Day One Cross Country Canada

So we started our trip cross country on Saturday.

I took a video log/vlog/video blog on day one to share with you guys, as I sat in the Bel-Air Motel in Sault Sainte Marie, Ontario.

Then, on days 2 and 3, shit got REAL.

So, here is day 1. [Better late than never edit, video contains some swears].



You may get a day 3.5 post, but probably not.



Yeah.

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The Cheapest Homeowner Ever

So I had an amusing conversation with my husband the other night.

No, he isn't the cheapest homeowner.

As I've been pulling my hair out, rocking in the fetal position, and packing the odd box or so, it seems like I am being forced to make decision after decision about whether or not everything I've ever owned is worth packing.

As a frame of reference, the reputable moving companies are quoting us around $1.52/lb to move our shit. Yes, PER REMOTHERBLOODYFRIKKENDICULOUS POUND.

That 30lb ceramic slow cooker from 1972 that doesn't even have one of those one-prong-bigger-than-the-other-electrical-cord-safety-plugs? GONZO.

That sweet stereo from 1995 that took me forever to save up for? You know the one... with the real, ADJUSTABLE equalizer on the front? With the double cassette deck? The one I was listening to when I heard Kurt Cobain killed himself? That doesn't even have a CD player, just an auxillary plug where you've housed your sister's ancient 6-carousel CD player? YOU KNOW, for those DISC things that us old people use to play music?

(Jeez, kids these days, what with their minuscule iPods and lack of interest in hulking stereos and obscenely huge CD storage cases that outweigh the car's spare tire) . GONZO.                                                                                                     (._.)   (<- That's me looking all sad at it, while I grieve the loss)

QUALITY = Goldstar. Although, in all fairness, it HAS lasted me almost 20 years... Christ I'm old. (Image = my own, yo).

That six thousand pound ORANGE wall unit from IKEA that cost a whopping $780 about 8 years ago? You know the one that took up the entire dining room wall? The one that took a day to assemble with your handyman father? That had a GAJILLION pieces, screws, shelves and was dearly beloved by your husband?  / sarcasm font. Yeah. GONE. For a huge loss.

I only bought it for the 649 free Allen keys. And so I could get the 99 cent ice cream cone. (Image = my own, yo).

Lather, rinse, repeat.

House in shambles? CHECK.
Giving shit away for free online? CHECK.
Donations through the wazoo (again - is it good enough to donate? should it just be thrown out?) CHECK. Then second guess. Then change your mind. Repeat.

So I dismantled the lamps in the house as best as possible. We'll see if they make it to the end destination in usable condition. It's a crap shoot, really, when you throw something with a lamp shade into a wardrobe box.

Yeah, I live on the edge, motherf_cker.

After said dismantling, I have a pile of energy efficient CFL bulbs, full of trace amounts of harmful chemicals. Not supposed to throw them out, you know. Don't want to pack them poorly, have them break, and end up with shattered glass and MERCURY on, or in, our shit.

So I am on the phone and I ask the hubs what I should do with the light bulbs. He pauses. Then he says:

"Aren't we supposed to leave them there?"

Careful, there, photographer person. You rattle that change too much and you're lookin' at mercury poisoning.

Okay, not really.  (Image VIA)

I ponder this. I'm pretty sure that lamp contents were not signed over in the deal. So I sass him about it.

He still seems unsure of what to say to me.

It is at this point that we realize that I am talking about loose lamp bulbs, and he thinks I am contemplating removing every single light bulb from every single overhead light fixture in the house.

In the midst of my stress, I had to laugh. Could you imagine moving in to a house and some bastard taking all the light bulbs? Moving in the dark?

In some ways I am surprised the people we bought this house from didn't do the same. They took all the toilet paper and even window coverings that were supposed to stay with the house.

Ah well.

MOVING F_CKING SUCKS, Y'ALL.


_________________

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5am Cookies? Nom Nom Nzzzzzzz

Surprisingly, throughout my process of packing, bubble wrapping, sorting, taping, folding and sobbing  cleaning, I found something really effective to distract myself while still doing work.

I decided that rather than pack, I'd bake my mom cookies.

Starting at 4 in the morning.

And not because I was "rising and shining" early, but because my bedtime has been falling around 6am for the past several nights.

Now, this happens to be one thing I didn't research about moving or packing, but I can only ASSUME that my baking cookies TOTALLY helps my cause, and somehow helps me pack.

Right?

Maybe?

Also... I totally need to blog about the award bestowed upon me by Keith in my next post, because it's late and I have to check on my cookies.

I also want to write a few Olympic posts... As in, I made some serious self discoveries while watching sports, and I think Oliver Pistorius in one amazing athlete, and genuine gentleman.

Please tell me you saw him run? He really is an icon on and off the track.

Oliver Pistorius just blew my mind today. I hope he is proud. You know, of his accomplishment, not about blowing my mind. [image VIA]

I'm in the most respectful kind of awe, ever. (Because talking to your mom on the phone for 12 minutes straight about Pistorius' awesomeness is apparently ALSO helpful when it comes to not packing).

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Classy Blogging

You know your blog is classic, classy and well written when people are arriving via Google Images after searching for "the+ass+band+will+play+a+song+of+farts+to+celebrate+your+failure".

Yep.

I've made it. Big Time. Obviously.


Also? Cleaning your back yard of dog poop in the dark of night with a gardening shovel, plastic bag and flashlight is never a good idea, kids. NEVER.

Three items and two hands.


Keepin' it classy...

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Whoever said "change is good" clearly doesn't have an anxiety disorder...

So.

Yeah.

"Change Is Good".

Whoever made that line up was entirely misquoted. They incorrectly spell the word "terrifying" with the letters G - O - O - D.

