Embarrassing Realizations (Part 2 of ∞ )

No matter how hard you try, no matter how many washes, black track pants/sweat pants will inevitably leave black fuzzies in the crack of your arse. It's true.

Be aware of this now, and every time you wear them (for only the most discerning people [such as myself] wear pants with elastic waistbands that are comprised of a pilly fleecy interior). p.s. They call them sweat pants for a reason. SwAss people, swass.

Don't even TRY to deny that. You'll think you're pooping spiders for a second.

 
Second embarrassing revelation: Don't attend a "Toronto Dances With The Stars" workshop, with only a modicum of dance knowledge.

You will be surrounded by excellent dancers who already know the moves, more than a few bitchy/ignorant dance studio teachers/owners who will tell you to "get the hell out of the way", and a bunch of people who THINK they can dance, but cannot.

The latter group will treat your (my) apologetic, bumbling, self-conscious ass like a piece of whale poop, as you (I) muddle through the instruction without a partner.

Dmitry Chaplin shoots lasers out of his left eye. Totally worth the ticket cost.

I got a picture with Dmitry - he's cute and personable. He was nicer than most of the participants there!

Me & Dmitry, and my flashless, non-smart phone

While I am sure there were a few other semi-normal single folk out there attending this workshop, I was only exposed to a few crazies, and one complete and utter douchebag/slimeball who forcibly made me dance to the last song on my way out of the evening gala dinner (with my coat and gloves on).

MY INNER VOICE: "Guess what asshole, you're wrong. You can't dance." (Image source)

Third embarrassing revelation: If there is a somewhat friendly single male individual who offers to partner up with you for one dance practice session, and your gut is telling you "Get the fuck away from this guy, he oozes creep and causes you extreme discomfort!" ... then listen to your gut.

A little of this:

Irritating and salesman-like

Plus a little of this:

The finger-gun type. (No, this isn't him)

Inevitably, your phone calls to random people to avoid him and your declining of his insistent offer to leave the venue to go to lunch together will still not prevent him from proclaiming that you "are the one he wanted to spend the night with", then grabbing your ass at the end of the night. This will all happen before he asks how to stay in touch, you decline the offer, then he chastises you for having the audacity to show up to an event like that if you have a fiancee. (HELLO, dickwad, did you not see the ring on that finger?).

Seriously, he gave me his "card" with his title on it. Guess what his self-generated business card title was? 

"The Connector". (Arguably still better than "The Shocker", I suppose)

I saw him making his way around the room to all of the apparent single ladies, and I think he was gauging their playability based on their:

A) Outfit.
2) Lack of self-esteem (or unwarranted abundance of self esteem).
J) Level of isolation in the room (appearing to be there alone or not).
5) Their inability to tell him off when/if he gets all touchy/grabby/in their face/insistent.


Blah. I was just relieved to get the hell out of there and not have anyone trail me to my car. I will never go out on a limb an attend a social-dance thing like this again.

Final realization for this post: Tons of people call the person they are going to marry their fiancee. Or fiance. (Fee- awnce - say). I feel like an utter douche when I say those words (BF is FABULOUS, it's not him, it's the word). I realize now I can't call him BF any more in these posts, dammit. So in order to cushion the douchey-blow I feel I deliver with every "fiancee"-drop, BF will now be officially renamed to Feyoncé. HA! That's right. He's gonna hate it.

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Rap, The Superbowl, and Sex-ay Knees

So, just in case anyone was wondering/curious/losing sleep at night as to whether or not rap/hip-hop-pop music sounds wicked awesome live, um.

It sucks balls.

Hard.

I believe that there is no rap that sounds good live. It's just shouting. The Superbowl confirmed this, and it isn't even hard-core rap. I am pretty sure that Fergie and Slash would have made Axl Rose roll in his grave (since his career is totally dead  if he were actually dead).

Ohhh, woah woah sweet earful atrocity of mie-ine.... ooooh woah woah woah, sweet Slash-Fergie collaboration...

What.The.FUCK? Seriously? Reeeeally? Seriously?

That was brutal. I was in a restaurant with my mom, and even the restaurant noise, restaurant music, and our desperate attempts to speak very loud (to drown out the sound of her dying-cat-like-singing) were no competition.

I think I threw up a little in my mouth.

Oh Slash. Are times that hard, my friend?

So, it took me a while to decide which Superbowl party to go to. I had SO many invites (read: NONE), so I went to dinner for half, and then sat on the floor with the dogs for the other half.

Also?

Last night I got all dressed up to go to Toronto for dinner with BF and friends. Rocked a new dress with a wee patent belt, and patent knee high boots. Rocked out the red Christmas coat. Felt pretty good.

