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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I Slayed The Butterfinger!

Oh yeah. Corn, dairy, gluten, wheat, and nuts be damned.

Nobody better lay a finger on my Butterfinger(s).

I tried one of these when was in the U.S.A. many years ago in my youth, (because who could resist Bart Simpson's marketing tactics? And skateboard?) and I fell in love. Hard. Not with him, with the mighty Butterfinger.

Well, I learned last year that my deeply detested, self-loathing-inducer beloved Walmart carries these bad boys in "mini" size at Halloween. Oooooooh Baby. I bought three bags. (Okay, and one bag BEFORE Halloween).

Aaaaah Butterfinger........ *shudder*

Okay, side note, I totally googled "orgasm face" and found this picture immediately. This girl LOOKS like me, appears to have a mark where a nose ring would be (where mine USED to be) and has similar ear piercings in the same spots (but my third lower one is now defunct). If I didn't know any better, I would seriously think this was me. But it is not. Seriously, really, seriously. I even have two yellow towels like that. Day-um.

That also reminds me - I found this naked-artsy picture once and told a friend it was me. It LOOKS like it could have been me. But again, it is not. If I find it, I will post it for you. Because I am sure that would interest you. You pervs.

The partial aftermath (this was bag #2 remnants). (No, this is not the artsy nude photo in my likeness. Though I see how you might confuse a that and a pretty pink trash bag).

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

I force fed BF perhaps 10 at best. I gave my dad one at a hockey game. I also gave my niece one. I bought three bags of 30 count. That means that approximately 78 of these bastards are making their way (albeit painfully) through my digestive tract, with a direct endgoal of my ass/saddlebaggage.

Stupid lack of self-control + 50% off candy + Bart Simpson + Mmmmmmm chocolate.

I am finally (supposedly) going back to blond(er) tomorrow. Wish me luck because we all know how well salon and spa experiences tend to work out for me.

I hope these babies don't decide to revolt or make some sort of statement while I am sitting in a salon chair with crazy ass foils all over the place at the mall. (Why ARE mall bathrooms always so far away, no matter where you are in the mall??!)

I digress. And by digress I mean "publish, go to bed, and don't look back."



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Hey Everyone! Halloween Sucked.

How's it going? Did you miss me? No? Okay.


So I kind of exposed myself in my last post. I hoped it would be a bit freeing. I think it was.
A Director from Ryerson's School of Journalism asked me if I would be interviewed regarding the IT GETS BETTER content. I was immensely flattered and really wish I could have contributed, but they wanted to interview me the next day in Toronto.


Anyway, whenever I get the chance to defend something like this, or speak up for the "little guy" I am all over it, so I would have loved to have done it if the timing worked out better.

So, I've felt immensely uncreative lately and have been putting more hours in at work, leaving me really tired and kind of comatose afterwards (well, along with the nausea and all THAT bizznazz).

I thought I would share about how I felt like an utter douchebag at a Halloween party I recently attended. Last year I went all out (the day AFTER Halloween, people, I'm no fool, I buy my shit on sale).

My devilish items included:

• Sub-par polyester red she-devil dress that wasn't revealing
• Black pantyhose with red and gold flames up the side
• Red elbow-length lace-up vinyl gloves (WHAT?!? Every devil has them!)
• A red polyester tail
• A headband with red "devil horns" (or potentially red cat ears, if you were a red cat)
• A full-on, real deal, red wig complete with affixed rubber devil horns
• Crayon make-up to complete the crazy-ass devil look (I was clearly not going for sexy).

So this year I was determined to dress up and not mope around the house (BF was away and hates Halloween anyway). Last I had dressed up was about 5 years ago as an (unsexy) cop. Like with pants. (It was a guy's costume).

So I got dressed up. I even googled YouTube she-devil make-up videos.
(I owned few of the colours and even less of the application knowledge).
I attempted my make-up, and my friend told me I looked like a man trying to look like a woman.