An obvious oversight.

Want me to sob heartily but silently, alone, in the bathroom stall at a strange airport?
Introduce change. (And perhaps allow me to grab the REAL large yogurt container from the fridge, instead of the OLD large yogurt container that is holding my leftover quinoa bean salad [intended to be my gluten-free meal on the flight back to Toronto]. And let me get stopped at security. And let the words "quinoa" and "beans" escape my mind, so I look extremely suspect and unable to explain to the agent why I was honestly not trying to smuggle 475mL of liquid-yogurt through airport security. Let the agent warn me, give me a once over, and shake his head in disgust as he throws out the real yogurt intended for my husband. Perhaps also be added to the no-fly list).

Want me to hold my body more rigid with tension than a CSI corpse while holding my breath, for hours at a time?
Introduce change. (And throw in driving someone else's car with super soft brakes into the mix, just to heighten the fear factor.)

Want me to re-assess everything I have ever owned, forcing emotionally-charged decision after decision, donating, tossing and packing things?
Introduce change. (And then get the hell outta Dodge, because someone is going to get hurt).

Want me to drive like a 90-year old woman with cataracts on strange, new roads?
Introduce change. (You know, maybe this one isn't such a bad idea. The slow part, not the cataracts part).

 
Stephanie, I'd like you to meet fetal position.
Fetal Position? Here, please let me introduce you to Stephanie.
I think you two will get along swimmingly.


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Long Distance Movers: Scams, Bullshi* & What You Should Know

Yeah, that's right. I said it.

I have been forced to delve into the world of long distance movers. Not because I want to. Hell naw. I am being forced into it. You know, if I ever want to see my stuff again on the other side of the country.

From initial review, it appears that a LARGE MAJORITY of movers are scammers, rip-off artists, and downright criminal. More than a small percentage of reports and complaints discuss a scam that is quite frequent in the Toronto, Ontario area: load up the truck with your shizz, probably not actually code and inventory the stuff, and then lock the truck door and force the paying customer to go directly to an ATM to withdraw more money for some lame/bogus "extra" that the drivers claim was never accounted for the in quote. (Just read the comments section here).

If you pay, you may see your items again. You also might not. They drive your stuff either to their own local storage, sometimes selling off the most expensive items, and then decide whether or not they will ultimately deliver your goods to you.

That F_CKING TERRIFIES ME.

Being the anxiety-laden, perfectionist-type person that I am, I always like to research the SHIT out of something before making a purchase or service decision. Not because I believe that, in doing so, I will make the 'perfect' decision. No, not at all.

[Sidenote - I find it both amusing and incredibly sad that my perfectionist streak just makes me feel insanely skeptical and causes me to second guess just about every decision I ever make. Because I fear making the WRONG choice, and suffering catastrophic worst-case-scenario type consequences. In reality, all it does is cause immense stress and worry when in reality I can't control anything beyond the brand or company. But that won't stop me from worrying and forever second guessing my decisions**.]

But in looking up all the movers that have quoted us, I am at an impasse. All of them have reviews that indicate this has happened to at least a few customers. A few others showed up on the Canadian government's consumer "beware" list. The BBB (Better Business Bureau) either shows a TON of filed complaints, or no information at all.

Pretty much.

Another problem? If you are moving long distance, you get a subcontractor to unload your stuff at your final destination. Sometimes these are guys hired from homeless shelters and the like. Anyone willing to put in a little time for some under-the-table money.

NOT experienced movers
NOT regular employees who might care
NOT someone who is looking out for your best interests.

Some just employ regular shitty workers. And the moving companies tell you that you have nothing to worry about, and that they don't subcontract their work. BUT THEY DO. Especially for long distance. I highly doubt the one truck driver acts as the delivery man AS WELL AS the mover, all by his lonesome.


So if your stuff gets put into storage, either on your departure end or arrival end, you may never see it again. Or, you may have to pay such exorbitant fees to recover your items (of which, a reasonable percentage is likely broken/damaged or unusable), that getting your items back becomes not at all financially feasible.

Long distance movers charge you by the distance travelled, and the weight of your shipment. They claim to use government scales and provide you with a waybill, but how do you know they aren't weighing your stuff with someone else who is shipping a smaller load? That they don't get Larry, Jim and Bob in the truck, along with some cinder blocks and a bag of bricks? You don't get to watch them or see what's being weighed.

Also? The quotes ranged from $0.45/lb, up to $1.00/lb. A significant difference. One quote? $4700 inclusive. Another quote? $11,200. None of these quotes include packing anything beyond some of the breakable kitchen stuff.

They want to pack my department store Corelle dishes and discontinued wine glasses for $200. That shit isn't WORTH that much to start with. To "crate" our flat screen TV that mom and dad gave us would cost $150. WTF? Do they wrap it in a moving blanket made from the tears of unicorns?

Am I guaranteed that the more expensive one won't pull the scams? No.


But the best part? Any moving company is NOT RESPONSIBLE for damaged items IF YOU PACKED THE BOX. While I can see why this would apply if someone is a shitty packer, it also applies to things that you don't pay them to crate. The basic coverage provided allows for reimbursement of $0.60/lb, industry standard, along with a $300+ deductible if your load gets lost or you can prove an item is missing from the shipment. (And, apparently, know the weight of said item). You can purchase more insurance on your own... but how do I know the total value of all my stuff?

I've been reading (and consequently losing sleep) at Homestars.com, to see what people are saying about the movers. But you can tell so many reviews are bogus, with glowing 10.0 and remarks like "they made me feel 'LIKE A QUEEN!' "... uh... ok. Yeah, I expect that from a mover. Some of the moving company replies to customers who had bad experiences show the moving companies are jerks about stuff. Which makes me even more concerned.

