Proud Moment

Okay, I am supposed to be cleaning the house because I am a PigSlob who is:

1. messy
2. cluttered
3. mildly hoarding-like
4. easily distracted
5. what was I saying?
6. Oh yeah....
7. hey! something shiny! (focus, dammit, this is Wal-mart and the nose leash all over again)
8. painfully addicted to the internet
9. unable to throw perfectly good things out (see No. 3)
10. incapable of properly organizing donations of things (and I feel guilty asking those certain ones to come to my door - it costs them gas money so how is that helping?)
11. don't know where to send perfectly good toiletries I haven't opened or don't want any more (even women's shelters around here won't accept them) which sends me back to No. 9.
12. indecisive, often stopping myself before I start, especially with tasks like this
13. quick to get frustrated/impatient and want to give up

Okay, I'm done making that stupid list. It's depressing (see No. 13).

Anywho, I had a proud moment today. Thought I would share it with you all so you can once again say "I'm so happy I don't have her life".

I have still been losing weight (and hair) and now I am getting pain in my teeth. The latest (racist and incompetent) dietitian told me to try to ignore the 'BANNED' or 'CHEAT' list and start eating more foods because I am simply not getting proper nutrition.

SO you know what my wonderful idea was today? Why not lure a co-worker to come to the PIZZA.Freakin'.HUT.Lunch.BUFFET. And I lured. And we went. And I ATE beyotches. I ate like it was the last supper, or.. well... the first good lunch I have had in a loooooong time.

What? Not a good idea?

I ate 8 pieces of veggie pizza, and 2 pieces of dessert pizza. Oh, and 2 bread sticks for good measure.

C'mon! Those are SMALL pieces. (Note, all but the onions and tomatoes are on the banned list in my irritant-free, G.I.-friendly diet).

I returned to work. The cramps worsened. The nausea bloomed. But I expected that. Tomorrow will be rough. But I signed up for it, so suck it up, right?

I had to return a bunch of bathroom items from the renovation (I seriously took back 5 shower curtains, among about 25 other things - have I mentioned I hate making returns yet do it all the time? See No. 12 - indecisive).

I pulled into the mall parking lot after successfully stopping and returning stuff at 2 stores. And I felt it. After 7 months of vomiting daily in 2009, there was no mistaking what was coming next.

I was in a freshly paved, non-porous asphalt parking lot. There was no storm drain nearby. Even if there was, I wouldn't have made it in time.

SO the vomiting commenced. Leaning out of my driver's side door, trying to simultaneously keep the door open enough to not puke IN the car, closed enough I had a shred of a veil/cover from the public in the lot, keep my damn sweater cowl neck from becoming a strainer, and hold my stupid brown/purple terrible-multi-length-cut-hair from becoming entangled in the drama in front of me.

What a proud moment.

Thought I was done.

I wasn't.

Image Credit

In... uhhh.. unrelated news - Did you know that asphalt is really hard? That things can BOUNCE back upwards if shot downwards with enough force?

Yeah... my last post about the spa lost me two followers (that's 12%! How depressing is that?!). I figure this post should clear out at least 5 more.

But this is my life. This is the glory and the glamour. This is the frustration, the hunger, the lack of portion-control. This is my body telling me to eff.right.off. I still had to make returns to 3 more stores, on shaky legs. I popped an organic, all natural, sugar and sweetener-free mint, cleaned up with a napkin, and had to forge ahead.

"Hi..... I'm here to look legitimate and mature and make some returns. Mmmmkay? What? Something on my face?"

Maybe it was really just triggered because two of my co-workers were egging me on when Bublé came on the radio before I left. One even started singing. Then playing it on his computer. Loud enough to enrage me (so, simply audible I guess).

I say it's Bublé's fault.

Too bad I couldn't explain that to the lady beside me in the line at Winners... who kept inching further and further away from me...

Gotta go clean. BF's folks are coming into town and I have to deal with Nos. 1 through 13 now.


_______________________________________
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I'm Scared of Spas - Part 1

No, not "spazz"... I'm one of those quite frequently. Or react that way frequently.


I recently had a really bad spa day. "Bad spa day!?" you say, "How on earth could one have a BAD day at the spa, with all the pampering and selfishness and having other people serve you, you haughty bitch?!"... and at first I would tend to agree.

But I know better now. Much much better. Times two.

I'll start with the most recent one, which resulted in me being told to "get the hell out of my salon because I don't have time to deal with this."

The aesthetician took me into a little ghetto back area without enough room to completely move around. She explained my package would include a facial and 30 minute massage. I had originally booked a manicure, too ('cause I thought, what the hell, maybe it will stop me from chewing my nails off for another week). I cancelled that part two days before because I had a doctor's appointment I needed to be at later on, and I didn't want to cut it too close.

What, me....be late? I know, unfathomable.

