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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Mass Exodus & Questionable "Beans"

So I went from 101 to 98 followers... it's like rats leaving a sinking ship.

How come I didn't realize the ship was sinking? Oh wait, it's not.
Phew.


I suppose I HAVE been a little pre-occupied and haven't been making the blog rounds, but you get to hear all about that later on.

I have to ask the question, though...

Nescafe Instant Decaf Coffee - For only the finest  wisest  living  person with no taste buds  most discerning  cheapest/laziest "coffee" drinker...

Tell me, my dear friends, does this not look like sperm-like?

Wait a second... instant WHAT?

I always get girlish-ly excited when I am opening a new package of ANYTHING. I used to be PUMPED as a kid to be the first one to peel back that fabulous foil on the peanut butter jar, so I could swipe the single peanut sitting on top. I even used to ask for that yucky brand, even though I like Kraft better (because the cheap bastards at Kraft didn't include a peanut. How hard is it to add a single peanut, I ask? Seriously?)

So I open this horrendous instant coffee to be greeted by little spermy-looking coffee beans. I don't want to know that their "natural decaffeination process" entails...

Happy Friday, Y'all.

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Obligatory Here's A Post, Post

My ridiculous Blogger ego (separate from that of my real life) likes to think that you crazy people who read this shit want to see a post every few days.

It's either keep you happy, or have you abandon me, leaving me with 18 dogs, a twitch, various mood disorders and the title "crazy alone dog lady down the street".

So.... here it is. An obligatory mid-week post.

I've felt so weak and so tired the past few days, it's weird.

No really, I feel awesome, I'm just trying out my Jack Nicholson impression.

My uterus is not being occupied, if you were concerned, but it is currently punching me internally and cramping me to fetal-position-proportions.

You are welcome for the TMI.

Caaaamon, put 'em uuup, put 'em uuuuuup... (Image source, I think? Do you really care, anyway?)

I've been asked to do a couple guest posts, and wouldn't you damn well believe that my mind has subsequently, efficiently and hopelessly gone blanker than it already was.

So that's kind of awesome, to fail before you even begin.

See, this is why I post dog poop charts and stuff.

Maybe my iron is low. Thing is, I am too tired to worry about making ANOTHER appointment to have more tests done. I think I have reached my lifetime quota on that one. Seriously.

Okay, that is a decent sized post, and you got two pictures. Now I am going to try to eat. Try being the operative word.

If I puke it all back up, I'll be sure to blog about it and let you know.

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Oscar The Grouch Gets A Poop Slushy

So the weather here was quite "balmy" compared to the -19°C weather we've been having lately, with the wind chill.

Most of you know that we got a new puppy two weeks ago. What most of you probably don't know is that said puppy poops. A lot. I mean, a lot a lot, and only if I go outside with her and encourage her.

I can only imagine what I sound like to the neighbours.

Me:     "C'mon hon, hurry up, pee pee poo poo. Hurry up."  (I am all shrill and excited and super-happy sounding)

Puppy:   *tilts head.... runs back to back door*

Me:      "C'mon puppy, hurry up, pee pee poo poo. Hurry up. Go pee pee."

Puppy:   *drops and gives me a 3-second pee*

Me:    "Yay! Good pee pee, good girl! Good pee pee! okay, hurry up, go poo poo."

Puppy:  *runs around yard, eats bunny poop, smears it on my fingernails as I try to sweep her mouth, dives under the patio table*

Wash, rinse, repeat.

You get the idea.

Sort of. With less snow in your eyeballs/eardrums/nostrils and chills up your spine.

So, after two weeks of laziness and general disdain of all temperatures cold and colder, I realized the multiple poops (that were followed with loud cheers by me and congratulatory messages to the puppy) were starting to really pile up.

So out I went today to start to shovel them into a bag for garbage night. Let's just say at the best of times, this stuff isn't solid, as we changed her food. So add in snow melt, paw squishes, and other lovely-dog-poop-related joy, and you've got yourself a shifty substance.

IF YOU HAVE RECENTLY EATEN, OR ARE ABOUT TO EAT, YOU MAY WANT TO SHUT THIS BROWSER WINDOW RIGHT ABOUT NOW....