Has anyone used a long-distance mover across Canada that they could recommend? If so, tell me what went wrong, too. I need context and honesty.

It's hard enough to try and accept that I am leaving my family and friends behind in this move...  to imagine losing all of my belongings on top of that is just too much to try to process.

I will hope for the best, but I really don't have a good feeling about this at all.


________


** I do not, for a moment, second guess marrying my husband. That's the one thing I feel solid about. Though I torment myself wondering what I could have done differently to make our wedding better, more fun, kept more people dancing, should have changed about my dress, blah blah blah.

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Oh. Hai.

So... yeah, I've been here.

Oh, shit, looks like Blogger ate my last two month's worth of every-other-day posting.

Geesh, how could that happen?

Didn't you guys notice? It's totally not that I have been actually NOT writing anything on the blog. No, that's just crazy talk. Crazy talk.

I mean, normally auto-draft comes in and saves everything, but... uh... Blogger totally ate the posts. Posts, I must say, that were the highest caliber of writing you could ever hope to see on these pages. Brilliance. Wit. You would have laughed. Cried. Stopped for a moment, holding yourself in the fetal position on the floor.

Also? I know this is shocking, but I am a super anxious person.
I know, I know. I bet you're floored.

Anyway, just been spending the last week researching cars and SUVs and flying dogs as cargo and generally not sleeping or eating... but most certainly losing my mind. You know, the usual.

After all the discussions, it came down to logistics:

Meet our new Great Dane-approved SUV. Also, please stop judging me, the other dog is just peeing. I thought I would refrain from adding dog poop to this post. But just this one.

So, yeah, I'm pretty sure my dogs are the most expensive dogs in the world. I hope they enjoy the tour of the Canadian countryside. They had damn well better, because I am guessing that me and the hubs won't be speaking to each other by day two.

We've got a wee drive ahead of us.

Thank goodness for satellite radio.

________

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Top 13 Ways to Ruin Your Vacation

I'm not one to brag, but... I f_cking know HOW to ruin a vacation.

Like a champ.

Like a motherf_ cking champ, you guys.

Like, I can hear the throngs of readers gasping at my mad skills. Practically.

Here, in no particular order, are the top 13 (lucky, right?) ways to ruin your vacation:

1. Spend the 15 preceding days putting in 17-hour days with little-to-no sleep, eating one meal a day, living with severe nausea.
2. Be absolutely too fatigued to be excited/sleep properly/eat/enjoy yourself on the way or once you arrive at your vacation destination.
3. Bring a laptop and Wifi (wireless internet) device.
4. Discover that from ANYWHERE in the resort, you can and DO access internet for free (in your typical-at-home-unhealthy-addiction-to-the-internet fashion). Get sand in your Wifi device.
5. Decide to wash your only pair of pants and hang them outside to dry. See #6. 
6. Leave your hometown when it is experiencing a sunny heat wave. While gone, experience constant cloudy skies and thundershowers at your destination. Ensure you pay too much for the trip AND experience the full rain and humidity.
7. Discover that the 5-star (hahahah! FIVE stars?!? In your dreams, Breezes Grand Negril!) resort is incapable of meeting your allergy/food dietary restriction needs. Discover they expected you to bring your own gluten-free pasta/food. Commence 6 days of hunger pangs between bouts of crippling nausea.
8. Realize that a working telephone is necessary. Then realize your room phone is 97% static, and 3% sassy Jamaican attitude. Refer back to #4, and Skype the shit out of people.
9. Be too sick to your stomach to drink alcohol. At an all inclusive resort. That you paid too much for. While it's raining and you can't lay on the beach. And you are pissed at your travelling companion because they crushed your ego and spirit in a disastrous game of Scrabble a few hours before.
10. Be wholly and completely constipated. I mean 100%. Until the day of departure. Then go to the opposite extreme. EXTREME.
11. Discover far too late that you actually despise rum.
12. Have a long, relaxing, hot shower and unknowingly flood the entire hallway and part of the bedroom floor of your room. Try to call housekeeping, then refer to #8. Following this realization, spend 85 minutes trying to flush out the water into the outdoor hallway with your feet, your travelling companion's feet, one semi-dry towel and one small plastic cup. Fail at this.
13. Oh, and have your house up for sale the whole time. While you are in another country. (Does wonders for the nerves/soul/general feeling of helplessness and detachment). Also replace "people" in #8 with "Realtor".

If you need any additional tips on how to ruin your vacation, ruining a vacation to Jamaica, how to waste a lot of money on vacation, or general stupidity when planning something that should be relaxing and fun - you know who to talk to.

And if you want an even MORE painful version, talk to my husband.

Yup.

___________

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I haven't abandoned the blog

Life has just thrown me a speedball.

Not the illicit substance kind, but the "holy shit I have to deal with something really huge in a really short period of time, no exceptions" kind of speed. And ball. Or balls.

Not a curve ball, since I knew this was a possibility, but more of a speed issue.

I haven't seen my friends, I haven't done anything fun (except for my birthday last weekend, that was a blast), I haven't blogged, I've read a few emails and sent a few quick messages on Facebook.

I've missed baby showers, concerts, enjoying the summer days.
But I am hoping it will all pay off in the end.

I shall return, sooner rather than later, so don't be nixing me from your blog rolls just yet.

And don't forget to tip a stripper. You know you want to.

_______

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The grossest potato chips ever

I may have posted this before.

I can't remember.

But... YUCK.

Found in London's Heathrow Airport - a peculiar combination that made my stomach flip.
Not in a good way.

Prawn image via Chronus on Deviant Art. Also? Lol and Eeeew.

