Happy 6 Years

No, no, not six years of blogging. If I had 40 followers after 6 years I would cry.

Oh, who am I kidding, these days I would cry over spilled non-dairy milk, or a video about a service dog that a friend posted on FB that was beautiful and heartbreaking all at once... that also reminded me of how much I miss my Scooby. Hell, a strong wind in the eye could bring on the waterworks.

But no, this post is a shout out to BF. He's not here with me now, but I wanted to send him all my love over the interwebs and share it with my many strangers new online friends.

I blog about the everyday things in my life, the fails, the happies, the sads, the expletive-rage-filled moments. But at the end of the day, I wouldn't be able to deal with any of it in the poor fashion that I do without his love and support.

Since I need to maintain his dignity respect his privacy, I won't go on too much about his details, but let me say this:

1. I love Lavalife because without it, I never would have met the man of my dreams (yes, I mean BF).
2. My heart wants to explode when I can make him do his louder, really-thinks-it-is-funny laugh, and I get to see his smile. (Those of you with weak stomachs or easily tripped gag reflexes may wish to navigate away from this post now...).
3. Even when he has a crappy day, he's ready to greet me with open arms at the door and a smile. (Well, we already know my days are consistently crappy as of late...)
4. I never knew I could love like this. I thought I had loved in the past, but BF "gets" me, is honest with me, and still loves me (crazy included at no additional cost). He is no bullshit, and I love it. No games, never ever a douchebag. EVER.
5. He supports me in sickness and health, with a rational mind and a considerate heart.
6. He's warm and snuggly at night time. I hate the empty bed when he is gone (unless I call Sven over, his fill in, but that is secret, so shhhhh).
7. He has the most beautiful blue eyes and I know our children are gunna be puuuurty.
8. I can't imagine a life without him and would never want it. He means the world to me, and I love him with all my heart.
9. He is so smart, he knows the volume of a cylinder? sphere? off the top of his head! (That was what sealed the deal, during one of the many times when I was perplexed in college and he rattled off the formula over the phone - no Googling!)
10. He's a fine piece of ass. (HA! I had to say that just to embarrass him totally. Even though it's true.)

I LOVE YOU!!!

Photographic evidence of my happiness whilst snuggling in his arms. See? I didn't lie there.

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Washroom Issues - An Actual Email To My Male Co-Workers

An actual email I sent to my male co-workers with whom I share a washroom. (I'm working on some other posts, but need to get my ass to bed.) You may note I have been on a washroom-related streak lately. Perhaps I need some psychological counselling on that one. Just trying to provide you with a little life
humor

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Email
TO: Office Staff


Hi Y'all.

This needs to be said.

Please lift the seat when you pee. There was piss all over the seat when I just went in there, along with poo remnants.

This was not in the original email... I included it just for YOU!!  Image Source

I had to plunge the toilet to flush after only peeing. (That might be the fault of the cleaning lady - apparently she flushes large stuff down toilets instead of just throwing shizz out).

Moral of the story:

• Please lift the seat to pee, even if you think you have awesome aim ('cause you don't and/or you have bad eyes).
• NOTE: You may end up sitting in your own pee if you use the washroom next time for a "non-pee".
• If the toilet is clogged, please don't pretend it isn't happening - the plunger is right there. Just push that sucker down over the drain hole. It WILL work. I usually rinse it in the sink or shower then leave it in the shower to dry off (yes we have a shower at our work, it's a weird, long story).
• I will ask our receptionist to tell the cleaning lady again not to flush crazy stuff down the toilet! (My understanding is that this has happened many times before on the Friday morning after cleaning night).
• WASH YOUR HANDS! With SOAP! (and if you don't, then don't even bother using water alone. Instead, use the toilet with the door open so you don't dirty stuff and we don't have to touch the dirty taps and dirty doorknob). I will forward this to [Company Owner] to ensure your expense cheques are held back if you do not comply with this new rule.
• TELL [DIRTY SUBCONTRACTOR GUY WE USE] to WASH HIS HANDS! Seriously - time the toilet flush to the door opening. Sounds like he doesn't even fasten his pants.
• If you pee on the seat - wipe it up! At least it is your own pee! It is super disgusting if I have to do it. Especially if there is unintended seepage on that toilet paper wipe of the seat. I don't want Office-Guy-Pee on my fingers! Grossness!!
• Soon I will be enforcing random full body sanitizer, using pails of hand sanitizing gel. You will not be forewarned as to the date and time. (It will be like when the sports team wins the game and the coach gets the cooler surprisingly poured onto him. Consider yourself warned).