Anyway, so she assured me there would be enough time for the manicure. I said no. She INSISTED yes, it would be dry in time. I caved. Drawn over to the selection of 18 polish colours, I felt neon was not in my best interests. She assured me that french polish was "classy and sophisticated". I used to think that, too, in my youth. I went to the trouble of getting one for BF's sister's wedding, only to realize that everyone but me thinks they are ugly and not desirable.

RACY PHOTOS BELOW!  SORT OF NSFW!

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Schultzy Goes For Surgery

UPDATE: Sept. 24/10 8:25 pm, Schultz is doing okay! The surgery went well, they were able to cut out all of what they were hoping to, now we await test results to find out if it is something neutral or something bad. He was quite distressed I was told, after coming out of the anesthetic, chewed out his IV, ate his bandage and was probably making a hell of a lot of noise, so BF picked him up fairly soon after surgery.

Schultz is just sleeping, is very out of it, and refuses to drink which worries me a bit, but we'll give him some time. So relieved his is home with us. I couldn't face losing two of my pups in one year.

______________________________________________ 





Another atypical serious post (most are not like this, but this one is important).

So tomorrow morning we take our boy to have surgery on his back end.

Looking a little tipsy in this photo

I had to put down my beloved Scooby Doo in January of this year, and it nearly killed me. I know that sounds absurd - she was a dog, but she had been my best friend and unfailing companion for 13 years.

With Schultz, I feel so bad for all that he's been through, and I just want him to be healthy and happy and know he is loved. Can animals know love? Probably not. They don't even recognize time.

But I'd like to think he know tenderness and compassion - or at least the opposite of abuse, neglect and starvation - in this household.

"Shit... I'm going where tomorrow? For what exactly?"

I wish I could explain it is to make him better.

"Nawww, just playin' Mom, I play you like a fiddle. So easy to get you wound up." *snickers to himself*

It's amazing how much pets can mean and how huge a space they hold in your heart. And then add in my incredible, impressive, hard-to-fathom, exhausting anxiety, and you've got yourself one hell of a worried fur-baby mom who won't be sleeping tonight.

Guarding us against small children and the elderly. Good Boy!

I tease him all the time... joke that he isn't the brightest dog, or that he enjoys the company of his nether regions more than me, or tease about his constant drooling (what, he can't help it, it's a Dane 'design flaw' - those jowls give him no choice and I know it), but in truth he is an incredible guy who has overcome horrendous treatment in his life. I love him with all my heart, and whenever I can make his tail wag, it feels like a small victory to me. For all he's been through, and to see he's still smilin'.

I'll update tomorrow to hopefully (surely, right?) say that all is well, they could remove things, it isn't cancer and that his heart was just fine for his age under anesthetic.

I have to go out of town for my own doctor's appointment after we take him in, so I will be a nervous wreck until we are all home together.

Please think positive thoughts for our boy, and cheer Dr. H. and Dr. R. on in your minds!

Image Credit

We love you, big guy.

xoxoxox

Mom & Dad aka BF

____________________

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I Hate You Wal-Mart

But it won't stop me from buying from you. And hating myself for it. (Maybe it's my lack of self control/restraint that I hate? Noooo, no, it must be Wal-Mart).

Why is it that I can never - I REPEAT - never ever leave you without spending a minimum of $50? I go in for spinach and laundry detergent and I leave with a cartful of shizz and I am typically $80-$120 poorer.

What's that you say? Just don't get a cart? I've tried that approach, and in the end my arms are totally overwhelmed, I am even crankier, and I ultimately have to grab a basket (that then becomes overfilled and exceptionally heavy) and balance all my crap until I give up and go to the checkout.

Image Credit

I just came from there. I went in for a dog/nose collar contraption that works for Schultz. It costs $8.94. I walked out of there with two bags and a charge of $56 on my handy dandy Visa.

I even promised myself that I would ONLY BUY THE DOG LEASH. But you know what I did?

I saw a bag of chips 'anniversary sale' priced. They were the yummy, super-salty wavy ones in the red bag, with questionable vegetable oil. They were the BIG size! They were only $2.50! It was 2:00pm and I hadn't eaten since 7am! My hunger won.

I opened those bad-boys up and started eating some in the store. Sooooo not classy. If an employee saw me, they had the full and complete right to bitch-slap me right there for opening up greasy food and walking around their store. I am sure that if I had passed a mirror the sight would have been so repulsive I would have...

I digress.

I thought I wrote salty baldness for a second there.... Image Credit

 

So I meandered to the FAR BACK CORNER of the store to get the dog thing. I saw a big thing of detergent on sale. I forged ahead (But the price is so good! You didn't get a cart, dumbass and that thing is heavy! It says it is biodegradable after 90 years, that's good, right?! No - dog collar, dog collar, dog collar).

I may have weaved a path through the shoe department. Maybe, maybe not.
Of course I did.

And the funny thing? I didn't even want to look at shoes. I don't need any more shoes. At that moment (it was fleeting, no worries) I didn't even WANT shoes.

