Anger

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Break-Up: Part II

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

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

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

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

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

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

Should Not Even Be Blogging

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

Hand Over the Sugar and Nobody Gets Hurt

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

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

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

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

I'm Gross

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

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

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

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