There may be some humour and sarcasm in here. There is definitely some seriousness. Please note which one is which.

Thank you and have a good weekend.

Stephanie

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Reasons To Feel Awesome

I have been feeling totally and utterly not creative, have had some low page hits, and think I have horrified many actual adult friends I have through Facebook with my last few posts...


Reasons to feel awesome:

• BF abso-frikken-lutely made my day Saturday when he looked me over before we left the house and he said "you are SO skinny" and smiled. Then we took (clothed) photos to document it because I told him I'll be back to overweight soon enough so I'd better get photographic evidence. Thank you skinny jeans and ill health.

 

• Being able to wear skinny jeans at any time of the month and pull it off.
• When you get new blog followers, comments, and a high page view count when you are having a rotten day. Hoping you made at least a few other people chuckle, either at you or with you, whatever.
• Having the once in a lifetime chance to see Eastern Africa, mountain gorillas, and make eye contact not once, but twice, with the silver back gorilla.

Real, live, wild silver back in the Virunga Mountains in Rwanda (in Parc de Volcanes)

• When you are having a piss-poor year, few months, months, weeks, week, day, seventeen months and are too sick to go into work, and you come out of the bedroom to discover a beautiful necklace charm secretly and sweetly purchased by BF and given by surprise for no particular reason.
• Feeling loved.
• Going for a Harbour Boat Cruise, and successfully photobombing at least 4 separate groups of tourists' photos (after barfing, then galloping around with my fingers to my nose, simulating a rhinoceros because I wanted the stuffed animal version in the nearby shop, much to BF's chagrin). 

The vicious humanceros, rarely spotted by the Toronto Harbourfront. Beware!!

Um, so, yeah in Kenyan Walking Zoos, they don't care much for "waivers", "safety", "fencing", or "keep a safe distance from the huge mothereffing rhino". The Zookeeper INVITED us over the fence. For reals.

See why I love Africa? That is BF with the heart over his face. P.S. - Notice the gut (this photo was from over a year ago) mine, not his, he doesn't have one. Nor the rhino. I so wanted to hop on and shout "GIDDY UP!"

• When your dog's tail wags and wags and bangs the walls, and he runs around all excited because you finally came home (after 5 hours), even though he prefers BF's company.

 Some reasons to feel slightly-less-than-awesome:

• When your only sibling doesn't invite you to your mother's birthday dinner with the combination of the following excuses: "never even thought about it", "it was decided the night before and was therefore last minute" (she lives 35 minutes away) and "I assumed she had plans". I will be sure to give her my home phone, cell phone and email address for future birthdays. And perhaps remind her that she has a sister.
• When your work tells you if you aren't back working full time by December, that they will be finding your replacement and firing you when they legally can. 
• When you look in the mirror and your hair looks like mine does.
• Realizing you place way too much emphasis on weight and/or appearance.
• When you have a case of crippling diarrhea. 

That is all for now. I swear I am working on better stuff.
Okay, not really, this is it.

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seriously really seriously blog

http://seriouslyreallyseriously.blogspot.com/

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44 Baboons, Bitches!

First off, I was tagged and given some blog love from AmberLaShell Rants, and wanted to say thanks and give a shout back! Thanks Amber ;-)

So here is some randomness for lack of anything better inside my brain.

I saw this quiz over at Shatty Blaaagh (created by Oatmeal) and had to take it.