SERIOUSLY






YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED










THIS ISN'T GOING TO END WELL.






ALRIGHT, BUDDY, I WARNED YOU.




I was dealing with something between 10 and 60 on the scale below. Moundfuls and moundfuls (no, not mouthfuls).

This is why I don't like tootsie rolls.  (Image source here, 'cause someone else blogs about crap, too.)

So... yeah. The garbage man tomorrow is going to have a melty-slushy-soupy mess. And the backyard doesn't look much better.

Oscar's shit-eating grin is about to become a whole lot more appropriate....

Why do I blog about dog poop so much? Who knows?

How long until someone finds my blog because they will inexplicably search google with that exact phrase? I give it two weeks.

Who has to deal with the aftermath tomorrow morning? The garbage collection man.


Poor garbage collection man.


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Vlog - Pronunciation Meme Thingy

I got this idea from jess over at not your average joan of archetypal patterns, who was inspired by

this particular post, here by the Tsaritsa. She was inspired by two other bloggers, ( Harley and Lor ).

The real challenge to my feeble mind, is figuring out how to pronounce "Tsaritsa". This is my Canadian TWANG on things.

Here's my vlog response to these fab ladies. It will take 5:20 of your life, so strap in, or let it play while you surf for porn in another window. It's really up to you.

;-)

The list of words:

The Questions

- What is it called when you throw toilet paper on a house?

- What is the bug that when you touch it, it curls into a ball?

- What is the bubbly carbonated drink called?

- What do you call gym shoes?

- What do you say to address a group of people?

- What do you call the kind of spider that has an oval-shaped body and extremely long legs?

- What do you call your grandparents?

- What do you call the wheeled contraption in which you carry groceries at the supermarket?

- What do you call it when rain falls while the sun is shining?

- What is the thing you change the TV channel with?


I hope some of you will do this, too, for fun! It would be neat to hear.

Please post your direct link in the comments below (or just make fun of me, again, up to you).


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Worst Motivational Fitness Video EVAR

So, there are things that I should be doing right now.

Important things... things like exercising, planning, bathing, maybe even eating.

Crazy, I know.

I figured I would do a blog post instead, on the worst possible motivational fitness video ever.

When I am in a fitness class, I have to be honest, I expect a fit-looking instructor. I don't mean to piss anyone off, but if teaching exercise classes is your job, and you are overweight, then OBVIOUSLY your routines aren't that effective. And you don't motivate me. I am a bitch, but still.

On the other hand, you've got "Dancer's Body, Buns Hips & Thighs" by Tracey Mallett. (Before you ask, no, this is not a paid review, this was me slugging my ass to her video that I rented for free through the library).

Yeah, yeah, it was the "quick" method, but would you expect anything more less from me?  Source

Now, Tracey is great and cute with her accent. My issue is with pinky in the back. Pinky is anorexic as hell. Go ahead and defend, but this girl had a concave stomach. It made me feel sick.

I don't think an exercise video should do that.

THINGS AN EXERCISE VIDEO SHOULD DO:

• Make you aware that you are out of shape? Sure.
• Make you feel like you have so much work ahead of you to get in better shape? Likely.
• Make you feel motivated to strive to maybe, possibly look like the slightly overweight second cousin of the instructor who still eats cupcakes regularly  instructor? I'd hope so.
• Make you regret that orange juice you had before you started working out? For sure.

But... Make me feel fat, gross and disgusted by the thinness of one of the exercisers? HELLS NO!

Exhibit #1:

SO, so wrong. Am I jealous still? Fuck yeah! Maybe? Of course not! Okay, yes, a little.

Correct me if I'm wrong Believe every damn word I am saying, when I say I know anorexia when I see it.

This video didn't motivate me. It made me grab a box of cookies and cry in the fetal position, knowing that absolutely NO quick blast method of any sort (dynamite included) could whittle me away to those proportions. Ack.

[Edit: check her out for yourself:  0:38, 1:18 and 2:57 are good examples

]

I say, Team Jillian Michaels all the way. Even if she uses skinny beyotches, they are ripped and HEALTHY looking.

