Drunk Blogging?

Okay, so Allie Brosh has done it in the past, with such gems as "douch bad" and an endless soliloquy to burritos and fighter jets.

I, on the other hand, have had an entire bottle of sparkling wine, and then some. I am also using someone else's laptop (whose buttons are in weird spots compared to those I am used to - seriously, you have no idea how much I have back-spaced up until now, considering the low word count), and I am tacked on to someone else's internet.

I am also supposed to be getting dressed up to go out to dinner. I am hugely unsuccessful on that account, as well.

So basically, I am saying that I am failing at everything I am attempting right now, including drunk blogging, and that I have nothing to offer you.

No worries, you are wrlecoe. I mean... welcome. No,. seriously.

A part of me wants to not correct my spelling and grammar, but the A-personality deep down inside of me is completely distracted by my still-able capacity to find the <- Bk Sp button.

Okay, seriously now, BF is out of the shower and wondering what kind of trouble I am up to... and it is getting increasingly harder to type properly and/or find the proper deleting jeys. O I mean keys.

So.... I feel bad I haven't made my comments in my blogging rounds. My message to you all is that I hope you are having/did have/will have good holuidays, (see, spelling mistake, but I ddnt' backspace yay me, and there is another one in there! )... and a very happy new year.

Or at least a very drunk new years. It's the best I can offer. (or "ovver" if I didn't backspace).

Missing you all and hoping you are all having fun.

I suck at drunk blogging.

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The Joy of Air Travel

First off...

What  motherfucker  asshat  sadist  person invented the standard domestic aeroplane seat? I beg you for the answer (What??!? YES, I AM too lazy to google it. Plus there is probably more than one motherfucker  asshat  sadist inventor).

I mean:

Approximation of me in a seated position. Yes, my posture needs work, shaaaadddap.

While I do not boast to have perfect posture, this is the general idea of my body shape while seated. Now place what you see above into an airline seat:

Headrest, why do you angle out? Why? WHY GODDAMMIT?!??!

Astute readers will see that my smile has been turned into a frown. My already poor neck posture has now been forced to jut forward in an uncomfortable forced-forward positioning. I am roughly 5'-7.5". Yes I said roughly, and measured to a half inch. Enough sass out of you, okay? I always have this weird hollow space where it seems like there should be some kind of neck support, or at least a headrest that is not trying to force my face into business class (although, that would mean my mouth could maybe get some mimosas or free Pringles, so maybe I am going about this all wrong...).

And before you say it, NO, those stupid travel pillows do nothing to help my tyrannosaurus-like neck and posture. They simply induce more rage.

Moving on...

Things get even more enjoyable when you factor in the inevitable:

The douche in front of me: The untold story of Stephanie C.

I always, ALWAYS, ALWAYS get someone in front of me who irritates the piss out of me. As soon as they sit down, I feel the crush into my knees as their butt pushes the seat into me. I try to re-position myself, but my neck position still leaves me somewhere between "Christ this really feels awkward" to "If I don't get off this mothereffin' plane in 5 mothereffin' minutes, I am going to have to hog tie the person in front of me to the bathroom door hinges, then run laps up and down the aisles to shed some of this crazy off of me". (Hey, at least I gave you a range).

Now... have I mentioned what always occurs? What is the ultimate catalyst to my ever-pissy state during a flight? Can you guess? Yes? No? Too bad. It's this:

You may notice his over-sized shit-eating grin. And my immediate claustrophobia kicking into to DEF CON 8.

The person in front of me fully reclines their seat back, without fail. I've been on the shit end of this stick about 98% of the time. The other 2% you ask? Ahhh, that was the last flight back from Winnipeg when I was lucky enough to get an exit row seat WITH NO SEAT IN FRONT OF ME. Christmas indeed came early for me.

To everyone out there: Don't be an a-hole. How much would you like the seat in front of you being an inch from your face? I don't care if the person in front of you is doing it. It doesn't mean we have to create an asshole domino effect. I FUCKING HATE IT, and my guess is that about 99% of the general population also does.

The best part? When it happened to me this Friday, while trying to sleep with my head propped in my lap (because the neck thing was just too awkward), and the fucker in front of me bashed me in the head. Apparently, upon his first three attempts to recline his seat, he did not push the button, he just tried pushing the seat back like a bloody Lay-Z-Boy recliner.

Upon attempt #4, not only did he successfully decipher the secret-reclining code of pushing the release button, but he also used his full body-force to throw his seat back.
Directly into my head.
With full force.
And complete contact.