Just so you are aware:


Created by Oatmeal

Also:


Created by Oatmeal

I have to admit, I feel a little sorry for that lonely tapeworm, but he's gotta be one big mother-effer by now.

And that's all she wrote (for now)

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Have You Ever??

Peed in the shower? At the gym? While wearing socks?

Photo Credit

Nah, me neither.

Absolutely had to use your finger to get something out of your nose that wouldn't budge? Wiping it on a Kleenex, of course, and washing your hands afterwards.


No, I know, who would do that? Ewww.

Sharted your pants, either because you held it in too long, surprised yourself with the speed/forcefulness of air, or forgot you had that burrito yesterday?

Me? No, never, that's just... um... wrong.

Been so drunk in your teens that you peed in the bar line-up, were denied entry to the bar, then defiantly told the bouncers that you were NOT drunk and that you felt JUST fine and did NOTHING wrong?

Wow, would that ever be embarrassing. Good thing none of us have ever done something so foolish... right?

Freshened up your your lady bits with Kleenex that had unknowingly come into contact with glitter from a Halloween make-up kit in your purse, immediately before having a pelvic exam?

Noooo, me neither. Could you imagine the look on the doctor's face? And what my your response would be when you have no idea of what is going on?

Nearly screamed out loud because you thought there was a spider beside you, in your peripheral vision, only to realize it was a shadow/shrub/your sunglasses/the car next to you in traffic/nothing at all?

No, I would never do that. That's just... heh... silly.

Ever wonder how many people would have to be on their phones, click over to someone else on call waiting, and keep having this patten continue until the telecommunications systems burst into flames all over the world?


No? Alone on this one?

Had to clean a co-worker's poop off the toilet bowl, absolutely horrified, repulsed, disgusted and near sick, simply so the co-workers that come in after you don't think that YOU made that nasty mess?

Okay... seriously, I have done this several times and it makes me wanna vomit. One guy in our office... I do not KNOW WHAT he eats, but he needs to switch something up and cut down on his glue intake.

Okay, that's all she wrote for now. Had to bump down the depressing post below (though in truth I am not feeling much better and the battle continues). Pin It Now!

Lipton's Soup To Nuts

Inside the Actor’s Studio with James Lipton, prompted by Rabbit over at MicaelChadwick.com
He is funny and seemingly often angry. In a funny way.

(and yes, the varied capitalization of sentences is intentional, for aesthetic reasons even unknown to me).

1. What is your favorite word?  ubiquitous is fun.

2. What is your least favorite word? anything racist. The "n" word infuriates me.

3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally? the rescue of helpless animals, be it through the SPCA, wildlife groups, or places like the David Sheldrake Wildlife Trust.

4. What turns you off? are we still talking emotionally? Or.... like... never mind. I'll just say bad breath.

5. What is your favorite curse word? Damnitalltohell (BF would say it is "fuck"... only when I am really angry/in the throes of road rage/blogging).

6. What sound or noise do you love? the purr of a cat.

7. What sound or noise do you hate? sirens make me antsy because you know something bad has happened/is happening/someone might die. Also reminds me of my sister's near-death experience giving birth to my nephew.

8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? modelling... bwahHAHhah!! No, really, working with animals somehow (outside of a shelter or vet clinic because I am a p*ssy when it comes to death).

9. What profession would you not like to do? streetwalker. I hate walking around for long periods of time. That, or cleaning lady/janitor (waaay too lazy to clean my own messes, never mind the messes of others.... that sort of fits with my first response, too).

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? Beyotch, your blog was funny! And you are not as rotten a person you think you are. But really! The blog was good!

And that's all she wrote.

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seriously really seriously blog

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Holy Divorce Batman!

So, I was reading People online (go ahead, judge). I had actually broken a hard-core addiction to celebrity gossip about a year ago, and figured I would pop on over to see what was new. (I bet you thought I was going to say porn, didn't you?)


And my gaaaawd... there is so much I have been missing out on!

