Embarrassing Admission - Dec. 12, 2011

I have a complete and utter irrational fear of running out of tomatoes at our house.

We use them on pizza, in sandwiches, and I sometimes cook them in my eggs.
I'm not some Italian chef who requires them to sustain my livelihood.

But as soon as we get down to, like, only TWO tomatoes, I start to panic that I WILL NOT HAVE A TOMATO IN MY TIME OF TOMATO NEED. Whenever that will be.

Oh - we also live about 5 minutes away from two different grocery stores.

The New Husband (AKA the Former Feyoncé™) reminds me that I can... uh... you know, go to the store and buy more at any time. And I know it.

So there you go.

Reason #2,489 why I am a f_cking nutjob: my irrational fear of being tomatoeless at home. (No, not toeless. Totally different fear).

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That Last Post Was About Travel...

Just to clarify; the wedding speeches were awesome. Every single thing that everyone said evoked a laugh or a tear.

My friend, M, started her speech with that "box of chocolates" line, and she did a super-duper-uber-awesome-fantastic job.


I literally posted that last blog entry around the 45-hour mark of our 57 hour journey to get to our honeymoon destination. All international flights were cancelled or changed without our knowing. The airlines screwed us. The travel agency screwed us. Hotels.ca and hotels.com screwed us. Sri Lankan airways totally screwed us, all with a smile on their faces. Luggage was ruined.

Deodorant was forgotten.

Thank goodness for the only 4 uncomfortable hours of sleep in the Yotel single bed pod in London Heathrow airport, or we might have torn each other's head's off.

The Former Feyoncé™ happened to notice something was amiss around 5pm (we were supposed to leave around 11pm). Turns out our flight was gone.

Long story short, we had 10 minutes to pack.
For our honeymoon.
That we didn't pre-pack for.

While freaking out with the phone on speaker-phone mode while the guy at Air Canada tried to confirm whether or not we could even fly out... with an impending flight attendant strike looming that could further screw us if we were to leave a day later.

And had to get our asses to the airport right.then.

Not that I stress out much or anything. (Please note extreme sarcasm font).

We made it.

57.mother-effing.hours.later.

And we are still married, so that says somethin'.


More to come....


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Tooth Whitening Gone Awry

So, here's the thing.

I wanted to whiten my teeth. YES, I know it won't change the colour of my fillings. YES, I know I am a huge p*ssy and can't stand the sensitivity it causes and I bitch and moan mercilessly until I can no longer stand it and I give up on the whitening treatment at hand.

But then... a year passes, and I resume hyper-criticism of myself in pictures and decide that whitening is in order.

It also helped that a company that tried to rip me off accidentally sent me TWO whitening kits in error and so they were just lying around, begging to be loosely and painfully applied to my gums and chompers.

TEST RUN #1:

- Fill flimsy, ill-fitting mouth trays with clear, goopy, mint-like gel.
- Actually place trays inside of my big mouth and wait for glistening magic to happen.
- Begin foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog on steroids baring its fangs and spewing Alka Seltzer at all passers-by.

Like this, but with a little less moustache. (source)

- Curse newfangled whitening method and try to wipe off 6% hydrogen solution of currently sizzling tongue.
- Continue to drool.
- Check watch to see only 3 minutes have passed (of the 30-60 minutes).
- Re-read package instructions to confirm that yes, indeed, swallowing the solution is NOT recommended or safe.
- Realize that there is NO way would Feyoncé™ agree to do this for the wedding, no matter what I promised in return.
- Check watch to see only 2 more minutes have passed, as I try to distract myself from the sexy foaming, drooling and general spit-pooling in my mouth.

Awesome.

TEST RUN #2
- Same as above, however flimsy bottom tray replaced with my fitted (sexy... RAWR!) mouth guard.
- Intense burning has commenced, and part of my lower teeth are not covered in the goopy gel; fear uneven (if any) results.
- Start blog post to bitch about ineffectiveness of Denta Bright.
- Check watch to see only 11 minutes have passed.


Can only assume that this will be my last run. GAH.

TEST RUN #3
- Discover puppy has chewed the ill-fitting mouth trays to shreds on the floor.
- Stand in shock, having not realized puppy can reach the back of the bathroom counter top.
- Realize that teeth are SO.UNBELIEVABLY.SENSITIVE.AND.PAINFUL, that this is so not worth it.
- Stash trays under bathroom sink for next year when cycle will repeat itself (if I can find new trays).

Like this, but with slightly MORE moustache. (source: drchetan.com)

*Another big, long, dramatic sigh*

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Carry-on Luggage BLOWS MY MIND.

I was a cheap bastard one time when I was flying with Delta. Okay, the only time I ever flew with Delta.

Why? Because those buggers charge $25 USD for every checked bag.

