Awesome things to come home to after holiday travelling

In no particular order:

- A 15 degree C house
- Not a single voicemail message, and ONLY ONE MISSED CALL
- Aforementioned call being from a telemarketer
- An extreme terror of touching any and all surfaces following a full viewing of the movie "Contagion" on the airplane ride home
- A hangover/raging headache from nine shots of vodka in the Air Canada Maple Leaf Lounge to calm your pre-flight nerves
- A toboggan-esque drive home from the airport
- Discovering your new boots have absolutely no tread and/or grip, and faceplanting in your driveway/the airport parking lot/the sidewalk
-Your Wii Fit officially proclaiming you "obese"
- Finding your Christmas chocolates frozen
- Realizing your pre-holiday baking was left out on the counter and not, in fact, frozen as intended, thereby becoming ruined and inedible

Happy f_cking new year.

I hope those damn Mayans are spot on with their predictions.



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Laugh for the day (Stolen from Dry Humor Daily)

The original post is back here at Dry Humor Daily (you should add him to your list, he always has funny stuff up).

Cole always makes me laugh. His Chuck Norris calling and Poor T Rex posts also had my laughing hysterically last night.

Here ya go, a reason to smile today:

I will NOT make a joke about fisting, people. This is a MUPPET, for Jebus' sake!

Happy December 23rd!

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When did hot Gavin Rossdale turn into Coach from Survivor?!?!

In light of a recent BUSH music video, I was both stunned and horrified to learn that my original first boyfriend (and likely first Husband, if Gwen Stefani hadn't gotten in the way) Gavin Rossdale has somehow morphed into a replica Coach from the reality television show "Survivor".

WTF? Seriously?

Reeeally??

This is what he used to look like, back in his hotness heyday (I don't want to do the math, because that will likely explain this entire situation):

Hot face, sexy biceps, angsty rocker, hot time-appropriate necklace.

And now, Coach's long lost, rich brother.

Gavin is on the left. Coach is on the right. The fact I have to clarify that is horrifying.

Gross.

I'm pretty sure that the Sound of Winter is actually the sound of my sobbing.

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"Roast Drippings" = Turkey Bath Water

I just saw a commercial for Turkey gravy additive.

All you do is use the Club House mix and "add in roast drippings".

BLECH.

All the fat and hunks of fatty flesh just plop out of the turkey pan into the gravy boat.

All I can imagine is the dirty bath water after the turkey's been in there for a while. It's leg hairs from shaving. The remnants of it's bath fizz. A few errant feathers (you know how they always clog up the drain).

A vegetarian mind works so much differently than a "normal" brain.

Roast drippings is just a nice way to say "grossness left in the pan.... possibly fecal matter. EAT UP!"



Having said that, I'm off to drink a Dr. Pepper for breakfast, and think about possibly eating real food. But food that doesn't contain roast drippings, just so we're clear.

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Grocery Tips From A Loser

I learned a few things tonight, regarding grocery shopping. None of them have to do with the fact that I think I used that comma incorrectly, but I just figured I'd mention it.

When shopping for groceries, follow these handy tips to help you on your journey:

1.  If you are the type to become mildly weepy for no apparent reason, or become weepy at the sound of Christmas music, bring an MP3 player and sunglasses. It's like playing poker on TV (without the coolness) while hiding your "tell". You know, with less poker chips and more tears.

2.  If you (literally) run into the store 10 minutes before closing on a Friday night, be prepared to receive the stink eye from every single employee you pass, every time you pass them. Accept this, and continue to run in a panic around the store. It's very relaxing.

No, seriously. via

3.  If you can normally only find one of the two gluten-free "fresh" bread options in your grocery store no matter when you go, even on the days they claim to get new shipments, ignore that shit. Apparently, as I discovered tonight, you can find and hoard all THREE loaves of BOTH GF breads if you go right before store closing Friday night. F_ck you, Saturday shoppers! I just scored huge and saved myself $30 in shipping fees if I had been forced to order and buy that godforsaken heavy-ass dense bread through the bakery itself.

No word of a lie, one gluten-free  brick  loaf weighs 800 grams and can be used as a car-jack, when required. via

4.  Always, always open your eggs before purchasing to make sure:

a) All dozen are there. (However, you are forewarned that if you pick up a 6-pack of eggs, you may find that there are only six eggs in the package.)
b) The eggs that ARE there are not already pre-cracked and congealed. For your convenience.
c) That suspect, yellow yolk-like staining across the entire egg display didn't come from the pack of eggs you've selected. (I swear to Jebus the employees must have had an egg fight, or had someone as clumsy as me stock those shelves because I had to look through at least 7 containers to find one that had all 12 eggs that weren't oozing shit.)
d) There is not a dead chick inside. Trust me on this one.

5.  If you really really like the store's generic brand of inexpensive hair mousse because it's the ONLY brand that will tame your crazy-ass hair, stock that shit up. Ignore your significant other. Like your gut feeling told you last time, you will come to discover that they no longer carry it.  Mousse named "Exact" that costs $1.57 and works can save you a SHIT TON of money and frizz head in the long run. I miss you Exact.

This shit was magical. *tear*

6.  You will never, ever, ever have any luck asking your spouse/significant other to use a coupon if it requires too many conditions. For example, the Kraft cheese is apparently only free IF you buy ANOTHER Old El Paso Fajita** Kit at the same time (I think they're wrong) AND only the smaller size cheese, however the coupon is also good towards $6 off the 380 gram-sized cheese.... AAAAAAAAAAAND then  my  his head explodes.