Alicia Keys, Neil Patrick Harris and 8 bajillion other celebs had babies!
But, more interestingly.... holy effing hell is everyone and their dog breaking up? Divorcing? Separating? "Trial" Separating?

Obviously, if a couple isn't in love any more, then it's time to move on if you are both unhappy. Or there's abuse. Or cheating.

But honest.to.Jebus this stuff scares me. I mean, if a solid, secure, normal, down-to-earth, wholesome, squeaky clean couple like Christina Aguilera and Jordan Bratwurst Bratface Bratman can't stay together, do the rest of us have a hope in hell?

She is practically DRIPPING with commitment, people!  Image Credit

BF and I have discussed our fears about that dreaded 50% statistic for marriage success. SO, I did the math, and that means at least ONE OF US is going to get divorced after we get married. Fuck.

I know people in their early twenties who (whom? whatever) I love dearly who are already divorced. It breaks my heart. Not because I think they should stay together if it ain't workin'... but... what a shitty deal.

You fall in love with someone, commit to spending the rest of your life together, and then things turn so sour, sometimes so violently/horribly/gut-wrenchingly sour that you despise the person.

In a million years, I couldn't imagine ever being more than a tad bitchy at BF for, say, not using a clean dish cloth to do the dishes! (WHAT?! Go ahead, judge, but food-counter-wiping-uppage leaves bacteria on that shit! I don't want bacteria-laden clean dishes~! Hmph!). I couldn't imagine a life without him. I wouldn't want a life without him.

And when I think about it, I can only assume that almost every.single.other.couple out there at least started out feeling the same way. HolyShitPanic.

Some of the bloggers I follow are divorcees once or twice over. While I ADORE the snippy edge it gives some of them and their dastardly humour, I couldn't imagine enduring one divorce, never mind two! To those of you out there that have had to do this, I tip my hat.

Well, not like, good job, so happy to hear you are divorced. But I mean, for, you know, surviving through it all. Especially if you have children, too, and have to see your asshat of an ex semi-regularly.

All of this feeds my fears about marriage and beh-bees. I am not a religious person (please don't unfollow me, lol), but I feel the need to be married first before having any beh-bees. I need to lock BF in at least THAT much, so it will be a real hassle for him to leave my future-saggy-pimple-covered-stopped-going-to-the-gym-'cause-I'm-married-and-don't-have-to-even-try-anymore ass. Oh, and my beh-bee(s).

Approximation of post-marriage pimply ass.

Wow, I'm getting ahead of myself.

But I fear that, too.

More than a couple of people have told me that people just 'stop trying' after marriage. Jaysus... I don't want that. I need the motivation in the pre-engaged state we are in to keep showering (sometimes) on the weekends. If we're married... hell, maybe I'll go weeks unbathed.

Have to chisel off the lumps, as my dad says. (Which reminds me, I need to dedicate an entire post to all the odd sayings I have learned from my father that I thought were mainstream phrases until I frequently saw the look of confusion on BF and co-workers' faces. I digress).

Celeb couples who have recently bit the dust (or at least recently enough that I remember, or was saddened at some point):

• Sandra Bullock and Jesse James (though he always seemed a little douchey)
• Britney Spears and K-Fed (Whahhh? Not happily ever after forever?)
• Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt? (I am STILL mad at Brad for that one)
• Courtney Cox-Arquette and David Arquette
• HELLOOO? Jim Carey and Jenny McCarthy (that made me so sad)
• Ryan Phillllllipppppe and Reese Witherspoon
• Christina & Jordan
• Patti Stanger and Andy Friedman (She's the Millionaire Matchmaker, people, the light of hope is dwindling...) Okay, they weren't married, but still.
• Heidi Montag and that Spencer Pratt douche.
• A bunch more I've forgotten and am too lazy to google.
• Did Catherine Zeta Jones and the old Douglas break up?

This is sort of the opposite of my point, but the results are still horrifying, nonetheless.

Alrighty... well, I never expected this post to go quite the way it did, but, meh, too lazy to overthink it tonight.



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Dr. Asshole - The Movie!