I lifted my head and slammed his headrest with my hands out of sheer rage. He didn't even notice.

I should have pulled my head back faster when I could feel him unsuccessfully rocking to and fro in his seat. I distantly anticipated what was coming, but was just drowsy enough not to escape the brain adjustment he so kindly dispensed in his need to recline.

Want to take a short, terrifying peek into approximately 45 seconds of my life while on a plane? Air Canada and Westjet, I'm looking at you. (Also? Too bad, I'm sharing it anyway):

This is your brain on drugs during intense air-rage-claustrophobia with an asshole in front of you and no room to breathe. [May or may not include exaggeration for blogging purposes]

"Please ensure your tray and seatback are in their upright and locked position" during take-off and landing FOR THE WHOLE FLIGHT, please. And imagine that in French, for a second, more irritating reinforcement.

I once had a guy recline his seat all the way back, just to lean forward and sleep on his tray table. For the WHOLE 4.5 hour flight. There was a short woman behind me who was easily over 300 lbs, who was terribly, uncomfortably squished into her own seat all on her own... so her knees were already digging into my seat back (though I stayed upright the entire flight). A bonus? My headset didn't work and my MP3 player was dead, so I got to sit like an accordion, bored out of my mind and too cramped to read for 4.5 hours.



Merry Christmas / Happy Holidays / Generic Applicable Greeting For Upcoming Celebrations Too Lengthy To List Individually, and I truly hope your flying experiences are better than mine. Or that at least one of us gets lounge access first to drink the pain away.


So who designed that damn head rest anyway?

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Allie Brosh Posted! And it is Christmas-y!

I love Allie Brosh.

And her mom...

If you have not yet read her blog or seen her illustrations, you  MUST.DO.SO.NOW.

Awesome post, check it out:
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/12/year-kenny-loggins-ruined-christmas.html

Kenny Loggins is both the new Chuck Norris and the new Rickrolled guy. Expect to find internet meme-ing and misdirecting email links soon. All of you.

I will post something new (hopefully) soon, just too much to do and not enough time to get in all done.

Until then, I posted another quick v-log here.

xoxo
Me

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Christmas Wrapping Tutorial (Crappy Sound Included At No Additional Cost)

This is for my good Blogger friend, Jess, over at "not your average joan of archetypal patterns", in response to her much better quality, much better video in her post here.

You also get to see the server-waitress-branded outfit from my last post (I opted for a necklace, straight hair, no pink lipstick, and oodles of frizz-taming serum).

I apologize for the horrendous sound. I did try to caption and annotate the video in some places, but it is hard to hear. However my adorable smiling face should be enough to make you want to sacrifice 7 whole minutes of your life, 6 minutes and 59 seconds of which you will never get back.

There are no close ups. Except for my face when I move towards the computer. All in all, a pretty ass-tastic tutorial. But promises are promises, and my taping rampage may help Jess in her quest for less-lumpy Christmas wrapping.

Behold the wonder of built-in laptop microphone and camera:



Consider it my gift to you all. HAHAHAHA. No, seriously, I'm sorry you just lost 7 minutes of your life.

I love you!


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I Look Like A Server - Also, Want To Help The Bloggess?

This is the last of my bleeding heart posts (the last one lost me two followers, for reals).

Jenny, THE BLOGGESS, is co-ordinating stuff here: http://thebloggess.com/?p=9474
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Moving on to other topics...

I bought a new wrap blouse and a high-waisted pencil skirt to wear to my work luncheon. It is one of two Christmas-y sort of dress up things I get to attend this year. They were both on sale (the clothing, not the functions), but I am still having a hard time justifying the buy. But, with all the weight loss, NOTHING FITS. So, I went for it.

BF said I looked great. I tried everything on last night to make sure it fit and I didn't look like a hooker or anything. I actually felt like I rocked it pretty well.

Then I got to the hall. I was the first one there. A client came in and asked me where to put his coat, and if I worked there. FUCK NO, I don't. I work for the engineering firm that invited you here. (And no, I am not an engineer, I am a lowly co-ordinator, but I still do engineery stuff, beeyotch! Yeah, I've been on a swing stage. Many times. EAT THAT, Mr. Client!).

Then I considered the fact that I was wearing a black tank top, white wrap blouse and high-waisted black skirt. Shit. All I needed was a tie and I would have matched the bloody wait staff (okay, they may have been wearing vests, too, I'm not sure).