Seriously.

No, REALLY.

The result?

I'm pretty sure sour cream and onion trumps "prawn" any day.
*shudder*

Grossest.Potato Chips.Ever.


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I ate Mozart's balls

It was my HUSBAND's idea! He's freaky like that, yo.

They were gluten-free. That was a nice surprise.

They smelled pretty good, too, which is quite a feat for the balls of a man who has been dead for 221 years.

How could I resist? Look at this face:

How seductive. Who knew that Mozzie had such bedroom eyes?

They came direct from Austria. I think. I didn't really listen to what was being said, I just started eating them with reckless abandon.

I can only imagine the number of folks who will be disappointed in this post.

Here, to make you feel better, I've included something shiny. (What?!? It always works for me!)

Come taste my balls. They have a subtle cherry flavour. No, really.

Not as amusing as Pete Schweddy balls, but it'll do, pig. It'll do. Happy Sunday.




My mouth is watering, just thinking about it.... BWAHAHAHA...
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So apparently I can make coffee even WORSE

Yeah, remember when I forgot the filter a week or two ago when attempting to make my usual morning coffee?

Well...

Today I remembered the water.

I remembered the filter.

I even used filtered water. (Did I just blow your mind?)


I was oh-so-proud of myself, despite my foggy head, raging allergies and general disdain for the morning.

The one thing I forgot?

The damned coffee.

Yep.

I made coffee without coffee grounds. And I can't even use "Monday" as an excuse. Let's just say that the colour and taste were a bit off.


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Google is making me think I am funny.

But I'm not really that funny.

My blog traffic has spiked the last few months, but it's mainly from Google Images where people are searching for sexy socks, spandex asses, and a few other search terms that shockingly (okay, maybe not so shockingly) bring them to this little ol' blog.

It's disappointing because it means that they won't stick around. They just take my photo and go.

*sigh*

Also? I decided that over the last two weeks I want to get really fit. (Stop laughing). So I've been exercising in various forms like a   madwoman  myself   myself, but with more determination and less pajamas.

*I CAN HARDLY MOVE*
I am so sore it actually hurts to type. My forearms are screaming "What the f_ck are you doing to us?!!?"

True story.

And I think my right hamstring just called in sick. 

That's all for today.

What I really want to know is if you all planted a tree on Saturday, or tipped a stripper. Inquiring minds need to know.

__________

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You know your day is going to suck when...

You place your ground coffee filters, with eyes half-opened, into the coffee maker... only to realize a few minutes into "brewing" that you forgot the coffee filter.

F_ck.

Hey, when the stores are closed and I need caffeine, a used filter is better than no filter at all. Which I just learned today, unfortunately.

Do you know how hard it is to clean out that thing? I'm still tasting grounds.



Okay, Happy Saturday. Go plant a tree.

Or tip a stripper. Your call.

____

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Trifecta - Enigma

My entry into the Trifecta: Week Twenty-Six writing challenge.

Enigma

As the sun rises, the question is ever-placed but never-answered.

Will the strength come today to propel her feet out of bed and stop the tears long enough to function? Will there be a smile upon her face, will a joke or two be uttered throughout her waking hours, or will she feel trapped in her world, turning her back on self-care and self-love? Will the house be a scattered, cluttered mess when he comes home, or will the shutters be open and the carpets cleaned?

He never knows what to expect. She never knows what will change her mood, her mind, her ways. Ever an enigma, to him, but even moreso to her. Unpredictable, desperate, content, striving, failing. 

As the sun sets, and her head hits the pillow, she hopes the strength will be within reach tomorrow.

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The Finished Madlib!!

Because I'm sick of watching NHL hockey playoffs, here is a madlib about foooooootbaaaaaaaaaaaaall!

__

Football is a favored taxidermied skunk for many cans. November is prime time for football whistles. People travel long ways to wash their favourite teams compete. Local bananas play, too. Many thongs enjoy a pre-game BBQ, and most 'Seriously? Really?!? Seriously?' blog followers get loudly drunk on gin and sex on the beaches or Coors 'Slow'. Hot dogs and deformed sheep are often slept on a portable grill. The average person usually eats 86 hot dogs over the duration of the cat. I usually pick a team based on how soft the logo is, or how thin the team colours are.

Often, quarterbacks rely on Mother Teresa to help them krunk the game. Obviously, that means that Mother Teresa likes one team better than the other. That's probably because the other team is hungry.

What? You didn't know she was a fan?!?

Every team wants to win the SuperPedophile. It's the final shallow play-off game at the end of the season. The winning team gets long earrings if they win the final phone. A lot of nachos, beer and junk food are consumed at fabulous parties as everyone watches. Some quarterbacks even manage to date super beautiful supermodels with big legs.

Thanks go to Fearless Fibro Warrior, Bridgitt, CarrieMarie, Althea, Maggi Shelbourn, blissflower1969 and Hey Monkey Butt for their wordy contributions!!

________________

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Madlib for fun...

I did this on another message board and thought I would try it here for fun.

You start with a story with blanks in it. From there, you fill the blanks with random words (nouns, adjectives, etc.)

Post your response in the comments with the corresponding number, and I will edit the post with the final Madlib when we're done. Don't forget you can post a comment anonymously.

Tee hee.

1. noun
2. plural noun
3. plural noun
4. verb
5. plural noun
6. plural noun
7. adverb
8. beverage
9. adjective
10. plural noun
11. past time verb
12. number
13. noun
14. adjective
15. adjective
16. religious person/religious God
17. verb
18. adjective
19. noun
20. adjective
21. adjective
22. pieces of jewelry
23. noun
24. type of food
25. adjective
26. adjective
27. body part

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Mirrors = Love & Hate

So, I was thinking last night...