Was sitting in the car, while BF pumped gas, when I realized I was not as sex-ay as I felt:

Goddamn knobby knees, poor vision, dim bathroom lighting and KNEE EFFING HAIR.

Yeah. That is some serious hair on the knee. It's LONG people. How does one miss that? Clearly for weeks? Like, every time I've shaved for the past month?
I felt instantly gross.

Driving home the point that I shall never, ever, feel confident or sex-ay, because there will always be something just lurking around the corner to drag you down and make you feel like a hairy horse.

Just sayin'.

Fuck you, knee hair. Well played.



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To Love A Pet

No, not like THAT you sick pervs.

I have done a lot of thinking over the last many years about the family pets we have had the honour of adopting/owning. I have had moments of such unexplainable, limitless joy with their adorable personalities and the love that they have brought into my life.

I have experienced months (okay, maybe more than that) of the deepest, saddest sorrow over losing such non-judgemental, loving, perfect little creatures.

I find that their eyes can be so expressive, their companionship unfailing, and their kisses uplifting even on the worst of days.

The adoption of this new puppy brings the question up to me again - is it really possible to love a kitty or puppy or other companion animal to your very core? To feel like you are an unstoppable duo together, and that their love is one of the sweetest, most unconditional and honest kinds of love out there?

My heart is just exploding with happiness when I am sitting between my two doggies, or when the new pup is sleeping on my legs or giving me kisses. I miss my Scooby, and I always will. At the same time, I am so happy to be able to have the companionship of these doggies.

To the pets that have gone:

Marnie - our childhood cat who was tormented by me and my sister, who was de-clawed and missing teeth and could still catch mice:

Marnie was around before I was old enough to walk.

You were a fighter, and one kick-ass kitty. I loved your unique markings and Elvis sideburns. I'm sorry for any of the unkind childhood things I did to you.

Casey - our first puppy was a learning experience and a sweet little thing. I hope you know that you were loved little fur ball. I am sorry for any mistakes we made with you, pup.

Clancy - our German Shepherd doggy who was gifted to us by my dying grandpa. You were a strong boy. We were fairly new to raising a dog, and Mom and Dad did everything they could to keep your cancer at bay. Everything that was done was done out of love. I remember playing fetch with you on your last day. You were a regal, smart dog.

Brandy - Our German Shepherd girl with her very own La-Z-Boy recliner. Even jumping into it once in the moving van when we were loading in our furniture:

Brandy on her La-Z-Boy. Such a sweet girl.

Those stinkin' hip issues would become too painful for you, even with Metacam pain medicine. You were so loved, and you helped train my Scoobers to be the wonderful pup she was. I love you and miss you, girl.

Murphy: The brown tabby who chose Dad, as opposed to us choosing him, when we went to the Brant County SPCA. Shortly after we lost Brandy, and just after I started volunteering there. You reached out with your claw and hooked into his jacket. He fell in love with you on the spot:

A beautiful brown tabby, Murph loved playing all along the basement stairs.

You were so pretty, and so playful. Ahem, I mean handsome. HANDSOME. You used to torment my blind Mr. Grey by hiding in high places he couldn't reach. You left us at only 4 years old when something went very wrong during a routine dental procedure. I know there's a hole in Dad's heart, whether he admits it or not. I miss you little guy.

Your ear hair was adorable. As was the way you would sip from running water in the sink, or try to jump across the toilet seat when the men of the house wouldn't latch the door. Wetness ensued.

Always an amusing kitty, our Murphy.

Love you guy.

Mr. Grey - I fell in love with you the moment I laid eyes on you in the sick room at the shelter. Your eyes were crusted up and you were wheezing, sick with upper respiratory infection. (It's rampant in shelters, even with strict protocol... they always did the best they could with what they had).

My sister read your name card on the bulletin board. Mr. Grey - so simple, so fitting, so YOU:

I loved your wide pink kitty nose, and your unending affection.

I remember having my sister take a photo of you and I together that I photoshopped, in the hopes we could guilt Mom and Dad into adopting you. I missed a weekend of volunteering (the same weekend BF told me he loved me for the first time), to come back and find you had been adopted out. My heart was sad, but I was happy you found a home.

A happy cat, blind and all.

Well, fate stepped in, and you were returned to the shelter for some lame reason. After observation by the shelter staff, I asked/offered to foster you at my house to see how you did. We figured out fairly quickly that you were blind. We also fell for you hard... adopted you, and never looked back.

You were always willing to snuggle, always happy to greet me at the door. You would meow if we had momentarily forgotten that Scooby was outside the back door waiting to be let in. How the hell you knew that, being blind and having the door closed, was beyond me.