These blistery shoes turned me off shoes for, like, a week. It was that traumatizing.

I made it to the pet section. It felt like a small victory. But folks, I had to turn around and make it allll the way back to the register.

That means I had to pass:

the stationary section (I've been needing a little foldy thing for receipts in my purse so I will just scroll every single aisle here to see if something could work.... nope, but oooh! Multiple-coloured pens on clearance! That seems like fun! Pens are fun!),

the glass food storage containers (I am always seeking out the latest clearance because I am becoming more and more afraid of plastic and leaching and health concerns by the day... and yes I am crazy, thanks for asking),

coffee tables (my friend needs a new one and I thought maybe I could get her a cute little one, then I thought that she likely has nicer taste than wood laminate and that who the hell was I to try to design her living room for her because I have terrible taste and what was the rest of her decor anyway? Thus..... I moved on),

shower curtain stuff (we finally picked one out of the 82 that I purchased, but it needed a liner... so... did you know that Wal-Mart has a shitload of liners? I perused and hummed, and might have even hahhed. Then bought 3 so BF could choose which one he liked the best. I'm so sweet. Either sweet or irrationally indecisive).

And that is another post in itself.... I am a buyer-with-the-full-intent-of-returning-at-least-one-of-something-after-shopping-if-not-more (sorry ♥ Vicki ♥, please don't hate my kind.. or... well, at least me. I always keep my receipt and never open the stuff!!).

So I left with chips, 3 shower curtain liners, multi-coloured pens, something else I've forgotten, and some other random thing. For $56.

Oh yeah, and the dog collar.

______________

seriously really seriously blog

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Letters - This Needs To Be Said

EDIT: Watch out! There's swearing in the depths below, yarrr! But it's better smelling than Davey Jones' Locker! (I think).

Now I feel slightly copy-ish and cheaty, since I have seen other blogs do this. I first read many of Allie Brosh's at Hyperbole & A Half, and then some of Barb's over at Two Beans or Not Two Beans.


But I feel a burning need to do this, because I do this in my head mentally on a daily basis, and a lot of this isn't enough to make a post of, on its own. So here goes. Thank you for the idea, ladies, I hope you don't think I am a good-idea-thief.

Dear Noisy Comforter:

We bought you as a 'nice' addition to our room... to appear more grown up and coordinate with our brown and green scheme. You are fucking noisy as hell and I hate you. Washing in hot water and drying with fabric softener sheets have done nothing to muffle your incessant need to be heard whenever BF or I toss and/or turn in our sleep.

You are cloth. How the hell can you produce noises at the volume you do, betwixt two sleeping bodies? Seriously??... Reeeally?..... Seriously? You ruined my weekend sleep-in mornings and I hate you. Your expensive, noisy ass is being relegated to another room. We will happily go back to our ghetto-pilled-up-unmatchy comforter.


p.s. I am tired. Fuck you.

-S

Dear Driver Ahead of Me Who Drives Really Slow Until The Stoplight Turns Yellow, Then Guns It To Get Through The Light While Laughing at Me, Stuck At The Red Light:

Is there a congregation of you folk? Is it your life's purpose to drive around all day like this and just annoy the shit out of late people like myself who really really wanted to get through that light? Is your standard driving speed really somewhere between 35-45 km/hr? How is it that you seem to be able to consistently plant yourself in front of me on the days I am the most late for work?


You incite the most unhealthy levels of road rage in me. I want your licence revoked. Twice over. Bitch.


-S

Dear Puppy With Oversized Worm Belly, Razor Sharp Teeth, and Beloved Puppy Breath:

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

I love you. I wish I could eat you up in a vegan-appropriate way. You are so freakin' cute it hurts.


-S

Dear Fruit Flies In My Purse:

Listen, I have bad days and limited food options. I also like a good deal when I find one. If I buy local baskets of peaches (you know, to support local farmers, but mostly because they are yummy and on sale), I will undoubtedly toss one or two in my purse.


Now, fruit flies, I am also a forgetful person at times. I get this from THE MOTHER I think. When I either:

a) forget that I ALREADY placed two peaches in aforementioned purse or
b) believe I have eaten all peaches in my purse but turn out to be wrong

Please take some pity on me and do not find said peach(es) in an advanced state of decomposition in purse and feast like there is no tomorrow.


How can you even get into a sealed purse? You have skills beyond my earthly ones. (Like my impressive ability to ascertain whiplash consecutively). Please, please just stay in my purse until I make the awful discovery. Flying out, plumped up to nearly the size of a mosquito, in front of family and co-workers makes me look really gross(er). And by then, when I kill you, you actually have enough blood to splatter.

Please fruit flies. I promise to try to eat all fruit assigned to my purse. Should I slip, please just feast and remain in said purse until I can free you via purse contents emptied onto a patio table, letting you fly away happily and satisfied into the night.