Exhibit #2:

Yeah, I'd do her. I mean. Uh.. WOW! She's fit!   Source

Okay, my rant is done. For now.


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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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Google LatLong: It’s Groundhog Day!

Google LatLong: It’s Groundhog Day!

Two words:

Gobbler's Knob.


That is all. Pin It Now!

Sometimes Blogging Is Bullshit

That's right.

Here's why:

Know what is bullshit?

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Girl on Girl

I have had an intense weekend.



It's kind of a big deal, and sort of personal, but I figured I share so much on here, that I would share it with you.

I was out on Saturday. You could say I was looking with intent, and was so eager.

As soon as our eyes met, I could feel the connection.

She was stunningly beautiful, her blonde hair framing her gorgeous face.

I thought I could sense that she wanted me, but I wasn't sure. Looking into her beautiful deep brown eyes, I knew I had to have her.

She moved her face close to mine; I could feel her breath in my ear.

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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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For Scooby.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bVUh1Fr57XY

(Click the link above if the player does not work on the blog page)





I've enabled comments, but please leave comments only about her or the video.
And if you leave a comment, actually WATCH the video.

Self-promoting comments, comments that clearly don't "get" my message, or comments indicating this was a "funny post" will be deleted.

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Songs That Move Me (& Blog Reno)

New Site Design - Thumbs Up or Down?

So I decided to change up the ol' blogger background with something more personalized and slightly more creative than the non-customized Watermark template I was using before. Please let me know what you think.

In terms of the colours, it feels almost military to me... can't say why.

Most importantly, though, is the background image. It is Scooby Doo playing in the backyard, when she still had a desire for tennis balls in May of  2008. I love the crazy, playful pose she is in.

I pixelated and muted the image so it wasn't just a bright colour photo. Feel free to let me know what you think about the colours, fonts, layout, etc.  I like the busy-ness of the header (I'm tacky like that, yo), but be honest. I want the site to be user/reader friendly.

On Monday it will be one year without Scooby.

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Here's a good song with some great advice...



Lyrics & Copywrite (not owned by me):


Baz Luhrmann - Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)

Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of ’99
Wear sunscreen.
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. 
The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience…

I will dispense this advice now. 

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh never mind; you will not
understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded.
But trust me, 
in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now, how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked….

You’re not as fat as you imagine. 

Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as
effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum.
The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday. 

Do one thing everyday that scares you.
Sing.

Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind…the race is long, and in the end, it’s only with yourself.

Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults;
if you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life…the most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don’t.

Get plenty of calcium.

Be kind to your knees, you’ll miss them when they’re gone.

Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll have children, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary…what ever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either – your choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s.

Enjoy your body, use it every way you can…don’t be afraid of it, or what other people
think of it, it’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own.

Dance…

Even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room.

Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them. Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents, you never know when they’ll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings; they are your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard;
Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will philander, you too will get old, and when you do you’ll fantasize that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund, maybe you have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one might run out.

Don’t mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen…

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Milestones and Shiny Dog Poop

So first off, you guys all effing RULE because that last post on Adam Levine, nuts, butts and soap shards? HIGHEST COMMENT COUNT EVER. Yes, some of mine are in there, but still! 37 or so thoughts on the subject is pretty big for me, and is appreciated more than you know!

You guys are awesome.

Also? Thanks to Bruce who has brought me up to 70 awesome folks willing to push the "Follow" button for this here itty bitty blog.

In case you were wondering, in terms of highest number of comments, bringing up the rear was Sparkling Clean Colon? (See what I did there? Do ya? DO YA??) with 26 comments. If you haven't read it, you should. I am all about pride, privacy, and appropriateness at all times.

Stop laughing!

On to other things. Two nights ago Schultz ate my last 300gram bag of Lindt Lindor chocolates, that were individually wrapped in tinfoil, made to look like tree ornaments. He got all but three.