You'd let me pick you up like a child, arms wrapped around my chest and back, legs on either side of me.

Giving me one of your special hugs that you only ever gave to ME. :-)

You were an awesome friend and I am so sad that I had to let you go. What started as a claw infection with Clavamox antibiotics quickly turned into you stopping eating within a day... then drinking. Force feeding at the vet, IV, and emergency visits ultimately resulted in an ultrasound and a diagnosis of stomach cancer. It breaks my heart that you couldn't/wouldn't eat at the end and were so tired. I cherish that last night that you slept in bed with us, and the few minutes of purring you shared with me. I'm sorry your ending was so sad and painful. I'll love you forever, little guy, and I miss you.

Scooby - My "Akita/Husky" cross "free-to-good-home" puppy that turned out to be Great Dane or Lab or some kind of awesome hybrid who was my very best friend in the world:

Scooby Doo - such an awesome, sweet and gentle girl.

She got me through high school, was with me for every high and every low until January of 2010. I made a video for you here, Baby Girl. I will always love you and always miss you.


Never underestimate how much companion pets can mean... how much love and joy they can bring into your life. Animal shelters are so full of pets who have so much love to give....



Back to funny next time....


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Stress = Shopping

I am tempted to state "the title says it all" and then just publish the post.

However, I have been away from the blog longer than usual (though never too far from the laptop, which doesn't really make any sense). So I should probably elaborate. Please don't fall asleep.

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Rockband Chin Electrocution - Part F*CK That Hurt...

That's right folks.


I wanted to try to post some new material since this blog is growing a little cobwebby (maybe it is my brain, one never really knows these things).

But first! First BF decided he would play along with me (literally) so I could sing a few songs on Rock Band 2. We geared up. Drums were adjusted. Songs were selected. (It may have been "Who Knew" by P!nk, or it may have been a hard-core death metal song, one never really knows these things either).

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A Quick Apology & Award

In my infinite quest for mastering all things Google/Gmail/Blogger/Buzz, I managed to remove myself from many (if not ALL) of the blogs I had previously been "following".

So if you awoke one morning and were one less follower, and thought "what asshole disliked me enough to unfollow? Seriously? Who does that? I mean, the joy that "following" provides is so immense... a person could just "follow" and never come back if they wanted to, yet some asshole felt it necessary to "unfollow" me? WTF? Who does that? Seriously??... Really?? Seriously?"

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Why Does My House Smell Like Omelettes?

Oh... probably because I played the Swedish Chef from the Muppets, and fried the shit out of some red onion, peppers and tomatoes... oh, and added some eggs, playing omelette chef today before I nearly missed the last GO Transit train into downtown Toronto.

Bork, bork, bork!

Nice to come home to a house that smells like the omelette-that-once-was (read: fried-freakin'-onions). Hey, at least the shizz stayed down.

Also? I successfully navigated the TTC (subway) and the GO Train home after a few Smirnoff Ices and some blue Vex lemonade-like sugar-drink (and the accompanying gut-rot). All while wearing an MP3 player and fearing every moving thing around me (like any good policeman's daughter would)!

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I Lied To You!

I bet you all just thought I was being "lazy", perhaps "spending time with family" over the "holidays" and neglecting my blogging duties as a result. You would actually be right, BUT, I lied to you in that I was doing it all from the Caribbean.

Today was the trip home. So, don't be mad I didn't share that with y'all, since I figured you would probably want to break into my house and steal my TV that doesn't even have an input-plug-thingie for a DVD player (that's right, bitches, no PVR, no game system, no DVD, hell... no VCR! Don't be hatin').

Just kidding. You're not really bitches.

On the other hand, place me on two flights, being awake for 25 hours straight, with an overwhelmingly allergic reaction to Red Lane Spa "shampoo" (I seriously think it was floor cleaner in the bottle, my scalp is shedding in ways no human should dander...), in an airport with a bunch of loud French-speaking Canadians (yes, I am Canadian, btw), then a kid kicking my airplane seat for an hour, and you have got yourself one SERIOUSLY miserable bitch.

No wait, they're just REALLY fucking loud and don't care. Asshats. I think they thought they were at a party? Easy to get that confused in a massive, echo-y airport. My bad.

But, I love you all so much that I wanted to get that all out and post before you all thought I was dead or had forgotten about this blog.

I tried to sleep here. I FAILED miserably. Thanks airport noises and LOUD people!