And a worrier like me ALWAYS overpacks, thereby immediately costing herself $50 USD for a round trip.

And also ALWAYS visits a Marshalls or T.J. Maxx, thereby requiring even MORE luggage space that doesn't exist.

Well, with some finagling I was able to switch my luggage with Feyoncé™'s. No, I didn't pack his bag without knowing, (I hear those terrifying airport security warnings, c'mon people, some credit here!) we just switched, and he had to carry back a bunch of my crap with his. (Okay, so maybe that meant I did pack part of his bag. Shhhhh). In my BIG suitcase. On Air Canada, before those buggers started charging for checked bags. *cough* Bastards! *cough*.

I would just like to say that standard-size carry-on luggage with that little expandable zipper BLEW MY MIND.

This is all the shizz I fit into it. Into the CARRY-ON only:

That's right - 5 pairs of pants, 2 pairs of workout bottoms, 6 bras, 2 workout bras, 8 shirts, 3 dresses, 3 sweaters, 2 pairs of heels, 1 pair of casual shoes and a bunch of toiletry-crap.

I still can't believe it.

That shit is MAGICAL.



Yeah, shitty blog post, but so what?? I'm putting off doing important things.


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Dear Person... & Cyclists Terrify Me

Dear Person who walked their dog to the top of my driveway, allowing said dog to poop in between my car and the garage door,

Congratulations on an incredible level of passive-aggressiveness.

Very bold, and very baffling. My front door is literally steps away.

You are a fucktard. We clean up our dogs' crap without fail, and the one time Feyoncé™ ran out of bags (after 3 consecutive dog poops), he walked the dogs home quickly, grabbed a bag, and LITERALLY SPRINTED BACK to scoop the mess.

So go fuck yourself.

I clean up enough dog poop on my own.


Piss-off-ed-ly,
Me

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Dear Hypothetical Old Man on a bicycle who I possibly didn't see this morning as I backed out of my driveway going 4 km/hr,

I swear to mother-effing-Jebus I checked both sides of the road, my mirrors, my rear view. I constantly remind myself that although the street I live on is not busy, there are always people/kids/cyclists/dogs out and about, so to be very aware.

Your hypothetical white hair and blue shirt somehow manifested into the stealthiest camouflage I have ever seen. My windows were even open and I never saw or heard anything, except my own completely startled hypothetical voice, apologizing wholeheartedly and calling you sir.

I looked and I have no idea how I didn't hypothetically see you. I am very sorry. Very, very sorry. I still feel awful and probably more afraid than you were of my meep-meep sedan. The fear is increased by the fact I still understand how I hypothetically didn't see you. I vow to be EVEN MORE terrified of driving now than I was before.

I swear I looked everywhere I needed to, yet failed.

Apologetically (hypothetically),


Me


p.s. Did you come back with a small dog and poop in my driveway? You or the dog? Just curious...


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Dear Cyclists,


I was going to write you a letter a few days ago and didn't. This morning's hypothetical cyclist incident got me thinking.


YOU TERRIFY ME when you are on the road. I know you are supposed to be, you are allowed to be, I know you have every right to be, and I honestly try my best to watch out for you, give wide leeway around you, and basically stay the fuck away from you as much as I can, because... well,

YOU TERRIFY ME.

I DO NOT WISH TO HURT YOU.

Also? If you are going to ride on the road, then you should be ADHERING TO TRAFFIC RULES, and be wearing a MOTHERLOVING HELMET for Chrissakes. (I saw a man with his skull cracked open, who surely died, from a bicycle accident. I don't blame the man and didn't see the actual accident, but I would like to think that his chances would have improved with a helmet). That being said, drivers can't be DERP DERP and not be aware.

Don't run stop signs or stop lights. It's MOTHERLOVING dangerous. And it makes you less predictable, increasing the danger factor.

Ride on, cyclists! Hey... where's your... helmet? (Image Source)

I am also afraid when I am walking and see a cyclist with headphones in. I understand the desire for and enjoyment of music, but if you are riding in traffic and are not following traffic rules, then at least leave one motherloving earhole free to hear the sounds around you! Please!!!

Mutual respect folks. Even though you TERRIFY me.

Curled up in the fetal position,


Me

~

Dear Google.ca Image Search,

Thank you for showing me that the number one search following the word "RIDICULOUS" is....

"pictures of Céline Dion".

My very own Canadian. How I beam with pride.

And on that note, a ridiculous photo of Céline Dion:

In all fairness, there are A LOT of ridiculous photos of Céline Dion on the interwebz. (Image Source)

Ridiculously,


Me


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Dear Puppy: Goddammit!!

Dear Puppy*,

While your eyes are adorable, and your looks are stunningly beautiful, you are PISSING ME OFF!