I have a love-hate relationship with mirrors.

Why do I hate mirrors, you ask? (Okay, you didn't ask, but play along, okay?)

I hate seeing my reflection. I know you are supposed to look in the mirror before you leave the house to ensure your look is only mildly hobo-esque instead of full on hobo. It's either that, or something to do with accessories, which I rarely add. I find it throws off my hobo style. No, not Soho style. Not bohemian style. My hobo style.

I prefer to just assume things fit and that all is well, then look in a full length mirror (likely after the point of no return, because I am already way late, OBVS) and discover that I actually look super shitty.

Mirrors also let me see all the great stuff I can pick at or pluck at on my face. That's a bad thing, my friends, especially if I am anxious. Snap. Yank. Crackle. Pop.

Why do I love mirrors?

Driving, thankGAWD.

And in the gym. Not to look at my slowly-bloating self over time, realizing I should be AT the gym IN FRONT of those mirrors more often. No, not at all.

THE MIRRORS CHANGE MY YOGA PRACTICE. You know, when I actually do it once a month. Yoga I mean. The teacher mentions that the left shoulder should be stacked over the left hip in warrior. A subtle change and DAMN! I can FEEL that! And it looks so much better, so CORRECT, so easy to see how my wonky ass is different from the instructor.

Approximation of me in tree pose. I need that tutu. (Via)

So there you go.

You probably thought I was going to mention nudity or something fun. But c'mon now. We all know I'm no fun.

You know, unless there is tutu involved.



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Holy Shit, It's May!

When did that happen?

How did that happen?

And why did I have 5 ice cream cookie sandwiches today? Hmmm? I need an answer for that one, most importantly.

I feel like life has been on hold for 3 years. Time to unpause, just not sure how to do it (though pretty sure eating my way into plus-sized clothing isn't a successful game plan...)

What are your plans for May? 

What do you tell yourself when you feel exhausted, unwell, but determined to change?

And how do you NOT buy and consume a multi-pack of ice cream treats?

Damn, this world is just so confusing.


____________

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I Need To Trim My Bush

It's getting all hairy and out of control.

For real.

It could probably scratch out the eye of a child or dog in its current state. Not that children are typically near my bush.

See for yourself:

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You should see it post-butchering... I mean... post-trim. I think it looked better here.

What?

Get your mind out of the gutter and stop thinking about my bush.

Pervert.

___________

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Dear Dundas

Dear Dundas, Ontario,

Why are there no motherf_cking mailboxes anywhere?!
Anywhere!?

Seriously?

I drove in circles and couldn't find a one. (Not the same circle, that would just be stupid.)

Oh mailboxes, mailboxes wherefore art thou? 

Dammit.

Sincerely,

My mail-sendingly-challenged self.


_____

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Disappointment: Now Less Fattening

I love me some avocados.

Like, to the point of mashing them on my gluten free toast every morning, even though they pack about 25grams of fat into one little bastard. And even if they are not even remotely ripe. I just rip the sh*t out of the bread and still try to mash away.

Anyway.

They keep getting more and more expensive at the grocery store, but I needed my fix, so I bought a bunch at full price.

I opened one of those babies up... to see this:

Perhaps it's the universe telling me to STOP EATING SO MANY GODDAMNED AVOCADOS?

Now, I know you probably don't give a rat's ass, but that is a pretty crappy pit-to-actual-edible-avocado ratio.

Seriously.

Really.

I feel so ripped off. I guess I should be glad there was less fat in my belly?


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Easy Bean Salad Recipe (gluten free, too)

This was inspired by my excessively expensive bean salad purchase from a few weeks ago, and a new commenter on the blog. No, this isn't a food blog. Shush.

Here's a super easy (gluten-free) bean salad recipe that I made with my mom-in-law.

Upside down garlic infused olive oil with salt and pepper.

You can do it, too. Or not. It's not like most of you came here for a recipe, right?

1/2 can drained and rinsed chick peas
1/2 can drained and rinsed black beans
(or a full large can of mixed beans. Go nuts.)
2-3 cups cooked quinoa (it's gluten-free, super cheap at bulk food stores, and takes 15 minutes to cook... even *I* can do it) Also? Avoid looking like an idiot at the store by properly pronouncing it as KEEN-WAH. not Quinn-Oh-Ah.
2/3 of a red, orange or yellow bell pepper, chopped
15-20 halved cherry tomatoes (or just chop up a regular tomato, but it will be more wet)
As much cucumber as you want
1/4 - 1/2 sliced up avocado
1 medium shaved/grated carrot (it's too crunchy if it's just sliced)
1/4 red onion, chopped (optional, don't use it if you hate onion or your husband does. lol)
sea salt (or regular salt) to taste
black pepper to taste
whatever the heck else you feel like seasoning it with

Almost done this bean salad. I added in another 1/4 avocado, some more salt and grated carrot. Just waiting for the quinoa to finish in my rice cooker. (I'm lazy like that, yo). p.s. I don't know why blogger is rotating my photos, and I don't know how to fix 'em.   

Dress it with:
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil (or whatever oil you have in your cupboard; Me and my judgy organic extra virginous oil are not judging you. *snickers at industrial vat of vegetable oil in your cabinet*)
2-3 cloves of garlic (allow to steep in the olive oil for an hour or so, if you can)
Lemon or lime juice to taste

Remember me? Don't be a sucker.

There are a ton of variations on the dressing, including adding in cider vingear, orange juice (not worth the sugar, really), and other stuff. Knock yourself out. But not literally, if you're cooking on the stove. Duh. Add whatever veggies make your tummy happy. Or your bowels. Or both. We all need some loveable roughage in our lives.