-S

Dear Schultz:

Please do not head straight for people's crotches when they walk in our door [sidenote: Schultz is our dog, I am not referring to BF]. You never do this to mommy or daddy. Is it that we have uninteresting genitals? You already know us well enough? You think this is appropriate "getting to know you" behaviour with our human guests?

Criticize me? But... but MO-OM! I'm so cute... Don't make fun... *sad face*

Also, kindly refrain from enthusiastically "cleansing" both your penis and your anus for minutes on end. Especially in front of company. [sidenote: the poor boy does have something wrong with his bum, but we are scheduling him surgery and we are super-concerned.. but he has always 'enjoyed' this preening before problems arose.... I can only assume].

I know it's hard. I'm sure your flexibility and canine status make it practically expected of you, but still.


Finally - we love you very much, are worried about you, want you to be better, hope that you are happy here, but also request that you do not attempt to make contact with our faces/hands/surfaces immediately after you have "cleansed". At least get a drink of water or something. Please? I may be lying when I tell you that you have fresh breath. I just don't want to hurt your feelings, Schlutzy-pants.


-Love, Mom

Dear Winamp & All My MP3 Files:

When BF has (male, 30-45ish) poker company over and I offer to play music from my computer, please don't make me look like such a douche. I know, I know, I can make these things called "Play Lists" but I don't have itunes and shit isn't labelled properly by genre or year, making it really hard for me to scroll through ALL the songs and organize the way I should.

I promise to look into theses tech-savvy assistants to help streamline my choice of music, however until I master this, kindly cease selecting classic ditties such as:

• "Bangles - Eternal Flame"
• anything old Britney Spears
• 50s hits my father would enjoy (Pallisades Park, for example, including all other reminiscent-only downloads)
• slow/folk-y Sarah Harmer songs
• 90s house music such as "A Little Bit of Ecstasy - Remix" or "Berri - Sunshine After The Rain (Thunderpuss 2000 Mix)" (even I don't like remixes)
• anything from "The Bodyguard" soundtrack, or
• "Hot Chocolate - You Sexy Thing".

There are more, but neither BF nor myself can remember (probably because the embarrassment has forced us to block out the memories).


Also, please get in touch with all of my empty CD cases with decent music inside the house, ask them to contact the CD booklet in my car, tell them to come inside and next time we can avoid this SNAFU altogether by circumventing digital with some classic Tragically Hip or Pearl Jam CDs.


Thanks.... for nothin'!


-S

Dear Vampire Bill on True Blood:

I love it when you say Sookie. Sookie Sookie Sookie. Sookie Stackhouse.


I will miss you until Season 4.

p.s. This video is wayyyy too long, but you'll get the idea after a minute or so...


-Eagerly anticipating your return, S



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Gerard J. Butler's Grin (has been John C. Mayer'ed)

Image Credit

This post is John C. Mayer-ing Gerard J. Butler. It's all Aunt Becky's fault over at Mommy Wants Vodka.

So Gerard J. Butler is a fantabulous actor fellow who had acted in movies such as:

• How to Train Your Dragon   (I was hoping this was racy, but apparently it is children's animation. Bummer)
• The Bounty Hunter   (Totally on the library wait list for this one. I love me my Gerard J. Butler, and my Team Aniston)
• Law Abiding Citizen (Gerard J. Butler was very very angry in this one. I saw Gerard J. Butler act in this one while taking a flight to Winnipeg)
• Gamer
• The Ugly Truth
• Tales of the Black Freighter
• RocknRolla   (Also totally and completely on the library wait list for this Gerard J. Butler film)
• Nim's Island
• P.S. I Love You   (You know what Gerard J. Butler? I love you, too)
• The Butterfly
• 300   (Never did watch it - seemed to me there was a lot of blood involved)
• Beowulf & Grendel  (Nothin to do with Beyonce)
• The Game of Their Lives
• The Phantom of the Opera

IF YOU WANT TO UNDERSTAND JUST WHAT THE HECK I AM UP TO WITH THIS POST, YOU HAVE TO TALK TO AUNT BECKY HERE. IT'S ANOTHER BLOGGER'S IDEA I NEED YOU TO UNDERSTAND, SO YOU DON'T THINK THIS IS WHAT MY BLOG CONSISTS OF!!!
 
I have P.S. I Love You, featuring Gerard J. Butler, sitting right here in front of me, just begging to be watched before I return it late to the library and pay a fine, then curse myself for renting these movies complimentarily (new word?) from the public library instead of taking myself to Blockbuster and just paying the reduced one-night rental fee. Gerard J. Butler is worth it, right?

But I need freedom. One night with him might not be enough. Sometimes he needs time to breathe in his DVD case. Other times, he must be viewed and admired and sought after via DVD immediately. To look at his cute grin is always charming. Even if Gerard J. Butler was kind of a jerk in The Ugly Truth. The thing is - Gerard J. Butler dictates when I should be watching his movies or adoring his grin. I can't help it, it is up to him.