*DEFLATED*

I forged ahead. My company to the party's outfits consisted of:

• Flattering tank top, tight-fitting spandex pants, and accessories to complete the costume
• Flattering tank top, tight-fitting spandex pants, and two accessories to complete her costume
• Dude wore jeans, a plaid shirt, and a hat (promptly removed) as a lumberjack? Hunter? There may have been a tree branch involved.

Okay, no biggie, they went for simplicity. I felt over the top and a little obvious/EXTREMELY RED/dude-like and self-conscious. But alas, not to worry, we were going to a FREAKIN' COSTUME PARTY! Surely I would blend in, in all my hideous red glory? I mean, IT IS HALLOWEEN! You get to basically hide behind a costume, pretend to be something else, that means my day HAD to get better, right?

Wrong.

Hostess greeted us. She was tiny and cute and wearing a short green satin dress with angel? bug? fairy? wings. There was a group photo, but I teeter in my heels, I appear to weigh approximately 150 lbs. more than my companions, and the red is blinding.

Click to make larger. Not that you need to see me any larger.... but, ya know, to read the text.

Well, how about the others? The host? He was dressed as a warrior-type dude like in that 300 movie. He did say something not complimentary about my outfit. In front of everyone. I then felt like a douche to the power of 3.

I was then critiqued and insulted at least three more times (before the wine caused memory-retention issues).

Other costumes included:

• Sexy cop in short dress and fishnet stockings
• Sexy duck in short dress with feathery edge and visor-like-head-beak accessory
• Second sexy cop in short dress
• Duck hunter dude (also in jeans, a plaid shirt and a hat. Also some pond-like plant-life accessory)
• Sexy navy girl? in short dress
• Male thief (in form fitting clothing)
• Glen Quagmire from Family Guy (awesome when mask was affixed, indeed)
• Bob Barker (in a more form fitting suit than my own)
• Other things much more flattering, form-fitting, and attractive than a larger-than-life she devil (ME).

I removed the wig. I was told my shoes did not match my outfit (I don't own red shoes, and really didn't need more red anyway). I drank. Then drank a little more.

I met a lovely girl who was dressed as an electrical outlet. She was the only person there who was wearing something less form fitting than I. I think the host's sister arrived at some point in paper bags (paper bag princess?) but I was really unwell by then so I can't say for sure (and we all know this blog is, if nothing else, HONEST AT ALL TIMES... *snicker*).

In order to maintain anonymity, electrical outfit girl was super sweet and friendly and I hope to chat with her again.... when I am not flaming red and consuming wine on an empty stomach.

SO.... in order to remain cool, remain calm, not feel like a dork-face in a room full of strangers without BF, I did what any level-headed, mature 30 year old woman would do.

I've borrowed these wicked illustrations by Pierre A Lamielle (waiting for his reply if it's cool, if it isn't, I will remove it) from his awesome blog here: http://kitchenscraps.ca/

I drank wine when already feeling ill. Felt more ill. HAD TO LAY DOWN IN SOMEONE's BEDROOM at the house, may have visited the porcelain king a time or two, then got in the car to go home.

Approximation (add more red in your head).

This is why I need THE MOTHER or BF to supervise me at all times. Even when shopping. We implement that daycare rope thing, just so I don't get lost/lose my shit/get abducted.

See? I'm safe this way!   Image Credit (except for my head, I did that)

So yeah, fantastic.

Also? I didn't learn learned from this mistake and bought a pirate wench/gypsy rose costume on Nov. 1 at 50% off. I plan on getting some fishnet stockings and thigh high boots and feeling moderately nasty and attractive next year (if I actually decide to go somewhere). With a push-up bra and a hope, I might pass as decent-looking.

I was   this.close  to getting the sexy, short, Wonder Woman costume, but it was size small and I assume this horrendous health stuff will be at least a little bit better by next year and I will have gained weight back to healthy for me (A.K.A. not gonna fit a small). Either that, or I'll be dead.  AIM HIGH!!!! Pin It Now!