You should probably know that:
A) Chocolate is toxic to dogs.
B) I fucking WANTED those chocolates for breakfast. EXPECTED it.
C) The ornaments also had strings, so foil and string are currently working their way through Schultz' intestines.
D) I didn't know he would possibly want or steal wrapped food. Only Scooby had a taste for Lindor chocolates.
E) I ate two of the white chocolate ones before going to bed.
F) He missed one dark chocolate one (my least favourite) in the couch cushions. Either that, or he didn't like those ones either.

Well, since he ate them Tuesday night, I have been accompanying him out in the snow to make sure all bodily functions are proceeding as normal. I found red Lindor tinfoil in his poop today. (Yes I checked. I could see it glimmering from a distance... the things a mother does...)

And know what? I cleaned it up right away so -
wait for it -
hope you haven't eaten/aren't eating -
you ready? -

So that he wouldn't be tempted by the aftermath into enjoying it a second time.

Disgusting I know.

You're welcome.

Anyone else find any treasure lately? Anything interesting/piss-offedness-inducing happen to you? Share, share.
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F-cked Up Letters

Click HERE to View Round One

__________________

Dear SELF While DRIVING,

Just because you got rear-ended (resulting in whiplash) while stopped at a stoplight in 2010, it does not mean that EVERY.SINGLE.CAR that appears to be fast approaching behind you will also rear end you. You have been driving in fear of this for 8.5 months. I saw you cringe last night at a stoplight again. You need to get the fuck over it and realize it took 14 years of driving for it to happen to you once! Jaysus! Lighten up already.

Signed,
Me



Dear Tiny Itty Bitty Little Piece of Soap Left In The Shower,

I respect your work ethic. You seriously are giving it your all until the very end. And yours is a thankless job; I care not to know all of the things you have seen in your working life.

My skin crawls at the site of some of that beige "soap"...

That being said, I cannot ignore the panic and uneasiness that settles upon me when I attempt to wash my butt and/or buttcrack region, and you disappear. I know, I know, Dove Sensitive Skin that you match the (sometimes) white of the bathtub, but seriously... where did you go? WHERE did you disappear to? Is there dislodging I should be commencing? SERIOUSLY WHERE the fuck DID YOU GO? And now, how am I supposed to finish showering? You know I am not foolish enough to use BF's acid soap (Ivory... 99% pure...  lye, people!).

Just hang in there until I unceremoniously toss you into the garbage can, and prepare for the next showering experience with a new bar. No one wants to get lost in my nether regions. Except maybe Adam Levine. That would be okay.

Thankfully,
Me

I will never resort to this for soap shards. BF already thinks I have too much crap in the shower, anyway. (Sidenote: I hope no one googles "crap in the shower" and finds my blog. They will be disappointed)

Dear Adam Levine,

Hello there, Adam Levine. How yoooooou doooin'?

You are on my "free pass" list. (In fact, you are the only one I can think of right now. Maybe Sidney Crosby, but only the grown up version. I digress [EDIT: My friend A.P. reminded me indirectly that Bradley Cooper is also on that list. Just want to be clear]). You have an open invitation to get lost in my nether regions. BF hates you for that reason, but for that reason I also hate Jessica Alba. Please come up with better Tweets because you are losing some of your sex appeal. Pull a Britney and have a staffer do it for you. Please. Also? I cannot get the song "Misery" out of my head. Usually in the shower. Often after I 'misplace' the soap.

Dreamily Yours,
Me

p.s. Don't forget about my nether regions.

[Edit, Youtube Vid Below]




Dear Clearance Watch That Ticks Ever-So-Loudly,

I purchased you because, in truth, you were cheaper to buy than the cost to replace the battery in my faithful and trusty Mary Kate and Ashley model. Why must you tick so loudly? Like, super loud? If I am wearing you while I put earrings in, I think you may cause my sensitive eardrums to burst. Please be quiet. But don't die in doing so, because the cost to replace your battery will be more than you are worth.

Also? Thanks for being so damn loose. Your packaging hid that feature well and you were final sale. You are also not worth paying to have links removed. I know fear the jeweler would laugh me out of the store. But your blue face is pretty. That is all.