To learn more about Gerard J. Butler, you could always visit his Wikipedia page here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gerard_Butler


Being Canadian, I was quite pleased to learn that he spent the first 'few years of his life' in Montreal, Quebec (Canada for you international followers). So that makes him sort of one of us. For a few short Gerard J. Butler years.

His grin is something like this, but less furry and more endearing:

Gerard J. Butler has an adorable grin.

According to the Daily Record,
Gerard J. Butler "has also told how a childhood infection left him flashing a wonky grin. The Hollywood heart-throb was just 10 years old when he had surgery to cure crippling ear pain.

Butler revealed he still suffers ringing in his head, hearing loss and has a dodgy smile - 30 years after the op.

He said: "When I was younger, I looked like I had a stroke. Because my mind sometimes feels like it's melted down, I'd think, 'Maybe I did have a stroke.' That would sure explain a lot of things." "

How could you not love Gerard J. Butler after reading that? I know some people very close to me that have afflictions that have caused their features to alter slightly. I love them more for it. And I also love him more for it, as well.

Gerard J. Butler is great. He is talented. He was a lawyer before he was fired from his job. He was not one to be held down by 'THE MAN'. No. Gerard J. Butler instead chose to outlet his creativity and soul through the art of acting.

Gerard J. Butler is a trooper - a survivor.

I wonder if he would like my dresses? Or if he would condone my diet? If he is friends with other celebrities such as John C. Mayer or Michael Bublé?

I wonder if he does his own grocery shopping.

Gerard J. Butler rules. I think that he would enjoy this post. I am most certain that Gerard J. Butler's publicist would be happy to read my love for him. I wonder if he is married? He is such a mysterious character, he is. I don't know that I will ever really know the true Gerard J. Butler.

I have a feeling this is totally going to backfire. I love you Google.

EDIT: YAY! I figured out my error and actually made page 1!

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The Reacharound

Let me begin by saying that this post has nothing to do with prison, nor the love of two men.

I was in the grocery store today, doing my thing, on a hunt for okra because I decided to go to the closest grocery store to my place of employment that might have okra. So this was new territory for me. I wandered, shivering in the A/C, looking for my okra.


I found it in the farthest back corner of the store, and was quite pleased. I am sure my smile looked maniacal. (Trust me people, there is such little I can eat). The man beside me looked, quite frankly, a little afraid.

At first I thought it must have been my maniacal smile. Then I realized I probably looked really really strange rifling through the pre-pakaged vegetables on the highest shelf looking for the freshest ones.

Am I the only one who does this (besides my mother)?

The ole reacharound? A little rifling? A check to find the best shizz?

Those store owners and stock boys know a thing or two. They know if they put the good, fresh ___________ (fill in the blank) at the front, that the shittier stuff will never be purchased. So, in my youth, my mother taught me the invaluable reacharound, in order to get to the best shizz hidden at the back.

Not to be trusted.

I'm sure I looked like an idiot, moving things around, comparing the best 3 out of 4 packages of freakin' okra. And I studied them fiercely, make no mistake.

I've never actually seen okra fresh and/or wholly green like this.

 Then I thought - I need to make this a post and see if I am the only one who does this.

This goes for bread for BF, milk, yogurt, even sneakily stacked apples and random produce. At least being on the taller side allows me to reach places that shorter, elderly people can't.

Then I had an attack of conscience. Am I somehow jumping the line of fresh food entitled-ness? Am I altering the balance of the universe by circumventing standard purchasing procedures? Will I screw myself out of okra because the guy at Longo's will be all like "hmm... looks like this stuff isn't moving... all we have are these nasty super-moldy ones left" (as opposed to the slightly-less moldy ones I was able to secure).

It's usually somewhere between there and here (but closer to here). Did I mention I am allergic to mould?

Am I wrong? More diabolical?

Just sayin'.

___________

seriously really seriously blog

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Sequins & Malnourishment... Not so bad?

Okay, so I was at my parent's house this past Friday after taking my pup to a good vet.

My mother has a tendency to hang on to things. Not to the extend of Hoarders on A&E or anything, but I definitely learned from her.

That is why ghosts of dresses past can be found in the downstairs closet. I am quite sure I asked her to save some (many, all) of them, but just didn't bring them with me when I moved here. There are old bridesmaid dresses, evening gowns, various gorgeous dresses I had no place to wear but just had to have, athletic banquet dresses. Even a prom dress. And more!!! Yes, more!

I am certain there is also a 70s polyester jumpsuit in there I am dying to learn how to sew back together so I can blow a Halloween party's mind.

I digress.

For the hell of it, mom asked me if I wanted any of the dresses before she donated them.

So I thought I would try them on once more for old time's sake, we would laugh at the ill fit, and off they would go.