My co-worker (we'll call him Colleague #1) came in and looked at me. First words out of his mouth? "Oh hey, do you work here? Can you go get me a drink or something? *snickers*".

JACKASS.

So of the 6 people there, 33% pointed out my outfit was very waitress-like. Which is obviously AWESOME because that was the look I was going for when I shelled out the money to actually buy a decent outfit for once. Friggin' awesome.

So more people came in, it was bloody freezing with the door opening so often, chit chat was had, mingling commenced. I smiled and laughed. I was already pissed that my hair was a big 80's pouf-ball disaster (over-diffusing = chia pet). I also added these pretty drop earrings into the mix, which I had originally assumed would be mostly covered by my hair being down. Once I put the sides up to control the pouf factor, I forgot that shit made me look some pink lipstick away from a Poison video. (Surprisingly more like the gentlemen in said video).

Then I wandered to the bar. And one of the three main manager-guys that I always joke around with asked me if I worked there and if I could get him a drink. He had not spoken with Colleague #1.

Fantastic.

So... I should have worn a pair of my ill-fitting pants with a tight belt, some random sweater, and donated the damn money to charity. Also? I get to wear the outfit again and hope no one approaches me and asks for more h'ors d'oeuvres.  (Yes I had to search for the proper spelling of that).  At least at the work function I had a company name tag on. Not at this next event.

Quadruple bonus? I went to the washroom about an hour before everything ended to find that my mascara had somehow morphed onto my upper eyelids, as well as under my eyes. It looked like I had been crying (trust me, I know that look + mascara). It has never happened to me before, but it was the icing on the cake. I looked like the saddest 80's rocker slash waitress slash bartender slash streetwalker this little town ever did have.

"Hi, I'm Stephanie, welcome to the luncheon." (minus the collar)

I blame it on the shitloads of concealer I tried to apply (albeit poorly, and, what's that you say? Blend? I'm not familiar with that... Pancakey make-up is not advisable? Really? Can you double check that? What's that you say? Liquid/cream clearance eyeshadow probably didn't help matters? Hmm. Well, where the hell WERE YOU when I was getting ready?)

Mark that one as a big, fat fail.

Before you all try commenting with soothing "It wasn't that bad" comments, just let me have this one. This monumental moment of semi-confidence to epic fail. Yes, I am sure it wasn't that bad at the end of the day. Whatever.

Fuck it, I'm wearing it out tomorrow night, too. To a RESTAURANT. I'll tempt fate. But maybe I will try to straighten my hair. And not wear dripping eye make-up. And drop earrings. And pink lipstick.

Nah, probably not.

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Top 11 Tips: Become An Awesome Winter Driver

That's right. Look no further for the savviest tips and advice that can turn you from an average driver in the snow, to an awesome winter driver.

Image Credit

• 1. Be certain to never brush the 2 feet of snow accumulated on your car's roof and trunk before leaving your current location. The surrounding drivers on the highway/freeway will be ever-thankful that you let the snow remain so it can blind their vision in a mini-snow squall. You get bonus points if actual, physical chunks of ice and snow fly off your roof into the windshield of the driver behind you, crippling the function of their windshield wipers AND preventing them from seeing you slam on your brakes. 

• 2. Make sure that you have dark, dark, dark tinted windows. Not only does this allow you the pleasure and comfort of picking your own nose without being seen by fellow commuters and pedestrians alike, it is illegal, AND it also allows the driver behind you to see a black wall. So when you are distracted (by picking your nose and admiring your treasure find, or texting in your lap while pretending not to text [also illegal]) and you fail to see the brake lights in front of you, the person behind you will also not be able to see and avert disaster by seeing the brake lights through your glass if you are being an ass and not paying attention.

• 3. If your car is running on horrid black death fumes, be sure to avoid that DriveClean screening, and make sure you are stuck in front of me during stop and go traffic. There's nothing like the smell of diesel-acrid-smoke exhaust coming in the ole dashboard to really soothe my nausea. The earth also says thank you.

• 4. Brake late. Very, very late.

• 5.  If you are in stop and go traffic on the highway, be sure to hit your brakes incessantly/needlessly. Don't bother to just leave a bit of room between you and the car in front of you. Just ride their ass and accelerate like hell (in stop and go traffic) because, clearly, things have miraculously cleared up and now is your chance to burn some rubber. Don't hang back and try to keep a steady pace without the use of your brakes. The domino-brake-effect will make the drivers behind you much, much happier.