I haven't called my Grandma to thank her for the salad bowl for Christmas. I haven't sent messages to all of my wonderful friends who actually remembered me this year and sent Christmas cards (thereby also not apologizing for my being distracted/busy/overwhelmed and not sending out Christmas cards this year to anyone but the few, the proud, the  Marines  immediate family).

So while I've been absent, I hope to recall enough from my drunken haze of the last eight days or so to recount (with fervor and snarkiness matched by no one) the good, the bad, the ugly and the humorous from my experiences over the next few posts.


I mean, with gems like the one below, how could you NOT look forward to this?

 

HAPPY 2011 EVERYONE!

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Embarrassing Realizations (Part 1 of ∞ )

In no logical order:


I went bra shopping the other day. I found out that I am neither a B, C or A cup. Go figure. There are no half sizes, so I am kind of fucked pooched on that one. Also - nipples are ugly, weird creatures. Ladies, don't even TRY to deny that one.

Or lack thereof, or knowledge of the correct size...

Trying to find a smart word to use and failing miserably makes you sound like a stupid douchebag; simply use simple sentences when you are fatigued and not-at-all articulate. (Yes, I just used 'douchebag' and 'articulate' in the same sentence - that takes talent, my friends). Though I may have misused the semi-colon, despite The Oatmeal's teachings... oh well, I'll use the hell out of the beloved ellipsis to make up for it.


Farting Passing gas with an mp3 player on and headphones in your head is still audible farting to the people around you. Seriously. You need to accept that and remember that. The same goes for being on the phone at the office and lifting a cheek. Sure, the person on the other end may not be aware, but your co-workers sure as hell are!

I realize that I panic when I get close to a drive-thru window and have, more than once, hit the wrong button to put the window down because I get all flustered when I have to place an order. Even for a coffee.
I'd like to blame this on my old Impala that my Dad helped re-configure (the driver's side window button fried out, so he finagled a way to switch the 4-pad window controls to allow me to control the windows on a diagonal, and backwards). But in truth, I just get all antsy and push buttons randomly. Awesome.



That having a coupon and inviting your mom and sister to shop at a store in your hometown is not enough reason for them to want to spend some time shopping with you if you live 28 minutes from their alternate store/destination. They will find a coupon elsewhere, and shop together without you. You will shop alone. And you won't find a bra that fits. And, see paragraph below.

(p.s. THANKS A BUNCH G.D. for the COUPON!!! MWUAH!! You are a doll!).

That trying to save money by trying on all of the cute tight fitting clearance dresses will end up costing you more than you bargained for when you realize the next day that your belly ring (purchased at a real, actual jewelry store, despite BF's stern, but short-lived, objections) busted off and is likely stuck on the inside of one of said dresses, somewhere in the store. Alternately, it may have been swept up in the change room and thrown in the trash. Way to save.

See? At least I learned about clearance stuff since my last post... no wait...

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I Am Expecting...

So... all the tell tale signs are there.

• Tiny stomach paunch
• Crazy food cravings
• Increased appetite
• Sluggishness and fatigue.

Yes people, I am expecting.... to gain a shit load of weight in the next month or two on my recently prescribed medications.

*GENERAL EXTREME LET DOWN OF FAMILY AND FRIENDS WITH CHILDREN COMMENCES...  THEN ENDS*

So, yes, following my specialist's appointment, I have been put on 4 new medications, 3 of which cause weight gain. AWESOME. I have already been waking up with swollen face, which is totally awesome and almost got a photo for the blog (but eye crusties and pure laziness down-voted that idea faster than a ... um... all I can think of are rude sexual remarks so I will forge on).

Medication weight gain + increased appetite + Christmas season & associated all things sugary + Cannot drink alcohol.

Merry fucking Christmas y'all.

However, on a pregnancy related note, I wanted to let you all know that you can, in fact, buy a pregnancy test at the dollar store for $1.25 plus HST (13% tax for my non-Canadian friends). And it works (or at least I hope so, because it said it was negative).

The specialist phoned me at home and requested I take a pregnancy test before I underwent some tests at the hospital. (He didn't seem to understand that sex is required in order to become sperminated, but I digress...).


$18 pregnancy test kits are for suckers!! (Unless accuracy is important)....


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Do I Sound Like A Tool? Do You?

So Simple Dude got me thinking (bravo Simple Dude, that is a rare occurrence, my friend!) and questioning my online speak, my blogging etiquette and my general social networking retardation in general.

Wordnet Web would like to let you know:

S: (adj) retarded (relatively slow in mental or emotional or physical development) "Stephanie was so out of touch with internet speak, her social networking skills became exceptionally retarded".

So, moving forward, what the hell?

I feel so out of touch with what is correct online anymore. You all know I've griped about “text-speak” and the like.