That plastic I found in the hallway yesterday that you had chewed, and I couldn't figure out what it was? The only trays I own to my tooth whitening kit.

Thanks for that, goddammit.

Her stunning good looks distract me from the next damaged item...

Puppy, you know our little ghetto garden with the few sparse strawberries? Yeah, you are NOT supposed to raid it for new fruit at all times, even if the plastic chicken wire is no longer standing. That strawberry I took from you, rinsed, and figured it was still safe to eat? Well, that was just bad judgement on my part, goddammit.

While I appreciate you keeping  me company as I FINALLY begin to sort through my mounds of hoarder like papers/receipts/tax documents/insurance documents/gluten-free recipes, your compulsion to chew your bone on the assorted file folders on the floor (what?!? I am still in the organizational stage... or something...) has created wet, destroyed file folders and papers, which... um, kind of negate the whole saving and filing bizznazz, goddammit.

The fact that no matter the temperature you must, MUST, lay your head on my leg so I sweat even more is adorable, but really hot, and apparently not good for my whole alpha-dog-smoke-and-mirror facade the trainer has me attempting, goddammit.

That white-painted wooden baseboard along the carpet... you know that stuff? Where you exercise your extreme aversion to 90-degree corners, obliterating them in a near-silent chew-fest as I sit here and blog and not notice you are ingesting paint chips and lumber? It's supposed to remain in tact, goddammit! And stop licking that bitter apple spray!! You are supposed to despise it, goddammit!

"I iz carefree dawggie. Your paperz are not mah concern." *runs away into long grass*

Finally... you have allowed me to see why Feyoncé™ and I have lasted as long as we have.

I can be super problematic, much like yourself, but I must be as cute to him as you are to me, which makes it all okay. Goddammit.

Now come over here and lay on mommy's leg while you try to shower me with grass and paint-infused kisses.

Good girl.



*Disclaimer: Note, this post was written in "sarcasm" font. I am very clearly aware that all of this is within my power to change, animal rights peeps. 
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Confessions

Let's see...

• I mainly buy Asparagus for the free elastic bands. It's a great product-to-free-elastic-band ratio, because they generally put one at the tips and at the bottoms. Double win! Oh... yeah, and I get to eat the asparagus too.
• God-DAMN asparagus makes pee smelly. I hope someone found this post based solely on Googling that phrase.
• It is ALWAYS appropriate, anticipated, and welcomed to pinch other men's nipples after consuming large quantities of alcohol. Feyoncé™ is wrong on this one. It's... like... a MUST, really.
• When surprisingly faced with a skunk, in the dark, while walking your puppy, it is both eloquent and effective to yell "Shit! No! RUUUUN!" and run across the street in a blaze of chaotic skunk-odour-avoidance-measures.

Don't be fooled by those coy smiles; These buggers will force a dangerous, treacherous bathing process involving hydrogen peroxide, dawn, and baking soda. Usually around 1am. You've been warned.

• Avoidance (to people, not skunks) is even MORE obvious over text. I feel the need to state that a reply is unnecessary approximately 6+ hours after an original message is sent. Unless your phone was off because you never leave the house. (Not that I know what that is like, AT ALL, people...)
• My extended family contains at least one psychopath/sociopath.

C'est fini.


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Hypervigilance: What You Don't Want For You!

I am of a particular subset group of people who have a lovely little quirk known as hypervigilance.

"What is it?" you ask?
"It sounds fabulous!" you say?

Let me break it down for you.

Hypervigilance makes it very hard to focus on the immediate here and now, because your eyes, ears, and brain are simultaneously attempting to focus on the task at hand, while assessing ABSO-fuckin'-LUTELY everything else that is happening within earshot/eyeshot around you.

How does it work? I shall provide you with an example. Think of it like paranoia, with a little less 'crazy'.

The setting: A lovely, overpriced restaurant for breakfast somewhat in the middle of the room.

The company: An attentive and talkative Feyoncé™.

The low down: Hypervigilance allowed me to learn the following, even though I wasn't consciously, actively TRYING to hear what people were saying, or watch what they were doing. (My back was to the general mass of people in the room):

It's like having waaaaaay too many ears.

- The man beside me had accidentally flung his business cards out of his bag when I approached my own table. I picked them up for him and he thanked me. Then, through the course of our breakfast, I learned he was:
A) a lawyer looking to get the gentleman at the table with him out of insider trading charges
B) he found it humourous recalling stories of when his sister hit two separate men on two separate occasions in her car due to seizures, laughing as he said "I thought it was hilarious! I think the guy was a war vet and I've never seen a man cry like that!" accompanied by boisterous laughter.
C) I regretted picking up his cards and, instead, wish I had stomped on them.