• 6.  Change lanes aggressively across snow-tracked lanes. Be sure to fishtail grandiosely. Saving those 3 seconds and/or two car lengths in the stop and go traffic mean the world to you. The rest of us on the road understand. Go forth, and lane change.

Yeah, just like that....     Image Credit

• 7.  If you want in the lane beside you, troll the line and nearly hit the car beside you. Since it is stop and go, and there is no where for them to go, this will surely give them the hint. It won't scare them, certainly, and will be much more effective than using your car's signals. Good on ya.

• 8.  If some fool hearty moron is leaving some room between them and the car in front, and not hammering their brakes incessantly, be sure that you help close that gap by referring to #6, and #5. They will thank you later, if not immediately.

• 9.  Be sure to flick any and all cigarettes, cigarette butts and garbage out your window once traffic has increased speed enough to send said contents into the open window of the car behind you. Why was their window open? To bring some fresh air in from tip #3.

• 10.  Be sure to never let anyone change lanes/enter your lane if their lane obviously ends soon, or let anyone over if there is an exit ramp nearby. This point is emphasized if you are aware that they have out-of-province license plates and are clearly not familiar with the roadways. 

• 11.  Finally, above all else, ignore 1 through 10, asshat.

Image Credit - Funny blog, too!

Yes, I know bullet points and numbering is redundant, but you can't double space with numbering alone. Also, did you know Blogger doesn't recognize the term "texting"?

Oh, and me? Most definitely:

Image Credit, but all right reserved by/owned by the Comedy Network, The Daily Show

That is all.


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Christmas Adorableness

If you disagree, I will cut a bitch.

Don't think I won't.

Scooby Dooby Doo - August 1996 to January 2010

I bet you were expecting a photo of me, right? Riiiiight?

This is the last photo I had taken of Santa with Scooby Doo at a mall that no longer exists in my hometown.

I miss her so much. This will be my first Christmas without her in 14 years. 

She's damn cute. I loved her like a child.

We can't take Schultz for photos because he would   eat  Santa Claus. And all the children would cry. And we would probably be sued.

Who? Me?

That is all.

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Christmas Insights

I've been thinking a lot lately. A lot. My feeble brain is starting to get overloaded, and annihilating an entire jar of Nutella doesn't seem to be helping. Nor the entire bag of spicy nacho cheese Doritos. (Although I did gain fabulously enticing cheese/onion/garlic breath from the experience, so I can't say it is a total loss).


I have realized that I fucking really hate Christmas shopping with a passion. I hate trying to figure out what to buy people. My family Most people fall into two distinct categories: "Oh, don't buy anything for me, I don't need anything" or "I have everything conceivable and don't need any more shit". There is the odd, rarely spotted third category of "I just don't know what I would like".

In my completely selfish fashion, you know what I wish for, for Christmas? I wish that people would just pick a goddamn charity that I could donate to in their name. We have SO MUCH STUFF. We could probably all go out and buy what we want whenever we want (it's just a matter of how you rationalize it to yourself, admit it). In fact, my dad does this all the time pre-Christmas. He buys stuff before we can.

You know what? I get to do the donating biznazz online. No malls. No angry mobs. No road-ragey parking spot wars.

But in all seriousness, religious or not, if you celebrate the general concept of Christmas, isn't it all about love, sharing, giving? Do you realize that you could donate to thousands of charities out there? Or lend money to someone who wouldn't otherwise have access to funds, if you'd prefer that, like on Kiva?

BF and I started the donation thing a few years ago, and I have found that it is the only part of Christmas that makes me feel good. We buy toys for the toy drive, big bucks go to charity.

If you are struggling to make ends meet, different story. If you have kids and that Santa dude is dropping by and things have been hard this year, different story. But if you have the disposable income, please consider helping out someone else, anyone else. The Red Cross, an animal shelter, a children's organization, a hospital.

Some American ideas here

Some Canadian ideas here

Who? Me? Why, I do declare!

I have realized that part of my Christmas angst is people's selfishness. So I want to be lazy and get the easy way out with charities. See how grinchy loving and selfish selfless I am?

Needless to say, I haven't started my Christmas shopping yet.

[EDIT: Please don't unfollow me... I love you. lol. Back to fun(nier) tomorrow maybe?]

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Embarrassing Realizations (Part 1 of ∞ )

In no logical order:


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

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

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


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

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



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

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

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

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

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I Am Expecting...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merry fucking Christmas y'all.

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

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


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


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Do I Sound Like A Tool? Do You?

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

Wordnet Web would like to let you know:

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

So, moving forward, what the hell?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who the fuck says cheerio? Seriously.