Wow, I just said "and the like"... I think I am older than my 30 years.

Tell me wonderful people of the Interwebs, what kind of language is acceptable these days?

• Is lol / LOL / lol'ed appropriate any longer? Sometimes there are funny blogs/comments/Facebook updates that do actually make me chortle (If you haven't yet, you have to read 27b/6) aloud, but as I commented on Simple Dude's post, if you still internally snicker/giggle or outwardly smile at something, how else do you relay that without sounding like a tool? I find "hehe" "haha" "just kidding" or "I found that particular comment somewhat amusing" just don't suffice. Plus, they take too long to type (yes, even hehe, it still technically contains one extra letter).

Yes, my laptop is free-standing and the lower half of my body isn't attached to the top half. Thanks for asking.

Apparently all other bloggers are large-nosed, fingerless, dread-wearing chicks who blog while in yoga chair pose.

• Even *I* know that nobody uses ROFLOLing anymore. I think. (Except one time recently when BF said one of my posts was funny and I was whiny about why he never laughed. His reply? What, do you expect me to roffloll... *snickers*. Yes, he sounded it out. On purpose. I hope think am pretty sure.)

• Is it appropriate to use emoticons? You know,  ole smiley :-) , winky ;-) , big smiley :-D , surprised guy :-O , nearly forgotten sticking-out tongue-at-you dude :-P, cheesy-assed heart <3 (that I TOTALLY use in google chat because it turns right-side up and turns RED people, it turns motherffing RED!).

• Is it appropriate to link back to your own blog with your web address, or reference a related/somewhat-related/not even remotely related post in your comments?  I do this often, as it seems we are a sharing community that way.  I will invite people to say hello, or use html to shorten that shit down.  I've even tried to work it so that if someone clicks on my link it will open in a new window (so as not to divert traffic from the blogger's site I am commenting on) but usually "new window" targets are not allowed in commenting.  I don't mind. Though I think if you leave your url at the bottom of the comment (if not referencing a particular post) that it speaks on its own to check out the site. You don't really need to finish with anything more than the web address itself.  What do you think? Cool?  Not cool?

•  These bullet points are actually really long paragraphs. Just sayin'.

• I know it's my own personal discussion board/venting outlet/creative tool, so I can do whatever I damn well please with it, but if you generally fall into a particular genre (for most of the bloggers who follow me, I would say observational humour), is it appropriate to post deep thoughts, emotional posts, serious topics?  My ”It Gets Better” post was scary and honest and true and I put it out there for all to see. And despite the number of page hits and views, despite the content, it only received 5 comments (2 were from family). On something I think everyone has an opinion on or can relate to at some level. So - is there no place for that here? Thoughts?

Curious to know your honest thoughts, though I'd like to think I will be defiant and post whatever the hell I want to.

• What other uncool stuff have people pulled on their blogs, or in your comments? What other faux pas should be avoided? I want make sure I have a semblance of what is truly appropriate with all you more experienced folks out there, and other non-bloggers who know the social media circuit and these interwebs here.

• Is it okay to have a Twitter account and only update it occasionally when you get an email that someone is following you?  I see other people's regular funny comments, and figure I am doing it wrong.  I kinda sorta totally hate Twitter.

• Is lol cool on Facebook?  Is it annoying as hell to post new blog links as my status?  I figure it is the only way some people might remember to check it out (who aren't regular blog followers or readers).  I worry it comes off spammy, but kind of don't give a shit, either.  I made a Facebook page, but only 9 people seem interested.  Hint, hint.  Just kidding. 

• Oh yeah, I will continue to express myself, of course, and stick it to "The Man" while blogging (hahahaha) <---- see that right there should be an lol, shouldn't it?  No?  I'm so confused.

Who the fuck says cheerio? Seriously.

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Clearance Minded

So I'm overdue. For a post. A POST people, I am not having any beh-bees or anything.

You know how I knew I should just at least post something? Because... wait for it... you won't believe it... BF said he kept checking and there wasn't a new post up. (WTF??) He usually only reads when forced and/or under duress.

So I had a few ideas in my mind. I've forgotten them all. Wicked. Instead, you get this.

Here's the deal. Yesterday, I went to the mall because I had a 30% off coupon for Old Navy. At least I feel sort of normal there. I glance at the regular priced merchandise, pick out a thing or two that I fancy (did I just say 'fancy' and mean it?) then I beeline it to the clearance section.

That's right. I'll admit it. The front of the store gets in my way. I do the walk/saunter/limp of shame to the back, where all the young, skinny-jean and Ugg wearing 16 year old Naviers roll their eyes because I am looking through "last season's" garb.