Now this is me, in one of my past stages of overly-thinness, on prom night with my date (I couldn't find the one with Steve anywhere... I lost all my photo albums but one, WTF?) dancing on stage with my friends who I shall use pseudonyms for (Cammie and Gloo):

Pretty sure you can see my skeletal legs in there. And I know, I know, my face is covered, but it IS me.

Here's one with my mug, and again, friends who shall be protected with MS Paint boxes over their faces. We will call them Cammie and Jlenn.

Look at that mother effing hair.

For shiggles sake, I tried on the prom dress again. AND.IT.FIT. Holy shit. This torturous, joyless diet does, in fact, seem to have an upside......

I realized that in order to get the true effect, I would have to simulate my prom-night hair, so I gave it my best shot:

Man, I wish I still had my sample photo of what I wanted my hair to look like, so everyone wouldn't just assume I wanted to look like the bride of Frankenstein that night. And I even went to that expensive Gallupi's! Damn it. I bet you an entire can of hairspray was used, and I depleted them of their entire supply of bobby pins.

So after this chuckle (and elation, I won't lie, the last time this dress fit me I was: underage, drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade in a downtown parking lot, in my date's Chevette at the age of 18). I couldn't believe it fit. I was mentally tallying who may or may not have a spur-of-the-moment wedding this fall that I could potentially squeeze one last dress-wearing in for.

But folks, it gets better. And by better, I mean more disturbing, more fuschia, and more sequined.

While mom was getting ready to head out, I found my old gem of a grade 8 graduation dress. That baby would sparkle on a moonless night. A big, badass fuschia bow at the back. (Ahahaha anything fuschia can't be badass, can it? I think it goes against all the laws of nature). I even went strapless for this grand 12-year-old event!

I remember trying on dresses in the only fancy dress store we knew of in the Eaton Mall at the time. I really wanted this gorgeous forest green Victorian-type dress, but it was over $300 (which was ridiculous for us at the time) and it required a crinoline. A bit much for the passage from elementary school to secondary school. I didn't even have boobs.

So instead, I sadly settled on the fuschia number. The price was right, and I knew damn well that no other girl would be wearing the same dress, either because of better common sense, the fact that most parents were absurdly prudish and wouldn't allow strapless, or because.. well, it was the only one there.

1992 Ladies & Gentlemen:

Flair for the dramatic? Whahh? You mean black gloves aren't the norm for grade 8 graduation?

Check out the quality branding:

You know, that famous designer? Alfred Sung Angelo?

And ooooh! Union made!

And the quality materials (nothing but the best)

And I thought the sweating was just nervousness... damn acetate!

Look at me in all my glory, after winning a shitload of awards (trust me though, it all went downhill from here... come to think of it, maybe the dress was the beginning of the end?)

So at mom's, I pulled that beyotch of a pink sensory overload dress on, and be damned if it didn't fit and zip up. I FIT THIS DRESS 18 years ago!!!

So while this current eating plan is depressing as all hell, I am running out of things to eat, even the safe foods are starting to upset my stomach more than ever, I have no energy, the nausea is prevailing, and I have no idea what to do next.... I think I have some type of wicked halloween dress this year.

Please anyone, everyone, costume suggestions?

Or better yet, vegan/gluten-free/soy-free/coconut-free/nut-free meal suggestions? PLEAAAAAAASE???


*stomach rumbling*

Such judgmental eyes....

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More Funny To Follow

For any new readers that stumble upon my blog, I just want to emphasize that I generally poke fun at myself and avoid seriousness as much as possible. I strive to bring funny, and let you point and laugh at me. EVERYBODY WINS! YAY!

You say: BRING THE FUNNY!

and then

I say: Okay, where, when? How much funny? Should the funny be gluten-free? Are there any people here with dog phobias? Because I can crate Schultz. Is there a risk at all of bringing too much funny? No, no I don't think I could do that anyway, either. So I bring funny soon then? *batting large, scared eyes*

I just felt the need to post that last one for some reason... guess I have a lot of my mind and was unloading. But don't write my blog off because of it!

More funny to follow, I swear!

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A Little Part Of Me Dies

DISCLAIMER - NOT FUNNY, BUZZKILL POST (BOOOO)

These are not in any kind of order, I just typed out the strongest things that popped into my mind.
I welcome readers to post at least one of their own in the comments. You can even do it anonymously.