Wow me, two posts in one day (can you tell I am avoiding real work here?)

This is a trial run....

Stumbled upon this cool program and HAD to try it. It's just like taking you guys along to a specialist's doctor's appointment with me!!

This is ACTUAL FOOTAGE of me trying to advocate for myself at the doc's... in the middle of a park somewhere. With large eyes. In cartoon format. So, damn near completely accurate.

Let's see if she works:





Not nearly enough cursing, is there?

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seriously really seriously blog

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Fergie, Dog Poop, World Going To Hell

Yes, seemingly obscure title, but these things are all somewhat related. 

First off, as much as I want all new blog visitors to read my naked threesome invite experience in the post below, I can't sleep and decided I should make another post since I can't do much else if I want BF to stay sleeping.

Second - For those not in the know, we have a great dane. A great dane is big. A great dane eats a lot and, consequently, poops an awful lot.

For some reason, my brain has automatically, without fail, associated picking up dog poop in the yard with Fergie's smash hit* "Glamorous". I will be out in the back yard (probably in pajama pants, braless, and in an ill-fitting-but-hopefully-clean sleep shirt). Go ahead and hate. I know you'z jealous.

I just saw the music video now, and I realize I wouldn't even be cool enough to attend the "pre-glamorous" kegger.

I will consistently forget to wear a headband or hat to keep my damn, unwanted bangs off my forehead, further challenging me to locate said dane poop while not brushing my hair aside accidentally fouling my hair or face.

After the first scoop or two, Fergie's damn song floods my mind. At first I would chuckle at the irony/juxtaposition of it all, now I just hate my own brain. Thanks Fergie, thanks a pile.

Now, in addition to this, not only do I get slightly pissy because my life is not, in fact, at all glamorous and I am not living the fast life. Much to my chagrin, I will never be up in tha club, sippin' that bub with Lady Gaga any time soon. So I think (in my petty jealous fashion) about how previously meth-addicted Fergie got to be so rich, famous and (unfortunately) influential on today's youth.

I know I am getting old(er) and cranky(ier) when I start thinking about texting language, the lack of sentence structure and grammar, the general decline of today's youth to spell real words, and the mass dependence on spell-check.

Mind you, I capitalize where I shouldn't, I will put a comma damn near ANYWHERE (I love those little spermy bad boys) and I don't claim to be any higher writing authority.

But peeps - the world is going to hell. Between lol-speak on lol cats (love the pictures, feel like a tool trying to talk that way... maybe I will get the hang of it, even though I don't really want to) and texting, 

Like - I M gettin soooo mad @ kidz who r nvr usin proper sntnces. Fergie is not helping me here, furthering this trend and making English teachers everywhere cringe.

Fergie:

Case #1: Song - "Fergalicious" - quote : 

"It's so tasty, tasty, It'll make you crazy. T, to the A, to the S-T-E-Y, girl you tasty.

World is going to hell: Those astute readers out there will note THERE IS NO E IN TASTY!

Case #2: Song - "My Humps" - quote: 

"I'ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely little lumps (Check it out)

World is going to hell: Dammit all to hell... "I'ma"? Seriously? Really? Seriously?

"My hump, my hump my hump my hump" should only ever be spewed out of the mouth of a camel. A talking camel. And even then only twice! Not by my then-7-year-old niece (to my horror).

Case #3: Song - "London Bridge" - quote:

How come every time you come around my London London Bridge wanna go down like 

London London London, wanna go down...

World is going to hell: Read all potential definitions here, if you dare. But let's just say, none of it is fit for an adolescent.

*I don't think that was a smash hit, I was just being sarcastic (shocking, I know).

And no, I am pretty sure that my curse-filled blog that I spell check every time before publishing has no negative impact on anyone, anywhere. And no, I don't have some of these songs on my MP3 playlist. And no, of course I would ever want Fergie's six pack from one of those earlier Black Eyed Peas video. DUH.

Photo credit

Who you callin' a jealous beyotch? 