Be warned that most tamari sauces, malt vinegar, and lots of other mixes contain GLUTEN, because that sh** is in EVERYTHING. The simpler the ingredients, the better.

Be further warned that if you are not a big fiber-eater, your tummy might have something to say about all these beans the next day. Just sayin'.

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Upside Down Cake... Er... Life

So right now you could say that my life is in a period of transition.



No, I am not pregnant.

No, I am not moving.

No, I am not dying.


No, I won't elaborate.


What I will tell you is that my anxiety is in full bloom, working overtime, and my feeble little brain is having a hard time just getting through daily life as a normal, kempt human being.

F_ck you, Blogger, I decided that kempt is a word, if unkempt is one.

Anyway, I've been travelling a little. I've been looking at my house and realizing how little we've done to maintain, upkeep, NAY improve the house since our descension onto this lovely little street with 3 dogs and 1 cat over the years.

Also? I think that decension is the wrong word there, but who cares.

Spring cleaning = unsurmountable.

Have you ever gone a long, long time without cleaning your house, only to have company come and experience a cleaning blitz like no other to prepare for their arrival? Where you hope they won't spot that pesky dog-vomit stain on the carpet... the chewed up baseboard, or the fact that your front entranceway is missing a few tiles?

I find it sad, but so true, that we get so used to seeing our surroundings day to day, that we don't realize what might look absolutely horrifying or ghetto-fabulous to someone seeing it for the first time.

Like dog drool on the popcorn stucco ceiling that can't be cleaned off.
Stupid cluttery shit like those candles you bought at Winners for $4 about 10 years ago that are collecting dust on dollar store metal plates.
The ever-expanding collection of elephant knick knacks and carvings that have somehow overtaken your shitty IKEA wall unit.

You know, those things.

I am a mini-hoarder, so it's hard for me to part with shit like that. SHIT. (Well not the elephant and Africa stuff... that stuff is travel-memory GOLD).

Someone in her twenties might be stoked to buy those things for a song at the thrift shop... so why don't I purge? Declutter? Donate? Clean and cleanse?

Why do I have an emotional attachment to an ugly candle?
Maybe because I only have one nice candle?

The "just in case" factor?

I don't understand myself, but something has to be done to clean this place up. Laundry doesn't count, but maybe I'll start there.


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Bleeding Love: A Reunion

So I picked up my pup from the doggy boarding kennel today.

Who? ME? But I iz adorable dawggie?

I knew she'd be excited.
I expected some overzealous greeting.

I did not expect this: a free scarification and sharp wake up call.

Exhibit A:

Ouch.

I didn't realize a short, 70 lb. dog could literally hurl herself into me. I had even clipped her nails about 5 days ago!

Add in the fact that her paws were filthy (as was her head, WTF, kennel? Seriously, it looks like her head got stuck under a car or something equally black and oily?) I rushed home to wash that shit out. It huuuuuuuurts.

Yes, scratches and boobs. You're welcome.

Next time I am wearing a tear-proof HAZMAT suit.

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Kijiji is a little terrifying.

For any of you who aren't cheapskates who like to avoid the hassles and bullshit that accompany trying to sell anything on eBay, I'd like to introduce Kijiji. The cheap bastard's way of posting classifieds.

I sold my old car on there once. It seems like an easy option. I mean - who reads the real newspaper anymore? I don't. (Then again I avoid all news for that matter, so maybe lots of folks read the paper and I am just incredibly out of touch...)

I just tried to post a wanted ad, and lo and behold the f_ckers deleted my ad. And it wasn't even because I was seeking this:

Never underestimate the power of punctuation. And my crazy, overtired imagination. (Anyone else picturing zombie babies? No? Just me?)

Kijiji and eBay just piss me off.

Oh, happy easter bunny crucifixion day, too. Don't want to be rude and overlook that.

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Songs That Move Me (3)

Just watched the Pearl Jam documentary "20".





Stay with me.
Let's just breathe.

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A wedding picture

Just because, dammit.

Best day of my life.

I find it so damn hard sometimes, but it is really important to focus on those happy memories, those wonderful moments in time, memories, things that make life worth living.

The things that are easily forgotten, but can pick you up and put a smile on your face.

This day (the whole day, except for the bitchy officiant) was one of those days. ALL DAY. Listened to our song today and cried happy tears.

Take a minute and think of a moment that makes you grin like a fool.

Tell me about it in the comments.

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LIFE = FAIL

Have you ever woken up on a Tuesday morning, made a few phone calls, stopped for a moment... and realized you're a complete f_cking failure?

No?

Just me?

Exact moment of realization.

Fair enough. Carry on.


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True Test of Marriage

Try moving a dog-drool covered couch out of the basement, between three doorways within two feet of each other, with an injured thumb.

How the hell did it get there in the first place?

THAT, my friends, takes real love. (You know, since I don't have patience.)


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Did You Hear? Apparently I'm Rich...

I know I wow you all with stories of dog doo, my exploits of staying awake past 11pm, and my fear of Walmart employees smoking beside the propane machine, but I have news for you.

Apparently, I am LOADED.

And not loaded off of Skinny Girl Sangria. No, my dear friends, not THAT good kind of loaded.

I mean, I clearly must make huge bank. Be rolling in dough. I think I should be wiping my butt with twoonies. Hell, twenties.

Why, you ask?

Because I can afford THIS:

My sexy thumb, for scale. And I think that is mothereffing barley which has gluten.

What's that you say?

"What's the big deal?"

Well... in my foolish attempt to secure a low-cost meal option at the grocery store, I decided to get the medium size of bean salad. Thinking it was sold by the size (like the horrendous greasy potato wedges I ALSO ate), I picked the middle of the road.