7.  Nervous cashiers who believe you are using coupons improperly will fail to bring this to your attention, will fail to apply the discount, and will covertly place the coupon in your packed, re-useable bag while you aren't looking. F_ckers. I didn't have to buy an old El Paso kit last time.

8.  If you are ANYTHING like me, and you think you are being "really fast", during your maniacal sprint throughout the grocery store, rest assured you are not. You will leave there at 20 minutes past closing time and the cart collection boy will spit in your general direction as you climb into your car.
He will care not that you returned the cart to the cart "corral". P.S. Honda, I want a bigger trunk, goddammit, do you know how hard it is to pack groceries and 6  bricks  loaves of gluten free bread into the trunk of a Civic? I mean, seriously. Really.

** Pronounced: FAH- J- EYE- TAH. 
You're welcome.


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Embarrassing Admission - Dec. 12, 2011

I have a complete and utter irrational fear of running out of tomatoes at our house.

We use them on pizza, in sandwiches, and I sometimes cook them in my eggs.
I'm not some Italian chef who requires them to sustain my livelihood.

But as soon as we get down to, like, only TWO tomatoes, I start to panic that I WILL NOT HAVE A TOMATO IN MY TIME OF TOMATO NEED. Whenever that will be.

Oh - we also live about 5 minutes away from two different grocery stores.

The New Husband (AKA the Former Feyoncé™) reminds me that I can... uh... you know, go to the store and buy more at any time. And I know it.

So there you go.

Reason #2,489 why I am a f_cking nutjob: my irrational fear of being tomatoeless at home. (No, not toeless. Totally different fear).

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Do you want to hear the rest of the honeymoon travel bullshizz?

The thought of writing it out is already making me feel tired and rage-y.

In one sentence, our honeymoon travel was hell.

You can read about PART ONE here, and, if you haven't yet fallen asleep, PART TWO is here.

Just wondering if anyone gives a shit if I finish the story. If you do, I'll write it, if no one comments, I won't bother.

:)


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How Many Days Is Too Many Without Showering?

What's that you say?

Half a day? Especially if you go to the gym?

What if you curl up in the fetal position in bed for three days with the puppy?

So three then?

No?

1.5 days?

Does taking the garbage bin in, during wet snow, sort of count as a shower?

Oh no, you seriously don't want to stick your tongue out around me. But in all seriousness... it is a wet snow shower, right? RIGHT??!!?

Hmmmm...

I might need to rethink this "self care" business...



(This post brought to you by my self restraint to go on a tirade about Keurigs and how hard it isn't to brew a regular cup of coffee? Really? Wait... I think... I think I just ranted anyway. F_ck.)


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Top 10 Things I Can Stop Worrying About, Post-Wedding

Besides the crippling anxiety, endless list of to do's, and second-guessing every decision ever made, here is a list of the Top 10 Things I Can Stop Worrying About, now that the wedding is over:

1. Backne/clogged pores anywhere/not showering fast enough after hot yoga, thereby compromising my ability to stay clogged-pore-free as my body mutates to destroy my complexion.
2. Moisturizing the SHIT out of my face.
3. Doing hot yoga to the point of so-exhausted-I-can-barely-turn-the-car-key-in-the-ignition-and-will-be-too-exhausted-to-shower-when-I-get-home. (See #1).
4. Tooth whitening. All that damn tooth whitening.
5. The weather. (It turned out to be a gorgeous, hot, sunny day. The New Husband's luck is wearing off on me! Wooot Woooot!)
6. Vomiting during the ceremony/photos/reception (no, seriously, I have major nausea issues all the time, non-pregnancy related).
7. Registering for stuff without feedback from The New Husband. (I should have recognized back then that the only two items he really cared about were the toaster and the luggage. Who knew. Well... I guess he did. Suppose I should have asked him....)
8. If the seamstress was going to f_ck up my dress alterations again, and ruin the only lace I had to be sewn on the front of the dress.
9. When to write my speech and what to say. Since I left it until 3:30am the morning of the wedding, now I just get to regret all that I forgot to include and wish I could say so much more to The New Husband. Well played, Stephanie. Well played.
10. Worrying if I would sound like a drunken sailor, when I surprised The New Husband by singing to him. Did I? Doesn't matter now, too late, it's been done. (James Morrison would possibly be rolling in his grave, you know, if he were dead).

LAaaaaaaaaaaaaa la laaaaaaaaaaaa laaaa la la...



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My Message To The World, via Cee Lo

NOT SUITABLE FOR WORK OR IN FRONT OF KIDS.

Well, I suppose it is fine for kids that have gutter mouths.

This pretty much sums up how I feel right now, for a multitude of reason. I'm lookin' at you Air Canada, Sri Lankan Air, Hotels.com, and Lufthansa.



SO CHIPPER, yet so bitter.

Like November.

Happy Tuesday, Y'all.


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Black Friday In Canada...

Figured you all needed a break from my honeymoon travel exploits.

Just wanted to share with my American readers the kind of shit we get for Black Friday in Canada. The sales here are just mind boggling.

You can get an iPad2 in the U.S. for $12.78 if you are first in line, cut a bitch, and stalk the store like a maniac.