Whatever, I have to go clean up the yard....

p.s. Sorry this post is in multiple fonts, I can't figure out how to change it in Blogger, drop down menus be-damned.

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I'm Scared of Spas - Part 2 (Naked threesome invite)

So, this experience happened many months ago, before my most recent traumatizing spa visit.

There was this "Spa Week" promotion that included a national-branded chain (reputable, right?) that was offering this treatment where they use a roller with some type of electrical pulse or something, to help massage your dimply ass fat and help "tighten" the bottom area.

I figured, "What the hell! Why not! It's a $140 treatment for $50, and I will get a leg massage and maybe roll out a dimple or two! Fuck yeah!".

Then I noticed they had the UV tooth lightening on promo for $99, and while I felt guilty for spending money on stuff like that, I was feeling exceptionally low because of my health issues and decided I was worth it. Even if it meant less rice cakes for me that week!! (I know, I know - the sacrifices I make....)

Reminds me of those old wooden trains we played with as kids... but with electricity and shit.

So off I went to the spa, feeling guilty (like I do when I spend money on something like this) but sort of pumped that I would come out of there 30 lbs. lighter with a nice, tight ass. As opposed to this:

Note the lack of "bottom firmness"....

I enter the spa. I might have been late. Who keeps track of these things? Anyway, had to pee, used the washroom, no hand towels. Had to wipe wet hands on front of pants; had no time to seek out hand towels. This is where I think I may have given my aesthetician the wrong idea.


Spa Girl: "Hello, I'm Anna, welcome to _____ Spa, I'll take you to the change room so you can prepare for your treatment"

Me: "HI! Nice to meet you!" (me smiling nervously with wet region of pants near crotch.... ruh roh)

So I change. After being informed that indeed, I should remove everything, put on a robe and those little disposable flip flops.

I get into the room and Anna explains the butt/cellulite treatment will be first. I get nekkid after she leaves me for a minute and crawl under the blanket, contemplating why, on earth, I believed that a $50 treatment with metal rollers and some bullshit electrical pulse will actually do anything to my ass. I am not one of those gullible folks who thinks this will work.... AM I?!?

Was it just me subliminally wanting someone to touch my bum?!? Dear GAWD! I am a pervert, what's wrong with me, I should go, I should leave, what if she thinks I am a perv or something, I should... *knock, knock*

Anna: "All set in there?"

Me *gulping*: Uh... yeah...


The treatment starts, with a rough-ass scratchy brush to remove all your dead leg and butt skin. HOT!
Then there was some massaging with lotions. Then the ol' tool gets busted out. (The cellulite roller I mean!)

To be honest, I remember little on the specifics of the treatment, once Anna started her speech that made me want to hide.

Anna told me that she loved my hair and that she thought it was pretty. I said, aw, thanks. (I had actually styled it that day because I was getting government photo ID taken).

Then she said she really liked the shirt I was wearing when I came in. (Old Navy, elastic bottom, excellent for covering up muffin top).

And no, this is not me.

See, so I am sure that employees of this spa are told to get clients to feel at ease, relax... she seemed to be laying it on thick. This was a spa, not a bar.

Do they encourage employees to ask clients to agree to a threesome? Er... wait.

So, yes, then Anna started talking about how I have SUCH a great body, and that I wouldn't even NEED this treatment, but if I wanted best results, 6-8 would be required. (Spa training in effect). Okay, so maybe I was overreacting to her compliments.

Then, out of the blue, she told me about how every client she sees who has had her boobs done always asks her to feel them, or at the very least, to massage them.

How does one respond to that?

Better yet - how would you expect me to respond to that when Anna is running her hands up and down my ass (dangerously close to the crack)? But kids, it gets better, and even more uncomfortable.

Anna then says that her boyfriend doesn't care much for strip clubs or anything, but that she is always up for going once she's been drinking. That she'd even go with his friends if he'd let her. That she thinks a woman's body is beautiful.

Me: *GULP* (Still naked, still scared)

She says that she really wants another woman to join her and her boyfriend and almost called an escort service once. She asked me what I thought. I mumbled some shit about being adventurous.. just hoping, HOPING it would be over soon.