Silently,
Me



Dear $2 Impulse-Buy Bag of Peanuts,

Stop being so damn irresistible. I didn't even know I liked peanuts, but I was hungry. I don't think I do like peanuts. You make me feel super-dee-duper nauseous, but your salty-meatiness is irresistible. You are loaded with fat and salt and are satisfying, probably moreso than Adam Levine would be (I'm only guessing, he will have to probably prove himself otherwise).

You are adding to my weight gain and I have no restraint. Damn you peanuts.

In Good Health,
Me

"Righty-o, mates, here to plump up your bottom with my greasy, salty nuts. Off to work now, cheerio."

Cocky bastard, isn't he?

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Vacation Follies Part 1 (The Dog Kennel: Pre-Departure)

So our adventure started around 7am on Christmas Day (after me leaving packing until the very last second on Christmas Eve. Which was on the heels of me leaving wrapping ALL of the presents to the last minute before my family Christmas. See a trend? No, me neither).

We sleepily (and for me, coupled with anxiety, begrudgingly) turned off the snooze buttons and alarm clocks and hauled our tired asses out of bed. BF and I hurriedly exchanged gifts knowing that we were under the gun for time, and had yet to take Schultzy to his luxurious little doggy kennel ( --insert heavy/guilty feelings of dread for said activity here-- ).

I am NOT a bad parent pet-owner, I am NOT a bad parent pet-owner...

It went so quickly that it seems a blur (maybe that was all those gross goobery eye crusties I hadn't yet had the time to wipe away... one never really knows these things). I do remember, though, that BF got me a fancy-schmancy red rice cooker (very wild for him, if you ask me, the kitchen has black and silver appliances** - thanks babe!!). And to top it off, he surprised me with this wicked-ass red coat I had drooled over when I was at Winners (during the sad shopping trip mentioned here.) He had talked me out of buying it over the phone, at my request. He actually bought at least 5 or 6 coats to try to find one that would work.

I cried at the thoughtful surprise (the first tears to come of the day).

We loaded up Schultz (and his bed, and his comforter, and his leash, and his muzzle, and his two favourite stuffed animals, and...) to head to the boarding kennel, The Escarpment Pet Retreat, where I had previously talked to the male owner repeatedly to make sure we were good to go, confirm the time we would bring our baby dog, and make sure we could see where he would be staying and the set up of the kennel.

When we got there, the female owner was rude and defensive within the first minute. She refused to let us see where Schultz would be staying. She swore once or twice. I got VERY upset, as I discussed (through tears) that the male owner had said, and I quote "any reputable kennel will allow you to see the premises and have a tour unless they have something to hide."

Hmph. The male owner was not there.

The female owner then refused us entry to the kennel area, insisting we would upset the other dogs, then she told us that we "clearly don't give a shit about animals" if we wanted to go into the kennel area. All the while staff members walked back and forth, in and out, with minimal upset to the dogs. (For those of you living under a rock, I love animals, I adopt animals, I don't eat animals, I am a goddamn bleeding heart for animals, just FYI. I am no saint, but I certainly give a shit!)

I looked at BF and begged/pleaded/asked the impossible question of taking the dog somewhere - anywhere - else, but we both knew we were screwed.

It was 9:30am on Christmas Day, we have a huge sometimes-aggressive Great Dane, and we needed someone to take care of him while we were gone on our trip (which we were scheduled to depart for in 30 minutes). The female owner made it clear that she would be quite fine if we were to leave and go somewhere else. She encouraged it.

The rage bubbled inside.

Our lovely boy, Schultzy Poo

So, through heavy sobbing I had to leave before I said something warranting the female owner to kick us out altogether. I had to bite my tongue. I felt horrible. But we had no friends willing to watch him for that long, and my parents were coming with us. So we were screwed.

I went back in to say goodbye and we had to leave. I cried the whole way home.
I cried at home, gathering and packing my last few trip items.
I cried on the way to the airport.
I cried silently on the first leg of the flight.

I felt like the worst pet owner ever.

YAAAAY! Great start to the vacay!

** - I just found out on Wednesday that this rice cooker was purchased with the intention of only EVER being on the counter when in use, then being hidden away otherwise (since it is red). BF loses "crazy & wild" points on that one.