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Songs I Feel

I am sure you have all seen enough of my banana guns mug for now. I have a few ideas for other funny posts, but I am exhausted and I've been meaning to post some of these for a while now.

There are some lyrics that just strike a chord deep inside me for various reasons. Some are sad, some are lighthearted. Some take me back many years and bring either fond or sombre memories.

I wanted to post either full or partial lyrics to one of those songs today. I promise more funny will follow sometime soon.

The first song?

The Philosopher Kings - You're Allowed.wma

(Don't be thrown off by the sounds at the start)

The boys who split your lip and hurt your pride
They broke you more than you know
And all the secret things, that bump in the night
The woes (wolves) outside your door

You're allowed to feel afraid
You're allowed to feel alone
You're allowed to ask out loud

mmmm mm hm mmm hmm

The boys that pulled your hair and hurt your pride
They broke you more than you know
And that drowning dream that comes in the night
The woes (wolves) outside your door


You're allowed to feel afraid
You're allowed to feel alone
You're allowed to ask out loud

You're eyes burn with sleep and your ears stop hearing me
Like when his body relaxes over you
     There's nothing in the world  --  There's nothing that's for real
                        There's nothing that's for real
                        There's nothing that's for real
                        There's nothing that's for real
                        There's nothing that's for real

You're allowed to feel alone
You're allowed to ask out loud

You're allowed
You're allowed
You're allowed


Song:   You're Allowed
Artist:   The Philosopher Kings (Copyright and all rights reserved to them and owned by them, etc. blah blah)
Album: Famous, Rich and Beautiful

[EDIT: File has been uploaded the only way that would work... might require a download and there may be limitations. Will remove after a few days. No online love for Canadian artist's obscure songs.]


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Boys From The Woodwork

[EDIT: BWHAH HAH HAH....
http://hotornot.com/rate/profile/SeriouslyReally

Are You HOT or NOT? ]



Please tell me that I am not the only person this has happened to.

In my life time, my long, long life time of 30-odd years, there has been many a boy, nay, a man, that I have had a large, unrequited crush on. And no, I do not care how frequently and improperly I used commas in that last sentence. I love the comma.

Moving on.

It would seem that, over the years, these "men" seem to crawl out of the woodwork. The key ingredient in this frustrating recipe for disaster, is the fact that these "men" only crawl out when I am in a serious relationship with a real man. (As opposed to those imaginary men from ages 17-19 and 22-24).

It has happened without fail in every serious relationship I have been in, that these "manchildren" seem to appear out of nowhere, profess their previously concealed crush/fancying of me/undying love (I don't think "fancying" is a word, is it?) and leave me scratching my head as to why this was never made apparent when I, too, was hot to trot for said manchild.

In high school, my heart was always aflutter for two particular Brandons. The first was my first love. The other was smokin' hot and I think every girl in school though he was the shizz-nat. For privacy's sake, let's call the 8-pack wielding droolfest "Brandon McSlavish". That should maintain his anonymity. Or not.

Said Brandon and I somehow re-connected after college via the wondrous newest chat tool at the time (take your pick, Google chat, MSN Messenger, or... wait for it...go way back... the flower power that revolutionized the internet for me and increased the number of words I could type per minute, ICQ).

Ahhh, how those little flower petals would set my heart aflutter.

 He said he had always thought I was cute, had liked me, thought I didn't want to talk to him, joked that I was a snob (yes, because a younger girl with self esteem issues would clearly approach and ask out a drool-fest 8-pack... and, well, you get the picture).

And this scenario has played out time and time again in my life. The "ones I had no guts to ask out" "ones I crushed on hardcore but never tried to talk to" "ones I totally would have emailed or texted as rejection is easier to face that way, except that shit didn't exist at the time" "ones who got away" didn't really get away... they just then seemed to pop up at inopportune times enough to be a pain in my ass later on in my life. It was usually only AFTER I indicated I was not single (which would usually be within the first four sentences of contact) that their secret like/lust/love would be mentioned and I would be left scratching my head.

Was it legitimate? Were they just having me on?

This list included exes who made contact once again that I had pined over for some time after the break up.

But, of course, I was happy and complete in my existing relationship, but it was just enough of a "that ship has sailed, but seriously? Reeeally? Seriously? Now? WTF?" to be frustrating as hell.

When I was single? No emails. No chats. No professions of love from the depths of 1997. Just me, on Hot or Not, trying to find the love of my life (and I look back wondering why I dated so many douchebags... good lord).