See? I practically saved as much as I spent. So.... it's like it zeroes itself out, sorta. Like net zero. Okay, not really.

Does some of it fit? Yes.
Most of it doesn't. But you know what? For the right price/discount, I'll make that shit fit. I'll buy three of them.

What's that? I'm not a size L? No... But IT'S $1.97! Minus 30%! Plus another 30% reduction!! How could I say no?

Logic? I'm sorry what did you just say? What is logic? I'm talking a serious sale bitches! It doesn't matter if it is fuchsia and XXL. It's only $2. I can paint in it (you know, in case I make a mess or something), or sleep in it. (Poor BF, I know... another day, another post).

How true it is... how true it is     (Photo Credit)

Last weekend I went to the GAP to get jeans that fit me. WHOA. They have redesigned it since I shopped for pleasure (what are we at now, about a year and a half of illness? sounds about right). I felt like your friendly neighbourhood GAP was all haute couture or something. It took me an eternity to find the sale section. And I feel incomplete unless I have fully scanned the sale section. (Unfortunately, BF was with me and had to endure this).

The sales clerks could tell I was "one of them". Having worked in the retail industry, I know how pushy a clerk is supposed to be. But not to me. They cud tell I wuz small beens and weren't thar to shop for denim coveralls at full price! Heck naw!

We are better than you. Go away.

THE MOTHER has taught me a great many things, and getting a good deal is one that I have eagerly and wholeheartedly adopted for myself.

Winners/T.J. Maxx/Ross Dress For Less = Jizz in my pants or, rather, jizz in my pants (NSFW?).

THE MOTHER, my sister and I have driven three hours across the border, paid toll charges, paid in American dollars with a crap exchange rate and gone to some of the stores IN SEARCH OF THE DEAL.

It's a sickness, but at least it is genetic and I am not alone in it.

It's funny because while I generally refuse to pay more for something than it is worth, I won't hesitate to overspend on gifts for other people. Or travel.

It's either
A) I see the value in myself as that of something on the clearance rack
B) I just really love a good deal and was raised that way
or
C) I don't know. Just seemed like there should be another option.

QUANTITY OVER QUALITY, BABY!!

I intended to buy clothes that fit my body right now, since I kinda look like a bag lady at times, at work. Oh well, I started with good intentions. Now I have more clothes in size large. Awesome. I also return shit like crazy, so....

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Happy 6 Years

No, no, not six years of blogging. If I had 40 followers after 6 years I would cry.

Oh, who am I kidding, these days I would cry over spilled non-dairy milk, or a video about a service dog that a friend posted on FB that was beautiful and heartbreaking all at once... that also reminded me of how much I miss my Scooby. Hell, a strong wind in the eye could bring on the waterworks.

But no, this post is a shout out to BF. He's not here with me now, but I wanted to send him all my love over the interwebs and share it with my many strangers new online friends.

I blog about the everyday things in my life, the fails, the happies, the sads, the expletive-rage-filled moments. But at the end of the day, I wouldn't be able to deal with any of it in the poor fashion that I do without his love and support.

Since I need to maintain his dignity respect his privacy, I won't go on too much about his details, but let me say this:

1. I love Lavalife because without it, I never would have met the man of my dreams (yes, I mean BF).
2. My heart wants to explode when I can make him do his louder, really-thinks-it-is-funny laugh, and I get to see his smile. (Those of you with weak stomachs or easily tripped gag reflexes may wish to navigate away from this post now...).
3. Even when he has a crappy day, he's ready to greet me with open arms at the door and a smile. (Well, we already know my days are consistently crappy as of late...)
4. I never knew I could love like this. I thought I had loved in the past, but BF "gets" me, is honest with me, and still loves me (crazy included at no additional cost). He is no bullshit, and I love it. No games, never ever a douchebag. EVER.
5. He supports me in sickness and health, with a rational mind and a considerate heart.
6. He's warm and snuggly at night time. I hate the empty bed when he is gone (unless I call Sven over, his fill in, but that is secret, so shhhhh).
7. He has the most beautiful blue eyes and I know our children are gunna be puuuurty.
8. I can't imagine a life without him and would never want it. He means the world to me, and I love him with all my heart.
9. He is so smart, he knows the volume of a cylinder? sphere? off the top of his head! (That was what sealed the deal, during one of the many times when I was perplexed in college and he rattled off the formula over the phone - no Googling!)
10. He's a fine piece of ass. (HA! I had to say that just to embarrass him totally. Even though it's true.)

I LOVE YOU!!!

Photographic evidence of my happiness whilst snuggling in his arms. See? I didn't lie there.