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Exposed Genitals, Scarred Teens. Also? I Am Getting Old.

So first off, let me explain that the scarred-for-life teens in this post are not related to me (thank gawd for them!).

Let me also explain that this post is a separate entity from my promised vacation posts which I will get back to, if I can remember them.

It all began on December afternoon when I thought up a different type of Christmas present for my niece and nephew, who are both younger than 12 (that's all you get in terms of description or my sister may murder me for exploiting her children on the interwebs). And no, the initial idea had nothing to do with exposed genitals.

OH! And I almost forgot. No children's bizznazz was exposed. You guys know - it was aaaaaaaall me.

So, as a way to spend some quality time with the kids, niece and nephew, I figured I would take them for an overnight stay in Niagara Falls and get a two-day pass to a waterpark there. At Christmas they were like "oh... great." (but I will stick with the concept that the print-out I gave them wasn't enough to relay the FUN we were going to have, and the fact that I also got them out of a day of school!).

The morning we left, I wanted to ensure they had breakfast.

ME:            [redacted name of niece] did you and your brother have a decent breakfast this morning?

NIECE:      Yeah, we did.

ME:            What did you have?

NIECE:      I had chocolate milk and [redacted name of nephew] had a bun (read: small dinner roll).

ME:            Dude, that is not a decent breakfast. Please have some toast or something.

NIECE:      Nooooo, I'm not hungry and neither is [redacted name of nephew]!

Let me first explain that:

• Breakfast is the most important meal of the day and is totally a huge preventer of pre-lunch child crankiness.
• Changing, packing clothes, hauling ass to a pool of any kind, continuing to play and having fun is much easier if entire party does not have to haul ass back to hotel to change and get in car to go somewhere to eat.
• These kids navigate towards snack booths and vending machines like magnets to a fridge. (Like their Aunt Steph) they would prefer sugar and/or salty snacks with soda pop over anything nutritious if the opportunity presents itself. I believe they will hold out for it. Grandparenting has encouraged this behaviour. Love = snack booth shopping spree with one grandparent.
• Niagara Falls is a ginormous, insanely-scaled tourist trap, anywhere within a few kilometers of the falls. For example, fries at the waterpark were $10. Fries. $10. *choking on my own cheapness frugal instincts*.

Anyway... after peanut butter toast was force-fed and nephew ate a plain dry piece of white bread at his own insistence (how my sister does this at 3 meal times per day baffles my mind), we were off.

We headed out for the busiest two days of my life ever. I think I did less on safari in Tanzania and Kenya in two days, less than packing last minute before I moved. These KIDS.CAN.GO.FOREVER. My nephew gains speed/volume/unruliness/strength/determination and energy the more tired he gets. It baffles the mind. If he could find a way to bottle and market that shizz, he'd put Red Bull out of business in an instant.

So we went. And we played. And we had a blast. And Aunt Steph hauled double inner-tubes up flights and flights of stairs. We went down multiple slides, we went in the wave pool, the kids sat under the massive tipping bucket.

My delicate ladyparts were ravaged by the level of chlorine and chemicals in those bodies of water. Ravaged.

But... the traumatizing of the teens was on day one. You see, I washed my bathing suits after our most recent vacation. Apparently, the elastic in my black bikini bottoms decided that only half would be functioning and present for the next wearing of said bottoms. I did not know this until I was changed and in the waterpark. And there was no way we were turning back (see first bullet point).

So I approached the inner tube, to ride down with nephew. What's that you say, teen waterpark tube run employee? I need to straddle the tube and put my legs on either side of nephew's body? Oh, okay, but my butt goes into the back space, and he sits in the front? Okay. SO... just drop and straddle?

1. DROPPING COMMENCES.
2. BATHING SUIT BOTTOMS DIVERGE.
3. ELASTIC FAILS.
4. BIKINI BOTTOMS ATTEMPT TO HIDE IN ANY AND ALL OF MY LOWER REGION CREVASSES.
5. GENITALS ARE ACCIDENTALLY AND HELPLESSLY EXPOSED. 
6. HUMILIATION COMMENCES.
7. SLIDE BEGINS. I TUG AT BOTTOMS FEVERISHLY.
8. STOP RIDE.
9. ATTEMPT TO ADJUST BOTTOMS ONCE MORE BEFORE STANDING AT BOTTOM OF SLIDE. ASSURE CHILD I AM GETTING UP AND DOING SO AS FAST AS POSSIBLE while extracting my double wedgie. Yes, double.
10. REPEAT STEPS 1 THROUGH 9.