But as.soon.as.I.was.off.the.market, these menchildren would make the presence known, fluff their plume of feathers, indicate the grass was greener on the other side, and then disappear into oblivion once more.

Now I have the benefit of some time and some wisdom on my side. At this stage in my life, I can thankfully say that I don't long for past love. BF is pretty damn amazing, and I am thankful every day that we made the connection we did and that we continue to love each other and laugh together.

It is interesting, though, that Facebook is an entirely new platform from which these dudes could jump up from the past from. My best guess would be that most of them are married with 8 kids (hey, I come from a small town, I barely made it out alive/without 6 kids/by the skin of my nose/the nose that my own cousin pierced/in a tattoo shop he defaulted on, owed lots of money and made a few important people mad/which left a scar...)

So, you know, ghetto fabulous, people. So fuck heck yeah me!

I hope that any connections on Facebook now are just to be friends, but I am weary of the "guy who wants to 'catch up'" for all the wrong reasons.

Maybe I am just being high on myself ('cause you guys all know I do that ALL the time).

Just for the record, I went to Hot or Not, and damned if I didn't stay and rate people for 20 minutes. I think I have mild ADD. Also? I uploaded my banana guns photo, and if that shit gets approved, you bet yer butt I am posting it up here. [EDIT: I have followed through, my friends. Hence the image at the top of this post])

No one ever gets a rating of less than a 7 from me - seems unneccesarily mean. I mean, who cares, overrate, make someone's day. Or, better yet, get a life and don't go trolling Hot or Not at 1am on a Saturday night for blog "research purposes".

Any one else have this experience? The boy thing, not the Hot or Not thing?

That is all.


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OhMyFreakin'Goodness!

I go off for a week to be violently ill, function minimally in society, fear coming into work late and working only when able to get out of the house....

and you awesome people continue to read and follow!

I was all secretly, eagerly anticipating the 50-follower mark (what, you VALIDATE me *say it like Dr. Evil*)

Thanks to everyone for your continued support. It's been a rough week and there are several more ahead, but your comments, interaction and support are awesome!

If you haven't read my most recent adventure, read about it here. Pin It Now!

Sparkling Clean Colon?

WARNING: The following post is not intended to be viewed by anyone with class, anyone who is easily offended, or by those who do not appreciate toilet humour. That is all.


Not only am I on my way to a sparkling clean colon, I may opt in to the buff and wax, and THAT, my friends, will surely be a treat after all this... purging (so to speak).

MY MISSION: (should I choose to accept it): ... And I quote, "pass a bowel movement clear enough to read a book through". (Gotta love the doctor's honesty).


MY METHODOLOGY: Take laxatives and drink 4 litres of the equivalent of Mr. Clean All-Purpose Bowel cleaner, but with a vanilla-over-chemical-over-salt flavouring. (See steph, see how I used litres with an "re" and flavouring with an 'ou'? I am soooo Canadian, eh?) 

MY ADVICE:

• Do not, under any circumstance, think you can work for any amount of time during this process. You + Your Toilet = BFFs forever.
• Wear elastic waisted pants. Pants with ties (which are the only kind that fit these days, unless a belt is involved, which only adds additional hurtles to overcome on my way to the facilities) can severely inhibit your ability to drop trou in sufficient time.

Your enemy on this quest.      (Image Credit)

• Do not disillusion yourself with the idea you can pass gas at ANY point after you start the liquid. The key word here is liquid. It's ALL liquid from here, baby.
• Do not think you can "live blog" and update. You will accomplish nothing but fits, starts, and sharts.
• 250 mL is a goddamn lot to drink every 10 minutes. Instructions read "you may feel nausea or a feeling of fullness."... 4 litres in my stomach? Yes... full and nauseous is an understatement, you pricks.
• Despite the fact you drink 250 mL SIXTEEN FREAKIN' TIMES, please realize this is not a delicious drink, and please, for the love of all things not disgusting, don't suckle/siphon in the liquid from your upper lip after chugging your chemical-liquid-poo-inducing mixture. It still tastes awful. It's not like chugging Coke. So... just... don't.
• Don't describe the colour transitions of your "adventures" to your BF. He will not be interested and may, in fact, be severely repulsed. He may leave the house. He may not return.
• Don't forget to use the stove timer to remember to drink the horrid shit-liquid every 10 minutes. Be sure to curse and comment every ten minutes how quickly that last ten minutes just passed. Even if it is only to yourself and your dog since your BF has vacated the premises.
• Suppress, with every living cell in your being, the urge to vomit, or you will be back to the pharmacy getting more Mr. Clean - Bowel Edition. And drinking more than 4 litres. (You DO NOT WANT. Trust me).
• Remember which line you are drinking to (it's not that hard, there are only 4). I think I doubled up twice, by accident, because I couldn't keep that simple rule straight.
• Turn up the furnace, put on a hat/toque/balaclava. Add another sweater and a hood. Put on slippers, as long as they do not impede your ability to sprint to the washroom. You will be shivering due to large amounts of cold liquid, huge amounts of loss of bodily contents, and dehydration onset. Stay warm, my friends.
• Do treat yourself you the most luxe toilet paper available on the market (I say this should apply any day). Your butt will thank you big time.