AND WAS HORRIFIED when I saw the label right before I was rung through the cash.

BEANS ARE HEAVY.

I am sure your bowels can agree with me on this one. So when sold by the weight...
 

What, is there Grey Poupon in there or something? WTF?

Seriously? REALLY? For bean salad (with or without a fancy name label)? SERIOUSLY? 

F_ck.


All I could think of was this:




Talk about brilliant marketing. Add some vinegar, olive oil, and salad counter leftovers, and mark the price up TEN TIMES. I assumed once it was scooped and labelled it was mine, so I didn't ask her to put it back.

I even had all the f_cking ingredients at home.You know, except for the effort part.

So don't hate.

Also? Don't order the large unless you are having Cristal champagne and having your driver take you home in your Rolls Royce/Hummer limousine hybrid.

Seriously.

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Remember when I said I was at the library...?

Yeah... so... I took the puppy (who really isn't a puppy any longer) on a walk today, despite my foot pain and better judgement.

I've been switching them over to new food to help prevent the already-into-the-thousands vet and food bills we had from January and February combined. This new fancy-pants "Blue" sensitive stomach food contains only turkey and potato, so hopefully no bad reactions.

Well, the switchover is resulting in soft just-try-and-clean-me-up poops.

(I know, I know, this blog revolves far too much around dog poop, dog poop consistency, and all things dog poop related).

Anyway, DVDs in hand to return to the library (what, you thought I checked out books at the library?? Good one!), Ella the dog decides to take a huge liqui-poo on the boulevard.

Oh. HAI.

I grab one of my THREE poop bags (you never know, I swear she stores them up for her walks) and try to clean it up. I failed miserably.

I may or may not have gotten poo on my left hand. There may or may not be a touch of dog poo in the top corner of the DVD case that went back to the library. I may or may not have tried to clean it out with a dead husk of something in the grassed area that leads to the library drop boxes. I may or may not have succeeded in getting it all.

You may want to wash your hands a lot if you check something out from the library because you just NEVER know...

Hey, be glad I spared you poop pictures this round!

 P.S. If you want to read my product review of Burt's Bees Sensitive Skin Care Cleanser and Daily Moisturizer, it's right here. If you'd rather leave me a comment about dog poo, that's cool, too.
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Trifecta - Lost

I found a fabulous new blogger who I have added to my blogroll (Amelia), who introduced me to Trifecta, a writing challenge for the weekend.

"This weekend's challenge is to write a story entitled 'Lost' in exactly 33 words. The word 'lost' can only appear in the title, not your 33 words."

LOST.

The course of the girl's life, forever changed.
Trusting, foolishly.
Making regrettable choices.
Someone else's viciousness
Cannot take her self worth, intelligence.
Destroyed before starting.
Never forgotten. Never forgiving.
Often scared.
Forever scarred.





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Funny channel on YouTube

Okay, so as I was trolling around reading as much as I could about KORNY2012 / KONY2012, I somehow stumbled upon this set of videos on YouTube.

[EDIT: I had no idea that Ellen already discovered this AND used one of the ones I posted here, dammit!! I clicked on the one of her name pronounciation just now Mar. 15/12, and saw the clip from her show. I will prefer, instead, to claim she retroactively copied my content. Okay, not really.]

I didn't realize they were posted by different owners at first.



You know, reasonable.

_

Then I found these.









I bet the original "pronunciationbook" is über-pissed at "PronunciationManual". I pity the poor person learning the English language who may not realize they ARE different.


Man, I needed that laugh.


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Top 10 Ways to Live On The Motherfracking Edge...

The top 10 ways to live on the edge:

1. Try driving through the public library parking lot on the first day of March break. Holymotherofgawd, children, watch where the hell you are walking!
2. Stay up past 11pm, knowing full well your dogs will wake you 3 individual times at the crack of dawn due to newly formed separation anxiety (for your husband, and not you).
3. Drink on a week night. (After the age of 30).
4. Play Russian roulette with the 8 valid and 2 expired condoms in your bedside drawer, while in the dark.
5. Hell, have sex in general.
6. Be the envy of all your single friends when all conversations lead back to your two dogs. No matter the topic of conversation. Always dogs. ALWAYS DOGS. (Refer to #2).
7. Put sheet glass out for bulk garbage pick up day, THE NIGHT BEFORE, giving the proverbial finger to all the teenage ne'er-do-wells that you know convene and wander your street.
8. Attempt hot yoga without a towel, using only an acrylic sweater for sweat absorption.
9. Ever attempt to do a shot of tequila (after the age of 19).
10. Wait until February 29, 2012 to contribute to your RRSP.

Wow. I'm shaking just from writing that.

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Skinny Girl Sangria

What's a girl to do when her foot might be the source of death for her?

Foot fetishists will be sorely disappointed. Also? Jesusf_ckingmotherofgod please stop bleeding, foot.

Drink.

So I tried Skinny Girl Sangria for the first time tonight. No, it wasn't free. No, I'm not being paid to review it. I'm just sharing. 'Cause I kind of was suckered by the "skinny girl" part.

I'm drinking it now. My first thought was that it smelled kind of like cow poo... or something else I couldn't place. It feels almost thick like ice wine, but it's only supposed to have 110 calories per 125mL.

For those of you wondering, you don't mix it with anything, you just drink it as if it were a regular pre-made sangria. Which it is. But with a different kind of taste that I can't place.

It tastes reasonable. It has potassium sorbate and no sugar. It looks like thick apple juice. It has floaties in it. OH WAIT - NO, that's just because I re-used a glass that has Great Dane fur in it. My bad.