Now, I did all I could after this to hang on to my bottoms when I "straddled and dropped", but it was pretty impossible. Blissfully unaware, niece and nephew never saw or came within a foot of this exposure due to the double seat of the inner tube. How terribly embarrassing. Just those poor waterpark employees who happened to catch a glimpse before we went down the tubes.

All while straddling the width of this thing. Loveable niece and nephew blocked out for privacy's sake. Who the hell would want to be associated with a post like this, anyway???

BF joined us on day two, and the kids loved it. Also making an appearance was a bathing suit bottom for me that stayed in place. Thankfully I packed another suit.

Also? I am old because, at 30, before we left the Falls, after non-stop going from 9am until 11pm on day one, having a horrendous sleep at the Skyline Inn, and going from about 9am until about 7:30pm on day 2, I was in tears on a bench in the "Adventure City" arcade, because I was so tired, had a raging headache, and was so physically fatigued. My body hurt EVERYWHERE. It still does today. I don't know how many times I climbed those stairs, but let me say it was more than my body can handle.

I am bruised and battered. Physically SPENT, even after another night of sleep. I feel so sick and rotten, but I am glad I got to spend the time with the kids.
Wanted to go tobogganing today but knew I wouldn't last more than one run.
So glad to have spent the time with the kids, but so sore. And so pH-unbalanced. You know what I mean.

Did I mention we didn't even get a chance to see the Falls?

I am getting old, and I am clearly painfully out of shape. I am surprised I lasted as long as I did.

But now, I really see why they need all that chlorine in the water.
For accidental pervs like me.

Oh, and all the kid pee.
That too.

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The Background - Vacation Planning & Booking - Part 1

So... turns out our usual plans of spending Christmas with BF's family and my family got switched around, and we headed out to see his brood the weekend before Christmas (hence, my joy of air travel musings).

This meant that it might be possible for the majority of our families to potentially vacation away together for Christmas, which seemed like an awesome idea to me. Not so awesome for my sister and fam, who declined, mostly due to a 3-day hockey tournament in town. I can't deny I was disappointed, but not surprised. (And in hindsight, they won the tournament! Yay kids!).

That left me and BF, his parents, and my parents. I made a spreadsheet up with what was desirable for everyone. I spent hours and hours and hours and hours (and... get the picture? Obsessively researched this mofo) looking for suitable locales.

1. It had to have a nice beach (first and foremost, or else why bother going away?!?!)
2. It had to be a reasonable flight for all parties involved (yeah - our party chose poorly, I'll get to that later).
3. It had to be NICE accommodations, because some of our parents wouldn't be happy with the giant-spider-filled places in Cuba and the like that I have become accustomed to. Fair enough. (Plus, in the end, Christmas travel prices were so inflated EVERYWHERE, that the difference between 3 and 5 star was not that severe.)
4. I wanted mainly non-smoking.
5. A bunch of other things that you don't really care about so I will stop writing. (Or maybe that was it. Who knows for sure? I deleted the spreadsheet by accident.)

So, armed with all this info, and nothing particularly fitting the bill, I scoured Jamaica for a good price, because BF and I went there before I got sick, and we absolutely loved the place. Neither of our folks had been there, so it would be a new experience for them. We reviewed weather stats and saw averages around 26 to 28 degrees C. And, there were lots of nice (READ: Expensive) resorts that we could try to find a decent price on.

I reviewed all the sites, www.itravel2000.com, www.redtagvacations.com, www.belairtravel.com, www.westjetvacations.com, and, surprisingly, ended up on the Air Canada Vacations website.