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I Burn Shizz

I suck in the kitchen. No, not like that, you perverts. The original title to this post was "I Suck in the Kitchen", but as I wrote, I noticed a different trend.

I am hopeless in the kitchen. Really hopeless.

I remember being 12 and trying my hand at fudge. I knew the instructions said to be exact in timing, and to make sure nothing got burned, but I felt confident. I am quite certain that was the very first and last time I felt confidence in the kitchen.... and in the end both the fudge and my kitchen aspirations were burned into a pile of lumpy grossness.

Okay, in all seriousness, I just set my laptop down to go start my delicious home-made dinner of olive-oil coated baked okra (which actually isn't bad if the okra is fresh, and you don't eff up a simple recipe like the one here), and I placed my laptop down swiftly, directly and without thought, straight into my glass of expensive, organic, not-from-concentrate (hell no!), diluted-with-water, berry juice. It promptly splattered across the beige carpet below.

I cursed. BF helped me clean it up. Thanks BF. I hope we got it all. The lighting in this room is poopy after dark.

So now I should re-state that I suck in the kitchen and I am hopeless in general with food and drink.

Whenever BF suggests we have someone over for dinner I cringe internally because, for me, dinner = FAIL unless it involves dialing, ordering, driving, serving, and throwing out the containers afterward (have I mentioned that I DESPISE doing dishes, too?). When BF suggests this, I also cringe externally, and I think I disappoint him.

One of the most ironic parts of this is that I love to socialize with friends and family (you know, if they return my calls or emails and reply to invitations - SISTER I AM LOOKING AT YOU). But I get paralyzed at the thought of having to make food for other people, because I know the results will be somewhere on the scale from yucky to catastrophic.

When I do try to cook, I turn into an even bigger stressball, and that never starts off a dinner party evening very well, because we all know that BF takes the brunt of the bitchiness. I just know things won't turn out perfectly, and it annoys me and upsets me to no end.

In my youth, I destroyed a microwave trying to make MICROWAVE POPCORN. They mean that shit when they tell you not to leave things unattended. Microwaves especially. And hairdryers.

Much smoke and parental disappointment followed. Who fucks up popcorn that badly? Sure, we've all hoped for a few extra kernel pops, teetered dangerously on the line between a nice, hot, tasty fairly fully popped bag of corn, and the 'damn-i-pushed-it-15-seconds-too-far' result of an entire bag tasting slightly singed. But destroy a microwave? That takes a certain kind of special.

I'm pretty sure even he is disappointed in me.

My okra is as done as it is ever going to be, and as I sit and type, the smoke detector is buzzing its ass off. I've opened the windows, turned on ceiling and exhaust fans, and sit here listening to it chide me about my cooking. It's like the damn thing knows I am recollecting damaging memories involving cooking and smoke from my childhood and it just wants to laugh along.


Before this stupid diet I am on now (not my choice), I had attempted to make toast in the morning. BF was away, and I decided to save time and brush my teeth while it cooked. (No, I am NEVER late for work, why do you ask?).

You know what that resulted in right? An unattended toaster.

Not only did the smoke detector fail to go off, I had a flaming pile of wheat just billowing smoke in the kitchen and hallway. I feared for my dogs. [side note: Then I wondered why they didn't alert me to the impending fire in the kitchen (hey, Lassie would have, right?). Just kidding, Scooby was sleeping and had surely had enough of my shit after 12 years. lol]. I don't know what I did, but I managed to avert major disaster. But the house smelled like burnt toast the entire week that BF was gone.

Now... imagine more smoke. Much, much more smoke. Image copyright.

That cinched it for me. When the lives of my family members hang in the balance because of my ineptitude with microwave popcorn and toast, I think it is time to step away from any kind of heat source. Any heat source and food*.


This can only mean disaster for my future children. Poor, poor, BF.






*Not sure if microwave popcorn really qualifies as food, but still...


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The Joy Of Pets

Pets can be awesome. Pets can be fun. Pets can try to eat your veterinarian. Occasionally, their own feces. Such complex creatures, they are.

Pets can be special, like Allie's dog Katie. Pets can be more feral than snuggly/domestic, like Jody's. Pets can be a source of joy and boundless love. Pets think you are da SHIT. Well, generally, anyway.

Disclaimer: I have tried to make some funnies here, but truth be told I have a ton of emotions mixed up in all of this... the loss of past pets, the awful experience Schultz had, and lots of other things. So please make sure you take as much of the funnies part as possible.