So sooooooothing.       (Image Credit)

•  Damnitalltothell... timer is going off again... 2 more cups to go....

What nightmares are made of.

My colon better damn well sparkle after all this. The doctor had best be blinded by the shiny reflection, or else I will be PISSED when I wake from the anesthetic.

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 Colon cleansing at its best.

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Two New Blog Awards!

So I assume other people are bored when I post about blog awards gifted to me by other bloggers, but when other people who write similarly and think similarly want to give me props for my humble little obsession, it really makes me quite happy.

First -

THANKS STEPH!!!

I was honoured with this award by Steph Gas at it's never too late to save a hopeless case.

She wrote, and I quote:

"i'm passing this one on to stephaniec who writes seriously?? reeeally? seriously?.  not only is she honest with us, but i think stephc is pretty honest with herself on that blog.  plus?  she has THE BEST NAME."

Wicked awesome, you made my day!

Also,

THANKS JESS!

I think it stands for "I Don't Give A Flinstone"

I was given this fine and stylish award by jess over at not your average joan of archetypal patterns.

She wrote, and I quote:

"For those of you keeping count (so, me.) this would be blog award number 2 for me! The first came from Seriously?...Reeeally?...Seriously? (I was supposed to pass that one on, but I cracked under the pressure!)

So, because she forgave me for not passing on her award, and because she rocks and speaks her mind, I am returning the love, and passing the IDGAF award to her.  Rock on, my Canadian blogger friend! Rock.  On."

I will need to figure out what rules there are (if any) and who I will pass these along to. I will post more later.

Thank you, lovely ladies. I like to think I generally don't hold back, but there are downsides to that. I think you are both more honest than I am, but I am working towards really embracing this stuff and blogging as honestly (and humorously) as I can. 

One thing is for sure - I won't hold back on making fun of myself. Would my therapist  BF  friends approve? Likely not. But some of that shizz is just too good not to post. lol. I have to laugh at myself. Especially before someone else does first. HA!

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Clearance Minded

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We are better than you. Go away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

QUANTITY OVER QUALITY, BABY!!

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

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Copycat Post

Hi Y'all!

I was snooping around Jumble Mash's (Mashes?) Blog and saw this post and thought I would be a shit and copy cat (with a shout out with love). Jumble seems to have also shouted to Leigh at her corner of the interwebs.

So, without further ado, a list post:

{1.} do you collect anything? if so, what and how long have you been collecting?

 I used to collect anything Scooby Doo, but once BF and I started living in sin, he quickly made it apparent that he was not a fan of bedding/oversized stuffed animals/figurines/tacky shit with Scooby Doo on it.

 I collected from about 1995 to 2007.

I bet the culprit was Old Man Withers BF, who lives down by the "haunted" mansion!

{2.} what is one cleaning tip that you swear by?

Is this question a joke? Do you know I did dishes last night that had been there since THANKSGIVING, i.shit.you.not. They weren't really dirty, but I hate cleaning. BF would probably say my tip to swear by is "leave it long enough and someone else will be so repulsed they will clean it instead". So... yeah.

{3.} who would you call for bail money?

My beloved sugar daddy  uh fine piece of ass I mean BF, of course. If he was away, then THE MOTHER would bail my ass out, stat.

{4.} what is one thing you miss about being a kid?

Not feeling ashamed of who I am. Nope... wait, I felt that then, too. Ummm. how about, playing Barbies? Slutty Barbies. 

Or seeing your parents in super-duper-awesome health and knowing they know EVERYTHING in the world and can fix ANY problem. 

Hi there, seven year olds should play with me.

{5.} name a few of your guilty pleasures.