WHAT WOULD YOU DO? She kept asking me leading questions, testing the waters, and I just kept laughing uncomfortably and talking about my own BF so she'd STOPPPPPP!

Normally, if upright, not naked and in just about any other situation, I'd have checked her out, taken her up on the offer (no, just kidding), been able to laugh it off/decline any invitations and walk away. But I was naked, prone, and had electricity near my ass.

It wasn't over though. I still had the damn tooth whitening (which, by the way, was a total waste of money and I don't recommend it unless you have urine-yellow coloured teeth).

You sit like this:

On an adjustable spa table that converts to a dental-like chair.

You aren't supposed to move, and you have these ridiculous UV glasses on, in a dimly lit room, while a woman who wants to do non-spa things to your body is lurking around somewhere in the dark.


I was terrified that leg clamps were going to be affixed and this story would have ended differently.

I know, I know, molestation is not a laughing matter, but I was scared people... SCARED!

I got the hell out of there as soon as I could. She walked me back to the change room. I feared she would offer to get me dressed. There was arm touching. And a strong urging for me to come back, have a facial, hey, spray tanning is on sale (don't you have to be naked for that, too)???

I want my mommy....



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Things That Piss Me Off

Okay, well there are lots of things. Maybe this should be titled "only a very few things that piss me off in order to fit in a sort of short post"....

I thought I would type some shizz now and perhaps elaborate more later. I wanted to take pictures of 1 and 2 but just didn't, because I am lazy.

By obstructing the view and making it unsafe to turn right, you, too will be convinced to vote for Smedley!

1. Political signs on people's front lawns, especially when the signs start to get larger and larger when their neighbour has one from a different political party
2. Obscenely oversized political signs on random city corners. Is the corner going to vote? And for all candidates?
3. Mother-effing yeast infections
4. Naturopaths who tell you to shove either a) raw garlic b) chamomile tea bags c) grapefruit seed extract d) plain yogurt with probiotics w/no sugar up your hoo-ha to stop said infection in #3 (PEOPLE, I know you are smart if you are reading my blog *har har* but don't EVARRR do ANY of those things)
5. Sugar. I love it, but it causes me.. uh... problems.... therefore it pisses me off.
6. People who put bagged dog poo in my empty recycling bin (located beside my garbage bin) before I have a chance to bring it in. Seriously??... Reeeally?..... Seriously? You think that is helpful?
7. People who force me to litter by violently throwing bagged dog poo down the road in a fit of rage after realizing recycling bin #1 punctured not visible bagged poo in recycling bin #2 (from list item #6).
8. Vets that lie and don't provide estimates and overcharge and play on your emotions (no, not Dr. Harkness at West Brant Animal Hospital... they are freakin' awesome and a breath of fresh air).
9. People who have call waiting but NEVER answer it. Why the hell do you have it then? WHY?!?
10. Doctors who don't give a crap about their patients. I understand you are busy, I understand our health care system is overwhelmed.... but, unfortunately, my quality of life matters to me, dammit.
11. Dietitians or nutritionists who whip out Canada's food guide when they have a gluten-free, soy-free vegan sitting in front of them, desperate for nutrition and intolerant of all the damn things on the food guide.

Not vegan friendly. At all. Ever.

OH! And BLOATING!

 That is all.

p.s. My vote is always for Mayor West

And I don't own any of these photos....
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Q-Tip Quandry

Have you ever seen a dog scratch its ear and position itself in such a way that it just.hits.the.sweet.spot?

Awwwwwwwwwwwwww yeah, baby..... Image Credit

I realized yesterday that I have a love/hate relationship with those little cotton-tipped buggers. On one hand, they are a necessity unless you are a ear-waxless person (you freak!) or you want yellow chunks of shizz in your ears (like my classmate Clayton did in elementary school... I remember seeing it while riding the bus one day and swearing up and down I would NEVER let my ears look like that).