Our dog was a rescue from Loyal Rescue, after a puppy mill bust in Quebec. Normally, I adopt from my beloved Brantford SPCA, but I happened to be searching for a cat after the death of my inspiring, loving, wonderful blind grey tabby Mr. Grey, and I tried searching for special needs pets on Petfinder.com.

We already had my beloved Scooby Doo, and I thought perhaps she could use a companion.

Instead, a goofy looking ad popped up with a great dane on it, and I thought "Hmmm... I wonder..."


I came across this fellow, and my heart melted:

Severely underweight, abused, scared, scarred, exhausted. And yup, that's his penis sticking out. And his vertebrae.

So we brought him home on January 3, 2009.

Now, when I leave the house, and come back later on (45 seconds if it is to put out the green bin and recycling, 15 minutes if I am going to the gym... haha just kidding...    We all know I don't go to the gym.) my boy is so bloody happy to see me, it's like he was certain he was abandoned in the house, all hope was lost and he was destined to spend eternity in a comfortably air conditioned house with easily accessible dog food and lots of places to pee away from his own bed. The horror!

Now, let's face it, when I leave, BF is like "hey... yeah, have fun, don't rush back, we're good here. You gone for a few hours? Days? Have fun with that." Whereas Schultz (the dog) is all FREAKIN' PUMPED when I walk back in because I forgot my sunglasses!!

"Oh hey, hey mom, hey, hey, what's up, you're back, yay! let me watch you type on your laptop while I lay on my one bed or maybe my other bed. hi mom! here's a stuffy (stuffed animal), I don't mind sharing, since you came back and all, hey, hey mom, hi! how are you! you came back! I have a stuffy! let's go pl...."  (then he sees BF and loses interest in me, but still, I relish those 20 seconds of being adored by Schultz).

Kind of like this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q8FWzLMobx0

(Okay, BF never acts like that, but I was trying to emphasize the juxtaposition between the two mentalities of male vs. pet)

For a year, Schultz shared company with my beloved unknown-mixed-breed, my 13 year old girl, Scooby Doo, who I miss terribly. She was an excellent friend who fought hard to be strong for me 'til the end. She did her best to stick with me, but I absolutely had to let her go in January of this year.

Before he learned he could overpower 4'-0" high chain link fence.

Before he knocked her over one time too many, they did play in the back yard and it was precious. (Grainy, using my digital camera, but precious).

See them here:  http://www.youtube.com/v/vrK4YAytYMQ?fs


Just imagine the world for a dog:

• Genital licking - accepted, if not expected, by society in general
• Ability to fart shamelessly, anywhere, any time
• Smaller carbon footprint - no toilet paper
• Happy to eat just about anything, including (but not limited to):
• tubs of margarine (yes, my sister's dog Kody has done that)
• baby socks (Kody left them processed but intact in the back yard),
• scrunchies (Kody)
• shaving razors (that was a fluke, Schultz is nuts, my suction cup fell off the shower wall and he somehow felt the need to try to eat it - which he didn't do, but damn, he tried)
• cat food
• cat feces
• cats
• foam bedding
• chocolate (this is toxic to dogs, but... apparently Kody has a high resistance to toxic items.... uh... good boy?)
• anything with stuffing or strings that will cost $100 for the vet to say "keep an eye on the coughing"
• soap. that had to be brought back up by the vet. after feces had been eaten. the pregnant vet and techs were all either also vomiting, or near vomiting. (Schultz is such a charmer).
• occasionally dry dog food

• SQUIRREL! (no, no, not to eat, see how the bullet point is back out there at the main list??)

Schultz has lots of issues once he gets out the front door or is at the front door. Being restrained seems to trigger something awful in him, which is saddening but also hard to manage. I have to take him to the vet tomorrow, wish me luck. Last time he bit me hard, twice.

So... yesterday I was in a somewhat serious meeting with my boss and a colleague. We were discussing an issue that could potentially be brought to litigation. What did I do while feeling uncomfortably scrutinized and cold in the overly air-conditioned office? Be serious and calm? No. I saw a squirrel outside his window and, in keeping with my professionalism and appropriateness-at-all-times, I spurted out "SQUIRREL!" and laughed to my colleague. Yup.

The Joy of Pets.

Pretty sure I was the only one amused. And the only one who wasn't questioning my sanity. (Well, 'cause I know it's already teetering).


SIDE NOTE:

We are 99% certain that Schultz is the large breed dog discussed in the July 2009 issue of Reader's Digest (Titled "Canada's Puppy Mill Scandal" by Ray Argyle, but I can't find an active link). My mom gave me the hard copy but I either misplaced it or recycled it (which is not like me). He even had to have tail surgery where it had split open. He's been through a lot.

Happy now. :-)

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