.

2009-09-28T19:09:00.000-06:00

Hello friends. I'm going to try to keep this short because I'm tired. Sooo tired. Why, you ask? Well really there are a number of contributing factors but for today I shall focus on fitness. Let me explain:

I have had four children (not good for anybody's figure unless you're that chick from Wild On!, you know, Brooke whassername) and I like two things a lot: vodka and carbs. I was going to say chocolate but that really doesn't capture the depth of my addiction to all things bad for me. White bread, white pasta, white rice. Bring it on. All of it. And then, kind sir, bring me a King size Twix bar (or Snickers, Skor, KitKat (the list of possibilities here is endless)) and a big ol' glass of milk. And whilst enjoying this diabetic nightmare of a feast, please put some Chelsea Lately or perhaps a little Intervention on the TV. And bring me a blanket. I'm sure by now you get the idea...

Hence why I went to spin today at lunch. This was not my first time at spin, nor will it be my last. I hate it. There is burning and sweating and swearing and panting. Take away the burning and switch "swearing" for "dirty talk" and we could be talking about a real good time. But alas, we're not. We're talking about a chipper fit friend of mine on a bike at the front of the room telling me to do things like sprint. While standing. Or hey, maybe instead just do push-ups while your pedalling. I know, for fun, let's sprint and increase the tension (a.k.a. make it REALLY hard). Why go, you ask? Well, kids, with my love of TV, carbs and the vodka, if I don't go, pretty soon I'll be puking up my Peanut M&Ms and popcorn (mixed together at the theatre and it's Heaven) on the Biggest Loser while Jillian screams obscenities at me. And as much as I LOVE that show and have, on occasion, downed an entire box of Ferrero Rocher while watching it, I do not necessarily want to be part of it all.

So I go to spin. With two of friends who feel this is such a good time, they go twice a day sometimes! I know, I know. I just shake my head. And then I rest it on the pillow and eat a cookie. That usually makes me feel better.

To My Senior Friends...

2009-09-21T20:32:00.000-06:00

I'd like to make a motion to create a bylaw (I have no idea what I'm talking about) to have all of my senior friends stay home during the following hours: 7:30 a.m. to 8:30 a.m. and again from 4:30 p.m. to 5:30 p.m.. Why, you ask? Here's why: I have a job. Yep, go to it just about every day. Typically I'm running late (if it's in the a.m.) or I'm going home in the pursuit of sweet freedom and to escape talk of petite fit versus regular fit (a conversation heard in the mailroom at work today) and I'd like to be able to get where I'm going as quickly as possible. This becomes less possible if I'm driving behind one of my senior friends in his ten gallon cowboy hat driving 20km on his way to Co-op for coffee. Sir, please, for the love of God, just hold out and tell the rest of your senior friends that you'll be there by 8:30 at the latest. I'm sure they'll understand. And the bonus is a 95% less chance of my having a coronary episode before I turn 35.

I'd like to amend said bylaw to include the following clause; after it's dark out, if you are one of said 'senior friends': stay home. The other night two of my children and I were driving home from Dairy Queen at 9:15 p.m. and got behind one of our 'friends' who was driving 20 km/hour. It was dark. My ice cream was melting. Not okay. What was even more not okay was the fact that I could barely make out if anyone was actually operating the vehicle or not. It was one of our tinier friends. I get that you shrunk and that back in the day you were probably a solid 5'4" but those days are gone... If you insist on going out that late at night you need to at least be able to make it look like you can see, even though we both know you can't. Eventually we passed this person and noticed they seemed to have a healthy case of the shakes as well...and my Blizzard was a little too melt-y for my liking. I should add I did still eat it.

Okay, this got a little off topic...to my dear senior friends: feel free to roam the streets in broad daylight and when I'm at work. Other than that, stay at home and crochet or look for something you may or may not have lost. Like your teeth.

What's the Point?

2009-09-19T16:23:00.000-06:00

I was really gung ho about this when I first started as I imagined myself quickly being discovered as the next Jen Lancaster or Chelsea Handler. As I still do not have any followers I am thinking this is not going to happen. Which is unfortunate. If I hear one more reality show contestant or millionaire/celebrity say if you're not doing what you love then life simply isn't worth living I might lose complete control of my senses. This statement is usually said by someone who is either a) 22, single and loaded or b) loaded. Perhaps I should clarify, 'loaded' in this case means rich. Filthy rich. Although perhap there could be a double entendre here. Those who are either intoxicated, or more often, stoned, are prone to wax philosophical on the merits of pursuing one's dreams. Then they get distracted by a Dorito and all is lost....

Point being, I hate my job. I do not have the option to quit unless I'd like to have my vehicle repossessed, lose my house, and move myself, my husband and our four kids into a van down by the river. So for the time being, I'll do this little bit of writing a.k.a. "doing what I love" and it will have to suffice.

Vodka and Why it is my, and should be your, best friend

2009-08-22T19:17:00.000-06:00

Was having a bit of a day earlier and then decided that maybe my good friend Vodka would be of help. And guess what? She was! God love her.

Terrifying Thought

2009-08-22T16:32:00.000-06:00

What if retirement sucks? As a child all I wanted to do was grow up. Then I could do what I wanted. So far that seems to entail working 40 hours, sometimes more, a week at a job I hate with people I can't stand. Then I divide my 'free time' on the weekend between housework, laundry and grocrey shopping. Not the picture of freedom of choice I had in mind. So now I spend my days longing for retirement...but today a horrifying thought came along: What if retirement sucks? I'm not sure how this could be possible as I saw five or six elderly gentlemen having coffee at the Co-op Friday morning with a 40 of Rum on the table. That seems like nothing but good times. But maybe they were drinking before 10 a.m. to mourn the loss of their respective faculties ? Maybe they are lonely widowers...Depressing. For now, in an effort to keep a glimmer of hope alive, I'm going to assume neither and hope this was a Friday morning tradition they have enjoyed for many years and refuse to give up because it's AWESOME.