Fast forward 3 years. I was maybe 11. This would be the year before the lovely, sparkly graduation dress. My family doctor told my mother and I that you should never put anything smaller than your elbow in your ear. He comically tried to demonstrate.

I felt a little embarrassed for him.
Also confused.

Nothing that big would FIT in your ear, dumbass (alas, his sarcasm was lost on me. ON ME. I know, it's just... I know).

I have a new appreciation for the dog and the sweet spot. Screw the doctor (actually, I heard his nurse did just that, he ruined his marriage, and had to leave town.... but I digress).

There is a fine line between reaching in your ear deep enough to feel like you are cleaning that mother-effer out all street-sweeper style, then there is the part where you hit a drum or a dangerously-easy-to-puncture-area (or something that hurts like crazy).

My first reaction is to draw back in pain, but depending on the angle of that damn Q-tip, ya gotta be cautious. Every time I start fishing around in there, I always feel über-confident and cocky that I will outsmart the bad-ear-drum part. I'm sitting at about 30%.

Creatures as found in their natural habitat...... Image Credit

Who else, on earth, can you honestly say, would wake up and see this as a challenge? A task to be mastered -  overcome? I am so special. I know Mom, I bet you are so proud!

So far I am not winning this war. And no-name Q-tips... well, my friends, you are just ASKING for it.

This is so random, yet I felt compelled to post.

Wield those puppies carefully, my friends. The Q-tip is a wiley beast. Best not to mess with it.

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I Gotz Me An Award!

Yay!

I was awarded a "lovely blog" award from VickiLikesFrogs (formerly known as ♥ Vicki ♥ , kind of like how Prince changes his name now and again) from her blog, Glitter Frog.

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Fear Not Dr. Dath...

So, just wanted to let everyone know I am alive, but haven't been feeling too hot since my last post. Don't worry, I don't think I'm dying or anything dramatic. Though I *do* have a flair for the dramatic.

Found myself in hospital emerg. last night.

I had the pleasure of pushing a button, waiting for #106 to be "served" (what is it, the damn deli counter?), then sitting beside a young fellow with psychiatric issues who discussed his passion for saving others uncertain of a) the Afterlife b) Jesus Christ and/or c) some computer game. He also discussed his passion for his sister, and indicated he wished her "resolve was not quite so strong" to the gentleman beside him.

I wish I was making this shit up.

His sister appeared, and she split her time between praising Jesus/finding his light and letting the sick, elderly people in the room know, insulting her mentally ill brother, and talking trash about the hospital staff and how she would like to sue them.

It was truly heartwarming. I love me a well-rounded Evangelist.

As I clutched two little teal-coloured plastic bedpans (in case of vomiting), I just hoped a spot would open up for me.

The crazy went on and on and on.

I thought to myself... let's be positive! Then the true me starting thinking about how much it all sucked and all the bad things associated with being there.

I summarized my thoughts, left to right, in a chart just for YOU!

At the end of the day? Some unpleasant findings, and a (supposed?) referral to another doctor next week.

His name? Dr. Death Dath.

I shit.you.not. Can't wait for that appointment. Should be great. I'll let you guys know (presuming I live through the appointment to tell).

p.s. I am asking for my health for Christmas. I wonder if the girl with the line to Jesus could have gotten me into direct contact with Santa? Dammit, the pain clearly clouded my judgement.

UPDATE - OCTOBER 5, 2010:
Dr. Dath was a very very nice man who took time to explain things to me and calm me the eff down, and I hope he doesn't Google himself, find this page, and think I am mocking him. I admit, his name sort of terrifies me, but to anyone who has happened upon this blog while looking him up - you will not be disappointed, I have every faith that he will be able to help you with your problems, or at least let you know where to go/who to talk to if he cannot help you himself. Just wanted to clarify that. He is a very good doctor.

And, interestingly enough, as Jody pointed out, I have the 4th spot on page 1 when you search him, even if my Gerard. J. Butler post failed miserably and never even made it into that stinkin' search engine.

 
That is all.



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