Here in chilly Canada, we just sit back at our computers and await our wicked tech deals from stores like Futureshop.ca at the stroke of midnight (or 4am if you awake due to horrific nightmares and decide that a glass of cranberry juice and some internet surfing will make it all better, like me).


 I found this, early this morning. Instead of sleeping, I started searching the live sales.

Try to control your jealousy:

Sweet.Ass.Deal

The best part?

The damn thing was sold out!! For real.

*sigh*


Back to more honeymoon chaos in the next post...


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Honeymoon Travel From Hell - Part 2

Continued from Part One...


So, we arrived at Pearson airport with just enough time for me to find the parking lot washroom. Thank the gods that we got a spot so close or the honeymoon would have started out really shitty. I mean... like, REALLY SHITTY.

We ran through the airport trying to find our check in location. The New Husband had Air Canada "Elite" status, which allowed us into the slightly faster line-up, but behind other "Elite" people. Then, if a "Super Elite" person comes along, they jump the entire line. And they kept coming.

I couldn't hold back the silent tears any more and started to sob in the airport, against my better judgement.

The guy in front of us asked if we were in a hurry, and he let us pass. Thank you Nice Guy.

We then spent another 15-20 minutes trying to check in at the desk, unsure if we were really ON the flight or on stand-by... The Toronto Air Canada employee knew something was amiss in our file, but said we would have to sort it out once we arrived in London.

She somehow cancelled something and then had to place us BACK on the outbound flight. A very stressful 5 minute period of potentially losing seats to other people with higher status on stand-by. (She could have saved us SO MUCH HEADACHE, had she just told us that our new flights didn't connect, but she evidently couldn't be bothered  to take the time to help us...)

We made it through security, with tears streaming down my face (probably looking guilty of something, simply because my anxiety level was so high).

We cleared security and ran towards the gate.

But, we stopped in briefly to the Air Canada Lounge (The New Husband always has access with his Air Canada Elite status), to see if THOSE employees could tell us what our ticket showed, if we still had connecting flights, and what flight we were booked on for the way home, in case that was changed and no one bothered to tell us.

The employees at the desk all made strange faces and pointed to the monitor (that we couldn't see), yet wouldn't take a minute to tell us that part of our flight HAD INDEED been cancelled, and that our connecting flights were scheduled in such a way that they NEVER F_CKING connected.

Thanks Air Canada.

The guy's advice at the desk? "Just try checking in online for your Sri Lankan air flights" with a smirk.

The New Husband tried quickly in the business centre there, but alas, our reservation was not found.

Just fan-f_cking-tastic.

At least we were on the flight to London, right? Yes, that part was good.
Before boarding, I called my mom in tears, not sure if we had connecting flights once we arrived in London.

Extra-super-awesome bonus? Because we were slapped onto this flight last minute, I was screwed for my special meal requirements, AKA, I had nothing to eat. The Air Canada flight attendant said, and I quote:

"I can't afford to just give you it, but you can buy the bean salad I brought with me."

Ummm. No thanks. (I also wondered if she accepted a credit card swipe down her butt for said salad... or if she knew my mom's old saying to "never take bean salad from a stranger??!?").

And longer flights like these don't offer food for sale, so I was royally screwed. And not in the fun honeymoon kind of way. Screwed, stressed and hungry.

So off we went in the skies, not knowing what would await us at Heathrow Airport...



More to follow...

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Honeymoon SNAFU FUBAR Travel From Hell

In April, I purchased two tickets for a round trip from YYZ (Toronto, ON) to Male, Maldives (MLE) for our honeymoon in October.

The first leg of the flight was scheduled on Lufthansa (LH5337) which was a codeshare actually operated by Air Canada (AC858).

The round trip flight booked was:

• YYZ to London LHR on Tuesday (LH5337 / AC858) Departing 11:20pm, arriving Wednesday morning.
• LHR to Colombo, Sri Lanka CMB on Wednesday (UL512) Departing 6:15pm & Arriving 9:30am Thursday.
• CMB to Male, Maldives Thursday (UL509) Departing 11:20am & Arriving 12:15pm Thursday.
• Seaplane transfer by Maldivian Air Taxi on Thursday afternoon (departing no later than 4:30pm due to daylight/safety reasons).

I called Air Canada in mid-July to confirm that there were no issues with our booking, and everything was confirmed.

On the day of departure, The New Husband checked the online status of AC858, which showed it was delayed. No biggie.

We went about our errands, picked up some wedding gift stuff from the Bay, and made dinner. We knew my parents were coming to take us to the airport for around 8:30pm.

Around 5:00pm, as we started to scarf down dinner, The New Husband re-checked the flight.

He got this strange look on his face, and said the following words:

"I think we might be f_cked."

Please note, he hardly EVER swears, and he knows I go from "my normal" to
ohmygodfreakingoutpanic13onascaleof1to10
in about 5 seconds, so I knew this was, to quote a sheep, "baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa"d.

The flight disappeared, and he asked me to get on the horn with Lufthansa, while he called Air Canada on his cell.

We needed to find out what the f_ck had happened, because the airport stops flying out at a certain time, and if we lost a day and had to catch the same flight the next night, not only would it screw up all our connecting flights, BUT, there was an impending Air Canada flight attendant strike set to begin 40 minutes after the departure time the next night.