- The server with the long ponytail does not like her job, as is evident with every forceful kick she throws into the swinging doors into the kitchen. This was sometimes punctuated with a long, loud, sigh.

- The daughter was clearly pissed at her mother, sitting about 3 tables away from us, as was indicated by the dour look on her face, her crossed arms, and her lack of ordering food or eating along with her mother. Teen daughter then proceeded to ignore her mother with her cell phone while mom fruitlessly tried to engage her in conversation.

"Uuuuuh, mo-om, I so hate you right now. Like. Whatever. Let me text in peace."

- The two ladies to my left, I'm quite certain, believe that there poo has no aroma, if you catch my drift. They were horribly rude with the waitstaff, and lady #2 went on to tell a tale about a woman she worked with (she described her solely using expletives) saying how this woman was clearly wrong because lady #2 has NEVER been wrong her entire life.

- The gentleman server listened patiently as the female server with short hair complained about the scheduling change and how she did not want to work the weekend again.

- Two younger guys at a table snapped their fingers to garner the attention of their server, more than once.

I forget the rest, but you get the idea. I figured this stuff out in about 10 minutes.

All the while, I was carrying on a conversation with Feyoncé™, thinking about a family health issue, making sure I was grabbing the soy milk and not the regular milk for my coffee, trying to remember to use my fork AND knife, because even though a fork can be a multi-use tool and can slice through eggs and hashbrowns, that's not how the 'fancy folk' do it...

It's like I am plagued by a persistent, ever-present Whisper2000. You remember that shit. Infomercial made of pure gold.

The Whisper 2000: Your greatest enemy or your best friend?

Anyway, that's your Freebie Friday: A lesson on hypervigilance.


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Woolly Mammoth Much?

So, have you ever accidentally skipped a Saturday's worth of brow plucking... only to realize in your tacky mirrored closet doors in the bright sunlight (as you let the dogs outside) that you have somehow morphed into a woolly mammoth?

If you said no, you're a fucking liar.

Or a dude.

Approximation. Slightly less tusk-y.

Also? The person who invented the 5-times or 10-times magnification mirror is one sadistic motherfucker.

Have you ever had a day where you kicked some ass at work and felt great? Did a workshop and felt like you accomplished a lot? Had fun being a social butterfly, gettin' out there, feeling good? Then looked in one of those goddamn mirrors?

GAH.

Some things are just not meant to be seen that close up. Or in high definition.

Nyuck, nyuck, nyuck. Just IMAGINE his EAR HAIR!

Moments like this make me wish that:

A) I had a home waxing kit
B) I had the balls to actually use the wax and personally, painfully tear it off of my face without losing flesh
C) Spend my life savings on total body laser hair removal. Give or take a few regions.


I'm pretty sure that I need that dude that drives the blade-sharpening truck around the neighbourhood (with creepy music) to help restore what once was back to my tweezers. They are currently shuddering in the bathroom drawer.

You know the guy... he preys on suckers like me and Feyoncé™ who are all green 'n shit and use a push blade mower. You'd recognize our house by the uneven, patchy grass and general inability to cut down that wheat grass weedy-shizz.

Anyway, gonna have to set "tweeze" as a recurrent event in the ol' Google calendar. With reminders. Reminders, people.

Next thing I know, my nose hair is going to stake it's own country on my face. Fuck.

But with more flag... (image)

Whatever. It makes it more of a challenge to see my real beauty.

Just bring your machetes, bitches.

;-)

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I Dropped The Goddamned Ball Once More...

So... for some time I have been pondering actually purchasing a nice little dot com domain to go along with this ridiculous blogging habit of mine.

Feyoncé™ was always like "WHY?" when I said I should pay money and register this Seriously Really witty shizznat*.

Well folks, I took a little lookie-loo, and someone else registered this shizznit* in February. I dropped the ball and I am not amused. Another Canadian, no less, too.

And I know there is a multitude of fonts and that I didn't invent the goddamn ellipses... but STILL... seeing someone else's blog with the title "Seriously... Really?" in Arial italics in the header doesn't make me happy in the pants, as Aunt Becky would say.

So, sucks to be me. It's not like anyone clicks on my ads. Or like I'll be famous. Or like this is my livelihood or anything. But it would have been neat to have a dedicated URL. I realize it's my own damn fault, and it doesn't really matter. A blog is a blog is a blog, and I never registered.

I also just want to be whiny. So there's that, too.

Oh well, early bird gets the worm. (However, as noted by a friend, S, the second mouse gets the cheese. So now I want cheese).

~~leaves laptop and forages fridge for cheese... "mmmmmmm"~~

*I am not a "homey", nor socially knowledgeable, nor a Snoop Dogg fan, therefore I know not the difference between shizznit and shizznat. Deal with it. Word.
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