Gorging on mini-chocolate bars   free online porn   singing Rock Band 2 until the wee hours of the morning   checking my blog stats obsessively (Why?? Dunno.)   sleeping in until noon on Saturdays   drinking an entire bottle of red on a Friday night, alone at times   I can't think of a good answer to this one, I really don't have any guilty pleasures. Sorry.

What? No, I didn't make these a few months ago on the Rock Band take-a-photo-of-your-character online tool. No, I wouldn't do that.... *shifts awkwardly from foot to foot*

{6.} how early do you start your holiday shopping?

Well, before you all hate me and leave me, be warned I have a very bah-humbug-esque post that I have been mentally drafting. That being said, I leave things late, my father always buys himself what he wants beforehand, my niece and nephew get awesome shit I can't justify buying for them (from the grandparents) and I HATE crowded malls. More specifically, mall parking lots. So... very late. And often online.

{7.} what is a family tradition that you would like to pass on to your significant other/children?

Giving the family dog his or her new bone/stuffed animal on Christmas morning, so they are a part of the festivities. Beyond that, sadly I don't know. 

Christmas morning, 2008, with Scooby Doo

{8.} what do you consider your greatest achievement?

As I commented on Jumble's blog...I have no good answer for this one. I feel like I have yet to achieve great things, which saddens me, as I have no plan in place. Actually you know what? Forget that! I CHANGED MY MIND! I was a fantastic mom to my fur-baby, Scooby Doo (a real, live dog), for 13.5 years. She was my world and I loved her with every inch of my being, so I would say - being Scooby and Mr. Grey's mom. They are gone now, and I miss them.

{9.} what do you do to pamper yourself?

Pamper? Hot Epsom salt bath with a frivolous magazine (that actually usually pisses me off because of the fluffy, bullshit content, but... that never seems to stop me). Other than that, I suppose pay too much to get my "hair did" at the salon, but I have long hair, so not much choice.

{10.} if you were to start your own restaurant, what would it be called?

Miserable-Tasteless-Probably-Burnt-Depressing-Gluten-Free-Vegan-No-Nuts/Coconuts/Soy Restaurant. It'd be a hit with the University vegan crowd, and maybe the Emo [EDIT: hipster] crowd. I would serve rice pasta with bland tomato sauce, organic brown rice cakes with organic hummus, and provide an apology letter for the quality and taste with every receipt.

How about you guys? Do the list and post your link in the comments. Also, feel free to tell me how awesome my theft post was. Thanks. *emphasizes sarcasm*

Outtake: Schultz wanted some massive Scooby stuffing action.

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Blogger... You Piss Me Off

Reasons Blogger pisses me off? There are lots. Also? I have realized I hate a lot of things (outside of Blogger).

Also? I am copying jess’ writing style. Obviously.

1. If I said "I don't want any chocolate", you would check for fever and perhaps institutionalize me. If I said "I don't want squid", then I would assume you would listen to me and not give me squid. When Blogger asks me and I say "Don't track my page views" I would assume that would hold true. I click on a link to review. Goddamn page hit counts in the counter. I said DON'T track!
2. This is check-able by reviewing which post was being looked at. Thanks Blogger. Thanks for counting me in my stats. I am my biggest obsessed fucking fan so now I am messing with my own stats.
3. If I am in the comments box, replying to my awesome readers, and accidentally click their name when copying or scrolling (what, I am clutsy and have a Great Dane who pokes my arms while I type), I lose my entire damn comment while going to their profile page. Can't you temp-autosave my comment, too? Let the back button work and magically have text re-appear?
4. Why are the widgets so damn big? The text is so freakin' huge. I am mildly retarded and unable to modify this. I am also too cheap to pay someone to design this site (because no one cares about it THAT much). Let me RESIZE, mahfackkars.
5. I blame you for my inability to write code, or use more than bold or italics tags in html. I blame you for my lack of funny content. I blame you for my lack of legions of followers. I also blame you for my recent weight gain, my lack of good photo editing software, and this funny rash on my chin.
6. Also, what's this rumour I hear about you and weapons of mass destruction. Hmmmm? 
7. EDIT - I also hate your word "captchas". I feel like I am elderly and going blind while tripping on acid. Seriously... is the warped text really going to trick "spammers"? Prevent auto-word-captcha-filling? On this little blog? Whatever. I disabled that shit. Unless a person has a load of followers and is spammed hardcore, who needs that word verification shit? Hmmmm? HMMMMM?

What pisses you, my fellow bloggers, off with Blogger? How do you deal?

That is all.

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