If that flight was even 40 minutes late, we could potentially be ROYALLY F_CKED and lose our entire honeymoon.

Lufthansa said they had no idea why the flight was cancelled, and to call Air Canada. Thanks, Lufthansa. Not sure how to say "screw you" in German, but wish I could.

Air Canada had a MAJORhuge call wait time (due to their impending flight attendant strike). The Air Canada employee couldn't figure out why AC858 had seemingly disappeared. (Hmm, I wondered, had they accidentally crossed into the Bermuda triangle?... Oh who am I kidding... I was so upset at that point I was in no position to be joking and/or have a sense of humour and/or maintain control of my bowels and/or... you get the idea. I was barely holding back tears as I started to thrash about the closet in desperate search of a bathing suit.)

The Air Canada employee eventually discovered that AC858 had been removed from the schedule some time ago for that day. However, we were never informed of this and never booked on another Air Canada flight to London.

Ours was to be the last flight of the day, so we couldn't get a later flight, as taking a flight the next day would mean missing our UL512 connection. The only option was to get on AC848,
which left at 8:40pm.

At this point, after the clusterf_ck of all things Lufthansa and Air Canada, and waiting on hold,
it was about 6:00pm.

Now... factor in:
- Packing
- Driving to the airport (no time for my parents to get to our house in time, obviously)
- Finding parking
- Getting through Pearson airport security (which had intentionally "slowed down", I believe, to show support to the impending Air Canada flight attendant strike.)

Cue:
- Stephanie's tears
- Stephanie's irritable bowels
- Oh, shit... um... packing a suitcase in 15 minutes or less. (Good luck with that)

We had not packed yet, and had a 40 minute drive to the airport ahead of us, basically giving 15 minutes to pack for our honeymoon in order to get to the airport in time.

And so our honeymoon began... and this was only the beginning.

It.Got.Worse.

57.5 hours worse.



To Be Continued...



*SNAFU = situation normal all fucked up.
*FUBAR = fucked up beyond all recognition.

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I Just Ironically Ripped Off Content Unrelated

So...



Yeah.

I just ironically ripped off Jeff at Content Unrelated with COMPLETELY RELATED (read: near identical, odd) CONTENT.

Back Story:
I have been less active because my computer crashed on me after some updates, and I have been maniacally trying to save my data from the dead computer.

I`ve been using the New Husband`s Molasses 1.0 speed computer to keep getting my hits of internet (so as not to go into complete shock from withdrawal).

Anyway, I found that stupid picture below of my melted chocolate bar (from JUNE) when I was recovering data, and forgot about how much I wanted to bitch about it... so I did.

NOW:
I went over to Content Unrelated tonight to read his most recent post about contaminated lolly pops. Then read his older post below... about chocolate... with bubbles... and what a rip off it is (or brilliant marketing??).

Seriously? I mean who thinks of that at the same fucking time and blogs about it?
Really? And then I write a post?

How often does that happen?
If I were Jeff, I would think I was a lying bitch (with a much less witty post). Damn you once again, Aero bar.

I did this once before with Inspiration strikes. In the Kneecaps... a related post only discovered after I had posted my own. It may have been Tragically Hip related, I can`t remember. (Oh don`t judge... I also can`t remember my sister`s birthday or my middle name).

What a douche.

Me, I mean.

Who does that? Seriously?

Also? My stupid apostrophies are not working correctly, and I have to copy and paste my question marks. I also think I pluralized that incorrectly. I think I should just give this shit up all together.


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Aero is BULLSHIZZ!

I had the recent pleasure of buying a... wait for it... KING-SIZED Aero chocolate bar (you know, "candy bar" for my American friends).

I then had the displeasure of having said Aero chocolate bar melt in my car.

Not to be deterred by a little melty-ness, I tried to open the package, but the high quality  pure milk chocolate    pure chocolate   chocolate-like-chocolate   modified milk ingredients had deteriorated into a tube of liquid poo-like contents, reminiscent of the soggy-poop-yard-waste-clean-up of days past.

So I refrigerated that shit as fast as I could, planning to  healthfully  obviously eat the "chocolate" bar for dinner.

Once solidified, I intended to eat it as fast as I could, with no witnesses, so the calories wouldn't count as much. (That's how it works, right?)

Fresh out of the fridge, utter disappointment = half a chocolate bar.

Anyway, Aero is bullshit. There's a reason there are air bubbles inside. Check the grams (or ounces) on the bar, peoples! You are eating AIR!

You pay the same as you do for other types of bars, but you're a sucker because you're paying for nothingness!!

Once it melts you are left with half a freakin' chocolate bar. All air and little chocolate bar makes Stephanie a dull boy. No wait. REDRUM, REDRUM, REDRUM.

Oh, forget it.



At least it explains all that flatulence....


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An Open Letter To Canadian Tire:

Dear Canadian Tire,

I realize that you are a Canadian company. Based on my 30+ years of experience in Ontario, my frequent trips to your rubber-scented store with my father over the years, and the implications of your name, I assumed that you would be a wise choice for me to purchase tires from.

I was wrong.

I am not quite sure how a store named CANADIAN mothereffing TIRE could suck so damn much at the entire process of selecting, purchasing, receiving and installing tires, explaining warranty, and recording info like my odometer reading.