When I looked at the nutritional info when I was in the liquor store, I had no idea if that was even good, since most wine and other coolers don't print the calories. Or, well, if they do, I am too hammered to ever read the labels. I'd say it's worth trying once to see if you like it. We're not talking about Cristal here.

I'm drinking it, but I'm still overweight. Damn false advertising.

Based on the cost (I think I paid $15 for 750mL), it is decent enough, but I'd rather have red wine at full calories (which has to be comparable, but I am too goddamn lazy to Google that sh*t). Or get that lovely gut rot that comes with more than one Smirnoff Ice vodka cooler.

Okay, the nutritional info on the Skinnygirl website says it has 132 calories and 22.5 grams of carbs per 5 oz.

Also? The more I drink of it, the better it tastes, so don't trust a word I am saying.

It's nice for a change. And nice if you are trying to numb yourself to the realities of life and death.

You know, not to be dramatic.

Has anyone else tried this stuff, and if so, what did you think?



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About.com: An Overview

Directions on how to use About.com:

1. Insert your search phrase.
2. Realize that About.com is shit.
3. Get frustrated differentiating between relevant links and ads.
4. Give up and go back to Google to search ANYTHING BUT About.com.

Occasionally:

1. Wait six months and forget how shitty About.com is.
2. Repeat steps 1 through 4 above.

Said in German accent: "Accom-pleesh nuh-theeng!"

My public service announcement for the day.


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The Lab Puppy Walks The Great Dane

Okay, I admit I was over tired when I recorded this back in July of 2011, but I found it hilarious.

The puppy decided to "take the lead" quite literally, and walk our Great Dane around the living room. And he let her.

Via leather leash.

We had been doing special training, based on "Certified Education Training" (the type Brad Pattinson uses from his show "At The End Of My Leash".) It looked like she was trying to take on the alpha role.




Sorry for the boisterious laughter, I just couldn't believe it went on and that the Dane allowed it. *Facemush* right into the dining room table.

Ah, the joy of sleep deprivation and dogs.

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On the way to the diamond store AKA Cops & your tax dollars at work...

So, in what certainly had nothing to do with the gnawing teeth and bobbing head of a zany puppy for the past year, we took my engagement ring in for it's yearly inspection and cleaning (per their warranty agreement).

Reasonable facsimile-ish.

At said inspection, under the glimmery diamond-shiny pot lighting, at the fancy-pantsy minimalist office space (where I always feel like they are going to launch into an interview and/or interrogation), the man simply hovered his tweezers over one of the side stones in my ring, and that baby wiggled and bobbed much like I did at my bachelorette party.

Wait, not like that. I didn't mean BOBBED like that. I meant, like, stumbled and was all sloppy drunk.

Jeez, you guys and your perverted minds make it really hard to tell a story here. (Stop snickering at "really hard". I mean, seriously? C'mon. Oh stop laughing at the "come" in "come on"! You people are just impossible, really.)

*ahem*
Moving on.

So as the diamondologist/sales guy/Captain Obvious stated, the diamond was loose and it was recommended that we agree to let my baby (the ring, I don't actually have a baby - seriously, dammit, stop it with the sex stuff!) be sent away for repair.

Kind of like Dr. Suess' Grinch. I imagined them "taking it to Santa's workshop" and then never returning it. You know, 'cause if he really returned while hurling himself down a mountain slopeside at high speeds, my luck would result in the ring flying out of the sleigh, right before the avalanche struck.

Okay, what was I talking about again?

What my ring would have looked like with one more solid face-mash from the puppy dog.

Right, so, anyway, ring gets repaired.
My aversion to leaving the house, along with my fear that they wouldn't let me pick up the jewelry without the original buyer with me (aka The New Husband AKA the Former Feyoncé™), TRIPLED with the fact I was worried they would try to charge some crazy fee for repairs, caused me to delay the trip for a few weeks.

So I got over hurtle #1. Made it out of the house, presentable, but with lioness-like hair. Drive my ass all the way in to Mississauga. Pull into the diamond store parking lot... and.. oh f_ck.

TWO COP CARS are parked near the doors.

**PANIC**PANIC**PANIC**PANIC**PANIC**PANIC**PANIC**PANIC**PANIC**

**SOMEONE.BROKE.INTO.THE.SAFE**SOMEONE.BROKE.INTO.THE.SAFE**SOMEONE.BROKE.INTO.THE.SAFE**

**SHOULD'VE.COME.SOONER**DAMN.YOU.ANXIETY!**

Deep breath.

Walk to doors, see cops walking around inside the store with a sales guy. No large vault doors appeared to be open.

The sales guy seemed pretty calm. Happy, even.

My sensory-threat level of DEFCON BAJILLION began to settle.

After I waited about 15 minutes and was finally reunited with my love fancy ring. There were no problems, no fees, no issue. But then, I realized that the police had been called because of a premature alarm of some sort (Stop it! All I said was premature). But, you know, they got there before me.

AND THEY WERE BROWSING THE MOTHEREFFING STORE. The two of them were wandering about with the sales guy, looking at prototype rings. For at least 15 minutes.

Approximation.

And they were still there when I left. Had I not had the most obvious, loud-snapping-when-taking-a-photo-phone, I would have documented that shit for you. They were clearly ON DUTY and IN FULL UNIFORM, just browsing about the diamond store.

Jeez, guys, at least pretend you are inspecting some alarm shit or something.

And you KNOW one of 'em is gonna try to get a "badge"-influenced discount.

So, there you go. My ring wasn't stolen, but I am pretty sure that part of your tax dollars were if you live in Peel Region. You know, inadvertently.


Then again, I could be all wrong.

But that usually never happens.



Happy Friday.
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