BF picked the place. It was a 5 star in Ocho Rios, Jamaica. Website made it look all purdy and white sand and crystal waters and *drooooool*. We asked everyone what they thought. It seemed to be a winner (If I do recall, despite the barrage of links, reviews and photos of the place I sent to my parents, their response was "just book whatever everyone wants" or something like that).

Now, in terms of Canadian airlines, I believe that Air Canada has a general reputation of being less-than-helpful in most instances. Westjet has a better general public perception in my books. But you know what? The package was cheaper on Air Canada Vacations (which floored me). And we all know, if it comes down to quality/service over price with me.... well....

So I called them to make sure there was availability for all 6 of us, before we made the dire mistake of booking one and finding out there wasn't anything left. (The original place I wanted to go sold out before we could book).

[< BLOGGER "STRESS" FONT >]**
ME: *dialing Air Canada Vacations toll free number*
ME: *waiting*
ME: *waiting for 10 minutes on hold with their annoying ads on loop*
ME: *waiting another 20 minutes and getting antsy*
BF: *calling father on cell phone to see if he was able to book/did book/ensure availability*
ME: *waiting another 30 minutes then starting to book two packages online - one in Firefox, one in explorer to ensure availability*
ME: *still waiting after 72 minutes! Finally clicked submit payment in both windows. About to hang up.*

AIR CANADA VACATIONS CALL CENTRE REP:  "Hello, bonjour, how can I assist you today?"

ME: "Uh... I was hoping to find out if there is availability at a resort, but I was able to book online."

So yeah, I can recite Air Canada Vacations advertisements on loop now. It's a great party trick. Not really.

We had to still make sure that BF's parents could fly in from their location, and back to another location. Air Canada Vacations won't allow that, so in the end, they booked their flight separately through Westjet, and the hotel direct.

[< BLOGGER "SARCASM" FONT >]
Oh... did I mention? We saved just over $500 per person if we took a flight that wasn't direct. Now, I know I may not be a great flier. I may HATE flying. And making a vacation start and end with two flights might not be the best idea for a cranky whiny bitchy girl like me.
[< /BLOGGER "SARCASM" FONT >]

But we were paying waaaaaay  more than BF wanted to spend, certainly more than I could reasonably afford, but people - WE WERE HAVING A FAMILY VACATION!! The last one of those I had was in 1992, if I do recall.

So our party of 4 agreed the savings was the way to go. Toronto - Ottawa - Montego Bay. Coming home just reverse that. Oh.... and add a 6 hour layover overnight in the Ottawa airport.With a closed lounge. What? Did I say something there? Nope, nothing.. move along now...

NEXT UP: What you see is NOT what you get... in Part 2... stay tuned (assuming you hung in this long).


** Notice the stress font has not yet ended.
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Shameless Friend Website Whoring - Canadian Tax Time!

Hey Y'all.

You know how this blog-circle-of-life, I scratch your  scrotum  back you scratch mine, I'll  whore help you out, you help me now and again?

Okay, well this is slightly different. I have a friend (who is much classier than I and likely doesn't approve of the words 'scrotum' or 'whore' used in connection to their website) has created an easy online tool that helps you figure out where to throw your Canadian money before you file your income tax to the CRA (Canada Revenue Agency).


Here is my quick plug for the FREE Canadian Tax Tool Site Here [edit: site is now defunct... he stopped paying for the url]. Check it out if you so desire. It works for any province and will help you make some choices for filing your taxes. I make no money if you click it, and the website owner only makes money if you click on ads. So, basically, you benefit, and my friend got to learn a boatload of HTML coding. You're welcome.

All that TFSA (tax free saving account) versus the ole RRSP (Registered Retirement Savings Plan) stuff is there. I won't pretend to understand it, because I am a mere humour blogger/simpleton who only ever hopes not to have to PAY taxes, but receive a tax REFUND. All I know is that there is a cut off for RRSP contributions, so get your shizz together, Canadians!

It's no H&R Block, but it's free, so, shush.

A screen shot, and no, I didn't get to edit the text first. I'll tell ya where you can put your money....

I've been back from vacation for only two days and already a lot of the funny is starting to escape my feeble mind. I should work on posts, but am trying to work on maintaining my sanity first (did you know that is full time work, for a girl like me?).

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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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