My personal experience was PAINFUL when purchasing tires at Canadian Tire. I called to ask what the best option would be for my wee car. I had it narrowed to 3 choices (What?! The New Husband refused me to research this shit for weeks on end like I normally do, so I had to act fast), all of which your tire rep insisted were "fine tah-ers".

Could he comment on the all season-ness? No. Would any be better in wet conditions? Not sure.

Okay, fine, I'll take the Michelins.

You have 4 in the store? Perfect, can you please hold them and I'll bring my car in?

No, you won't hold them? Ok. What if I give you my credit card info? No?
Can I just come into the store now? No? Because you are busy?
WTF?

So I called back later to schedule an appointment. The new gent explained that the system wasn't working right and that he didn't know what to do, but I "could just come in when we open tomorrow first thing, and if you get here first you hopefully shouldn't have a problem".

Reassuring.

Gee, sounds swell. I really hope I can get up early, head to your shop, HOPE you have the 4 tires I want, and ASSUME you will install them then for me.

Screw it. If in-store wasn't reliable, I'd order online.

Despite the name, they suck when it comes to tire purchases.

Dear God. If any store has ABSOLUTELY no communication between online tire transactions and the store, Canadian Tire takes the prize when ordering tires online.

Be advised, dear Canadian Tire customer, that your online confirmation is NOT a receipt, but that you will get a receipt in store. HOWEVER, once you get to the store, the store will tell you there is no record of purchase and no receipt to give you, because "you didn't buy the tires from us. You bought them online."

Uhh... but...?

Canadian Tire online emailed me at least three times to tell me to CALL MY MOTHEREFFING SELECTED STORE to schedule my installation.

Said local store had no record of my tires.
For days.
And days.
And a few more days, while assuring they would call me once my tires were delivered to the store.

They did not call. Ever.

Online emailed me AGAIN.

So, dear Canadian Tire customer, after you walk in to the store with your online confirmation and wait 15 minutes for them to locate the tires that they do, in fact, have in store with your name on...

- You will get to hear the guys at the desk takes bets on what one employee decides to "sell" someone that day (Niiiiiice).
- You will be temporarily talked into an additional $7/tire warranty to replace your tire because (and I quote) "the included warranty isn't really a warranty and you're screwed if damage happens near your sidewall."
- Your husband will tell you the extra warranty is bullshit and you will save yourself $60.
- You will have to call the store 3 more times, and make another return trip because they have 'accidentally' recorded your odometer reading 8,000 km LOWER than your odometer reading, which impacts your not-very-comprehensive "comprehensive" warranty. (Be sure they correct this in their system with a new work order, even if they protest, tell you there is nothing they can do if you've already "cashed out", and offer to correct it in pen, in their own hand writing).

- Don't give them the business or the satisfaction of forcing you into an overpriced alignment "check" for $50, or an alignment for $90. Take your shit elsewhere. It will NOT void your warranty if you don't get it done then and there. I'm going to get it done at Active Green & Ross.

Even your main customer service line wouldn't confirm if not getting an alignment would void my warranty.

In truth, it would seem that uneven wear due to misalignment is not covered in your warranty, but by the sounds of it, not much is covered in your warranty... so... as a Canadian Tire customer, why would you want to spend another $100 at Crappy Tire?

Anyway Canadian Tire, if you are truly looking to get back to being a leader in tire sales once more, you have a hell of a lot of work to do. PATHETIC, after spending nearly $1,000 in goods and services, along with much too long on the phone and in store.

Apathetically furiously yours,
Stephanie

p.s. The more I hear that damn whistle on your commercials, the more rage-y I get. Just sayin'.

p.p.s. I look forward to your cease and desist letter.

[Edit:] p.p.p.s. Yandie had it right... I forgot that my father has referred to your company as Crappy Tire for as long as I can remember. How... relevant.
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I Am Mutant... Hear Me Roar!

Or rather, smell me coming.

What? Huh?

I am mutant. I believe this for many reasons, one of which I will share with you here.

I don't have extra toes, extra nipples, or extra Halloween candy stored above the stove which I dip into every morning before breakfast. (One of those may be a lie).

I don't turn green when I become enraged, although lately I have been very ragey/stabby, but I just mostly get sad. It's like the SADDEST Hulk-A-Stephanie you ever did see.

But I digress.

No, my mutant-status has been achieved through one thing: My Armpits. (Okay, fine, TWO THINGS, shaddap).

I have discovered that typically before I get to the end of my deodorant of choice, my armpits and sweat gland-y system have adapted and mutated to no longer respond to the anti-perspirant properties.

It's like how upper respiratory infections spread through animal shelters because the infection mutates faster than the antibiotics/antibodies. But with less cats and slightly less mucous.

If I am ever so lucky as to have SUCCESS WITH A DEODORANT! for a full container's worth, I swear-to-mother-effing-Jebus that it is, without a doubt, unquestionably and mysteriously a  flavour  smell  blend  perfume-y.thing  formulation that has been DISCONTINUED by the manufacturer.

With less enthusiasm & facial hair, but definitely more muffin top.  Via

It's like my pits and Secret are out to get me. Orange jasmine? Check. Baby powder coconut caffeine? Check. Ylang ylang lavender concrete rose blossom? Tea tree antibiotic lemon zest candy cane-infused menthol? Check. Every fucking time.

I go to Walmart, Shopper's Drug Mart, the grocery store. NOTHING. I ask the clerks who give me a side glance and tell me to keep moving, that they never carried the deodorant in the first place.