A little part of me dies:

• When I think of the pain the Rwandans went through during their Genocide, or what the Nazis did.
• Every time I watch even a few minutes of the news
• When I read about the hurt that R has been through with the loss of her beautiful baby boy, Beckett
• When I realize all that I have lost due to illness over the years
• When I think about how much we have here and how children die from simple, treatable things like diarrhea in Kenya and Tanzania
• When the only feedback I get on my performance at work is post-it notes stuck to pages where there were errors
• When I see an animal suffering or dead alongside the road, and wonder what they were thinking and if they were terrified
• When I have a sick pet of my own and don't really know what is wrong or how to help them
• When I feel like a speck who can't impact anything in the world, or impart change beyond my front door
• When I see the full truck of pigs on the highway headed to the slaughter facility in my city
• When I feel like I have let down someone that I love
• When I walk into Wal-mart
• When I ask my family and BF to read my blog and they:
• don't care to at all / tell me they don't care at all / do read it out of obligation, but don't find it funny at all

THAT BEING SAID,

A little part of me feels overjoyed:

• When I get flowers for absolutely no reason at all
• When BF comes home from a trip and is happy to see me and hug me, even if he is exhausted
• When I get to dress up and get to dance with BF
• When I see a butterfly flying near me
• When I see a dog or cat lounging or walking on the street or in a pet store, no matter how shitty my day
• When I get a new blog follower or comment
• When I am invited to a wedding
• When my niece or nephew says they love me, before I say it to them
• When my pets are healthy
• Diamonds. Pretty pretty diamonds
• When someone says something I have done/said/worked on is 'perfect' (this is more rare than diamonds)
• When someone performs a random act of kindness... then I try to do the same
• Finding a great deal at Winners or on something (previously) super-expensive at the Bay
• Feeling the sun on my skin
• Remembering my dog, Scooby Doo, and how much I love her and always will
• Feeling connected to other people
• Seeing Schultz bring me a stuffed animal, wagging his tail, after a crappy day
• Singing at the top of my lungs in my car, on the highway, at night, so no one can see me rockin' out

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I Burn Shizz

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

I am hopeless in the kitchen. Really hopeless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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


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






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


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The Joy Of Pets

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

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

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

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

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

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


I came across this fellow, and my heart melted:

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

So we brought him home on January 3, 2009.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Just imagine the world for a dog:

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

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

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

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

The Joy of Pets.

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


SIDE NOTE:

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

Happy now. :-)

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Even Allie Cannot Help The Lure of Coupons...

Hyperbole and a Half: The Trouble With Coupons

See now, she has wayyyy better drawings. Especially since I have no drawings. But even if I did, hers would be better.

I was so excited to see her new post today and it was about coupon usage. That good ole love/hate relationship is in the air my friends, because it clearly clouded BF's judgement yesterday, too.

And maybe mine... maybe. STOP STARING! I didn't say for sure!


How could you not love a girl with a blog header like hers? Pin It Now!

BF's Shameful Confession

BF shocked me today.

He dropped a bomb, one that I was not ready for.

*GASP*   *SHOCK*  *STUNNED SILENCE*

BF: I did something today that I haven't done in years.

Me: Watched something really perverse/inappropriate online?

BF: No. *looks at me like I am perverted* (I am, it's okay)

Me: What then?

BF: *Long pause* It was a lunch thing.

Me: You didn't eat at all because you were so busy? (In retrospect, should I have been worried he might have responded with something containing the words 'afternoon' and 'delight'?)

BF: *Shame* I ate at McDonald's.

My first thoght was *GASP*. My second thought was about the poor chickens that can't stand because of their under-developed legs and the awful global monsters that I learned about in The Corporation and Food Inc.

My third thought, which I verbalized, was "Did you at least use a coupon?" (we got some in the mail the other day, but it turns out a co-worker lured him to dine for $8.99).

Haha, see how straight my priorities are?

EDIT: This was accidentally cut out yesterday. You have to understand that BF avoids all medication, is a non-soda-drinking, can-stop-after-a-few-bites-of-Cool-Ranch-Doritos-and-won't-eat-the-whole-bag, never-craves-salty-snacks, could-take-or-leave-chocolate, has-never-drank-coffee-or-tea-in-his-lifetime, and would much rather make dinner than go out to eat at a restaurant. Fast food typically makes him sick and he only eats it while under duress (you know, while being held captive against his will), or when forced between business meetings while travelling. And even THEN it is never McDonald's. We've lived near one for 3 years and we've never eaten there. In the 6 years I have known him, he has never eaten there. 

BF: Yeah, a guy at work had one.

Me: How was it?

BF: It was a McChicken. There was nothing on it, except for mayonnaise and a few shards of lettuce. It had no flavour. And the fries used to be good, but they aren't any more.

Me: (Hearing any word starting with "Mc" coming out of his mouth just sounds so wrong).
       *Unsure of how to respond*
I think they had to stop using trans fats or something. And they used to use beef lard - maybe they don't any more. That would affect the taste. Wow.... and I thought I knew you.*

Evil. Worse than Wal-mart? Maybe?

Did I mention how I am not supposed to have dairy or caffeine? Have I also mentioned I have had McDonald's decaf coffee three times in two weeks? Have I also mentioned I shop at Wal-mart, and I hate myself a little more every time I walk through those doors? That I don't feel right making eye contact with the greeter, as it feels like admitting guilt and I would prefer to remain anonymous and feel better somehow? But then again, I never want to hurt the elderly greeter's feelings.

Ahhhh, blinded by coupons, savings and really good decaf. Damn you global masterminds!