Swear.To.Gahd.

Anyway, I have officially run out of new brands to try, so if you know me offline, you've been given fair warning.

Married and smelly.

That is all...


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How To Turn Your Neighbours On While Raking Leaves

It's a sunny November morning.

You're feeling feisty, and looking for trouble.

What now?

Sexy leaf raking.

Directions:

STEP 1: Go braless. It's 1:00pm on a Saturday, so it's not like you would have a bra on anyway.

STEP 2: Always, ALWAYS be sure to be sporting black socks. As you put on your white dollar-store flip flops.

STEP 3: Pants! Don't forget pants. You don't want to get arrested or anything crazy. My recommendation? A nice, faded navy blue pair of men's Scooby-Doo branded pajama pants. Only you will know that a peep through the men's button crotch holds a Sultry leaf-raking Saturday surprise.

Scooby caught a glimpse. Didn't think he was the pervy type.

STEP 4: Cover yourself up with a dirty burgundy hoody. Great Dane drool on the sleeves is optional. (Depends if you can rock it or not, and only you, dear friend, can make that call).

STEP 5: Grunt. A lot. I really mean A LOT.

STEP 6: Wheeze a bit, and brace yourself on your Scooby-covered knees.

STEP 7: Play with your messy, bedraggled hair. Belch if you so desire.

                   Almost done.

STEP 8: Get out the rake and begin raking. Quit part way through to come inside and eat Halloween candy that you never handed out to the neighbourhood kids.

Grr, Baby. Grr.

DONE.

Also?

You're welcome. Just wait for the date requests and restraining orders to start rollin' on in.


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Throw Cushions... What The Hell?

If you have:

A) Kids
B) Pets
C) A Lazy Streak
D) Inability to redo the same futile thing over and over and over

Then please meet  my  your nemesis.

Throw cushions.

Dear readers, you know what I am talking about. Those decorative little square pillow things that only EVER get placed on your sometimes-made-bed when you think there is a chance your house will be toured, or some Nosy Nelly might open your bathroom en-suite door and get a full view of your bedroom.

You know, the sometimes bedazzled, sometimes fuzzy, sometimes glitter/sequin covered pillows that just SCREAM "chew the shit outta me!" to your dogs/cats/mousal uprising (for you, gotjack28!).

Because every home needs more shit like this.

I hate those things. They can't be washed. They get in the way when you want to snuggle with your significant other. (Unless your significant other happens to BE said pillow, in which case, that null and voids the last comment).

They are so... I don't know... grown up? And you have to have a certain level of sophistication to match them to your stuff.

My house is pretty much a mish mash of college-dorm-meets-furnish-the-house-quickly-and-nicely. The nicely part was contributed to by The New Husband. The rest of the shit is just mine.

But I have no time for cushions. I need to blog. And dilly dally.

Dilly dallying = no time for throw cushions.

Our new bed-in-a-bag set came with throw cushions. They've been placed on the bed twice, methinks.

It's true.

Throw cushions are for suckers!

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Christmas Now? No. Just... No.

So...

I was shopping for teddy bears as wedding gifts at the start of October, and damned if the next aisle over wasn't Christmas wrapping paper and decorations.

Just... no.

I'm pretty sure that Christmas is relegated to December. De-mother-effing-cember. That means the stores are allowing 20% of the year to be Christmas. Just... no.

There were Christmas commercials on at the local drug store today. And, in fact, I heard some in a department store on the weekend. It was October. Halloween hadn't even happened yet.

Another piss off - why are so many Halloween costumes just a pretense to dress provocatively? Seriously? There is so much T & A, it's hard to compete!

Admittedly, Christmas is not my favourite holiday, for a multitude of reasons. But I STILL think that shit is overkill (the music and decorations, not the costume).

Where's the specialness of Christmas carols when it's drilled into your head for TWO to THREE ENTIRE MONTHS before the actual day? For that reason alone, I don't think I could survive a career in retail, unless I was stocking shelves and allowed to wear an MP3 player.

Just... damn. No.

Let there be snow! Let it be closer to the holidays, when it will feel special! Don't buy into the commercialism bullshit. There is no perfect gift, the kids will always want more, and your Dad will NEVER give you gift ideas, but will instead buy car parts before Christmas, thereby allowing you to contribute to the car fund, less inundate him with even MORE Swiss Chalet restaurant gift cards.

But I digress.

via

Let Christmas start in December. Hell, December 10th. (The new Husband stated that date, and I like it.)

All this early holiday aural/visual assault just jades me more and turns my lip  farther  up in a sneer.

Bah Humbug.

I think I am in love with Mark Lawrence, of the UK. He's my hero. This is his brilliance.  Check out his website here.

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Another Sexy Picture Of Me

It's okay, you can thank me after you change your undershorts.


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Unfortunately, you can't see the googly eye action in this still, but you can see my mischevious smile. Sorta.

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HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

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The Sexiest Bride Ever (Dinosaurs Not Included)

Always known for hideous posture that I like to call "the Raptor/T-Rex pose"... I invite you to feast your eyes upon the sexiest bride you've ever met.



I mean one sexy bridal b*tch.




ME.





This one's for my sister and for Paula.





Can you say SEX-AY???

Hott stuff. Or is that Hot Pockets? Shit, I don't know.  (Photo credit: The awesomely talented and wonderful K. J. - email me for her contact info unless you are creepy... I have to protect my family's innocence, hence my vagueness)

I thought so.

See?

Uncanny, isn't it? In all fairness, Rex's teeth are whiter.

[EDIT] 

Rather:

There we go. Apples to apples.

[2nd EDIT]

Forgot the shoes & flowers!:

Perfection!

;)

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Another Gay Teen Suicide - RMR

Couldn't say it any better than Rick Mercer.




So sad.

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You Know Your Dogs Are On Edge When...

1. You fart and they fly to the front door, barking their heads off.

2. You fart once more and they resume their determined defense against the flatulence-producing-danger within their hearing range.

3. A lady yells at her 15-year-old daughter on Party Mamas for inviting too many people to her quinceanera, and the dogs unleash their (shared?) fury on the front door in my house.

I can only imagine what my not-yet-conceived children are going to be like.

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Well now it *MUST* be official...

Just changed my status from engaged to married on Facebook, so now it HAS to be legitimate.

Right?

Quite sure this is more legal than that napkin we both signed...

You know your honeymoon must have started out well when the top of your "to-do" list when you arrive home includes writing six detailed complaint letters to the various travel-related companies that effed up royally.

And you can be sure I will post their replies here, when and if I get replies.

Just for the record? Lufthansa airlines believes it is perfectly acceptable to spend 80+ hours (you know, a short 4 days) to get to a destination that should take 25 hours, tops. And not tell you that they've changed the schedule accordingly.

Seriously, it's hard to pronounce. Don't judge me.

***DO YOU GALS/GUYS WANT A RUN DOWN OF THE TRAVEL FUN, or is that shizz boring?*** (I might write about it anyway, to rant.)

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That Last Post Was About Travel...

Just to clarify; the wedding speeches were awesome. Every single thing that everyone said evoked a laugh or a tear.

My friend, M, started her speech with that "box of chocolates" line, and she did a super-duper-uber-awesome-fantastic job.


I literally posted that last blog entry around the 45-hour mark of our 57 hour journey to get to our honeymoon destination. All international flights were cancelled or changed without our knowing. The airlines screwed us. The travel agency screwed us. Hotels.ca and hotels.com screwed us. Sri Lankan airways totally screwed us, all with a smile on their faces. Luggage was ruined.

Deodorant was forgotten.

Thank goodness for the only 4 uncomfortable hours of sleep in the Yotel single bed pod in London Heathrow airport, or we might have torn each other's head's off.

The Former Feyoncé™ happened to notice something was amiss around 5pm (we were supposed to leave around 11pm). Turns out our flight was gone.

Long story short, we had 10 minutes to pack.
For our honeymoon.
That we didn't pre-pack for.

While freaking out with the phone on speaker-phone mode while the guy at Air Canada tried to confirm whether or not we could even fly out... with an impending flight attendant strike looming that could further screw us if we were to leave a day later.

And had to get our asses to the airport right.then.

Not that I stress out much or anything. (Please note extreme sarcasm font).

We made it.

57.mother-effing.hours.later.

And we are still married, so that says somethin'.


More to come....


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Life is like a box of chocolates...

You seriously, REALLY, and I mean SERIOUSLY never know what you're going to get.

A friend of mine began her speech at the wedding with this line (which was awesome), but I tell ya.

Plan in advance. Double check, triple check, and have someone else do the same, and ultimately you may still end up with a tie-dyed pair of jeans, a crown made of twine and rabbit poop, and potato chips flavoured like "prawn cocktail" (that last one is real).

Anywho, I promise to post more narcissistic wedding photos shortly. Because you all care. I am sure of it.

Anyway, you never know what you're gonna get....


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Best.Comforter.EVAAAAR.

At least they think so:

And we foolishly wasted money on a new dog bed for him....

Gotta love it.

I think organza and lace suits Schultz. Ella would look stunning in those pearls.


Happy Canadian Thanksgiving everyone!! I`ve got lots to be thankful for obviously!

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Poop.

That is all.


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My Dog Is An Alcoholic

So, our Dane has post traumatic stress disorder from his horrific treatment before he came to us (No! Wait! The post gets funny, don't click away, I swear this is great).

So after many failed training attempts because of his fear and triggers, the vet agreed that a temporary medication could be helpful in minimizing his fear, while letting him learn with our new C.E.T. dog trainer.

We did it. (Go ahead, I'll wait while you judge me. S'ok.)

Yes, my dog is being treated for anxiety. He has clearly spent too much time around me.

We are now discovering that this is seriously going to curb Schultz' (not Schiltz) hard partying ways, and his weekend social pub crawls. Take a closer look:

Good thing they warned us!!!

Sorry my little (huge) furry buddy, looks like mommy won't be making you any more martinis any time soon.

It's for the best.

Damn, this tough love is so hard.

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He's a Simple Dog...

I just don't have the heart to tell him that he's lying on the PUPPY'S bed, which is approximately half the width, length and thickness of his dog bed.

Um, Schultzy? You're lying on... oh... never mind...

Oh well, I guess he seems comfortable. And in all fairness, they LOOK the same, not that he can see the colour.


Oh... it appears that this isn't his first confused experience:

Your legs are kind of.... oh, forget it.

He seemed to prefer my parents' dog's bed when they were dogsitting before.
(Also note the creative use of headboards and wooden furniture, acting as barricades to prevent his Great Dane butt from overtaking their lovely sofas).