* That sentence was a total and utter lie. I think he is more repulsed than I am. He's cute. I'd let him get away with just about anything. And since he doesn't read this blog, the secret is safe with me and my other two followers. lol. Pin It Now!

I *CENSORED* HATE PAINTING

Yeah, remember that last post I made, all jovial, excited about the likeness of Paul Rudd to Vampire Guy, and that enthusiasm I had pre-painting?

I wanted icky cracking to be gone. I just wanted pretty. How misguided.

Cover your kids' eyes.

I FUCKING HATE PAINTING. I SAID IT, I DON'T REGRET IT, I WON'T TAKE IT BACK. IT'S VULGAR, BUT IT IS TRUE. I hope the red and bold both help to bring out the rage I am feeling right now. And the fail.

What should have been a simple door painting adventure turned into one small mishap, then another, then spilled paint, then more disaster, then disaster topped with disaster, all rounded out with two unexpected gusts of wind, one hell of a mysteriously stripped screw, and paint. Paint EVERYWHERE.

I tried to start properly. BF and his mom always say to "use the right tools for the job".

I made sure I had a stir stick, the right brush, the paint tray, a step stool, a rag, a garbage bag cut open as a drop cloth, the paint can opener (I was really proud of myself for remembering that one), a drill, all our screwdrivers (because I am fairly hopeless with a drill). Even a radio to boom out my tunes while I blissfully painted away on my make-shift sawhorse.

Alas, I was doomed from the start and should have known better.

Yayyyy! Boom box to drown out the sounds of my cursing.

All that preparation and hopefulness has resulted in my sitting here naked, for fear of spreading more white paint on to ANY OTHER GODDAMN POTENTIAL surface from locations unknown on me. I used a black garbage bag. Do you think I could see the blobs of contrasting white paint strewn across it to save my soul? No. It's not like it's Where's bloody Waldo. Black and white. Not.that.hard people.

A gust of wind came along and flung my detailing brush out the door, while skipping it along the back concrete step. (Which happens to not be painted white, unfortunately).

Whoa, whoa, you say.... why did it blow it out the door if you were painting on your sawhorse thing? Ahhhh, yes, I tried to remove the door from it's oppressive hinges. I got all the way to the top panel. There were 12 screws. Eleven came out effortlessly, even with ME using the drill. But that twelfth bastard wasn't going anywhere. I am still not certain what type of bit I needed to get that damn screw out of there. When I started, I judged the previous painter for just painting over the entire hinge. I guffawed at their laziness inside my head. Now I understand.

That screw was stripped beyond all recognition. I tried everything. It would not move. I may have ruined a drill bit and/or screwdriver. I don't want to know.

If you can decipher the type of screw in there, you win 9,000 points. 9,000 very very angry points.

Okay, then, take the door off from the inside hinges.

Yeah, our shitty brown screen door decided that it wanted to be JUST enough in the way to make that all but impossible. So I decided to paint the door in place.

This was supposed to make it easy. Who cares about the odd paint drip in an empty garage? Stupid screw.

Knowing my lack of coordination, my clumsiness and my lack of painting ability, I should have stopped myself there and waited for BF's opinion on the issue. Maybe taken the screen door off first, then the exterior door. But no, I thought "I'm a big girl, I can do this. Just tarp the shit out of the floor and be careful."

Apparently my careful isn't good enough because I managed to get paint on:

• The tile floor. Six times. At least. Absolutely no exaggeration.
• The concrete back step. In three places.
• The concrete patio. Thank god that one washed away with the hose and a toothbrush and desperation and panic and a google search that started as "hwo to gt paint of vpmvter". When that failed to yield results in English I slowed myself down and re-typed correctly. (p.s. it is helpful to have a power washer and paint thinner when taking on painting tasks. I have neither).
• [SIDE NOTE: keeping the screen door open helps with fumes. On the other hand, wind is exceptional at sticking bugs, hair, and dirt on to your freshly painted surface. Fuck. Back spray from a hose will also do this.]
• The garbage bag tarp. In large quantities. In puddles. Because I somehow managed to TRIP on the paint tray.
• My feet
• My pants
• My hair
• My hands
• The screen door
• The paint can, paint can lid, in blobs
• The step stool
• Multiple glass surfaces
• The weighted down garbage bag tarp (after the tripping, even held down with a shoe) when another gust of wind flung it into the WET door. It stuck. It effed up the paint.

After washing my foot off for the third time. *sigh*

 SO DEFEATED. We're talking about less than 18 square feet of surface here.

I had high hopes. The sanding and repainting of the garage door frame as well as the front door were next. I was gonna wow BF with my get-up-an-go-ness, my initiative-taking, my doing an unpleasant job I hate so things would look nicely spruced up.

Can I blame it on the light? My poor vision? There is a mass of paint folded underneath that shoe.

I'm a little scared to go back to the door to look at the floor and what I have done.
I don't think I have a second coat in me. Pin It Now!