*SIGH*


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Heartburn or Esophageal-burny-cancer-destruction?

So, as my stress level elevates, so does my acid reflux.

I'd like to think this is just run of the mill heartburn.

Then I made the mistake of mentioning it and drinking coffee at the dentist's office the other day and DEAR-LORD-AND-MOTHER-OF-ALL-THINGS-CANCER-FREE, it sounds like my esophagus is slowly killing me in my sleep.

As a sleep-deprived, stressed girl in her last days of pre-wedding planning (read: AGONY), she ASSURED me that what I need is water. WATER. That'll keep me going on the tough days! Water is the cure all! Wateroiahngvia sdiuhauow gvoijhdowerijd bgvpa;ojd... oh, sorry, I fell asleep at the keyboard.

Yeah, sorry tootsie, but water just ain't gonna cut it right now. I even bought a huge Coke after that, and it didn't even help, as I sat listless on the couch doing the DJ play list with Feyoncé™.

So, back to my esophagus and it's stealthy plan to kill me. For the acid reflux I can feel, she said there's a ton more I DON'T feel that could be eating away my tissue at this very moment.

*cue horror music*

Suggested:
I am supposed to raise my pillows up.
Raise the head of my bed up.
Stop drinking anything but water.
Perhaps re-think the 80 Tums/antacids per day.

Actual:

Assume it will get better after the wedding.
Tell myself I'll drink less coffee later on.
Not do a damn thing and start popping Nexium.

Everyone's a critic.

*cue Tums commercial music*

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Tooth Whitening Gone Awry

So, here's the thing.

I wanted to whiten my teeth. YES, I know it won't change the colour of my fillings. YES, I know I am a huge p*ssy and can't stand the sensitivity it causes and I bitch and moan mercilessly until I can no longer stand it and I give up on the whitening treatment at hand.

But then... a year passes, and I resume hyper-criticism of myself in pictures and decide that whitening is in order.

It also helped that a company that tried to rip me off accidentally sent me TWO whitening kits in error and so they were just lying around, begging to be loosely and painfully applied to my gums and chompers.

TEST RUN #1:

- Fill flimsy, ill-fitting mouth trays with clear, goopy, mint-like gel.
- Actually place trays inside of my big mouth and wait for glistening magic to happen.
- Begin foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog on steroids baring its fangs and spewing Alka Seltzer at all passers-by.

Like this, but with a little less moustache. (source)

- Curse newfangled whitening method and try to wipe off 6% hydrogen solution of currently sizzling tongue.
- Continue to drool.
- Check watch to see only 3 minutes have passed (of the 30-60 minutes).
- Re-read package instructions to confirm that yes, indeed, swallowing the solution is NOT recommended or safe.
- Realize that there is NO way would Feyoncé™ agree to do this for the wedding, no matter what I promised in return.
- Check watch to see only 2 more minutes have passed, as I try to distract myself from the sexy foaming, drooling and general spit-pooling in my mouth.

Awesome.

TEST RUN #2
- Same as above, however flimsy bottom tray replaced with my fitted (sexy... RAWR!) mouth guard.
- Intense burning has commenced, and part of my lower teeth are not covered in the goopy gel; fear uneven (if any) results.
- Start blog post to bitch about ineffectiveness of Denta Bright.
- Check watch to see only 11 minutes have passed.


Can only assume that this will be my last run. GAH.

TEST RUN #3
- Discover puppy has chewed the ill-fitting mouth trays to shreds on the floor.
- Stand in shock, having not realized puppy can reach the back of the bathroom counter top.
- Realize that teeth are SO.UNBELIEVABLY.SENSITIVE.AND.PAINFUL, that this is so not worth it.
- Stash trays under bathroom sink for next year when cycle will repeat itself (if I can find new trays).

Like this, but with slightly MORE moustache. (source: drchetan.com)

*Another big, long, dramatic sigh*

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Domestic Supply Stores = Depression

So, not sure if I mentioned this to anyone, but I am getting married in less than 3 weeks.

Ya know, no biggie. It's not like I am the stressing-type.   /sarcasm font

So I moseyed ("mosey-ed"?) on down to the local Home Outfitters to add some stuff to the registry. You know, some reasonable kitchen crap instead of the overpriced pots and pans.

Holy shit.

Want to feel inadequate in the kitchen? Roam the stemware aisle (that's, like, fancy glasses and wine goblets and the like. You know, gold chalices. What every household needs. Like cowbell. MORE MORE MORE).

Want to feel inept in food preparation? Glance at the food combustion/chopping/processing/flame-throwing Cuisinarts. Read their boxes and STILL walk away perplexed at their actual purpose.

Want to feel overwhelmed? Try selecting JUUUUST THE RIGHT garlic peeler and press. Out of 20. All overpriced and looking similar to what I assume torture devices look like.

Then I come across the devices designed for the ridiculously lazy. Or those phallic plastic banana cases. $7... really? I think I will just take the extreme risk of a bruised banana. I'm crazy like that.

Strap sheets to "ensure your bedsheets stay attractively flat". Yeah, um, there may or may not be dog pee currently on my bedsheets right now. That are half off the bed. I think I'm fine without the straps.

And don't even get me STARTED on the Martha Stewart shit out there. Soon enough she'll have suppositories and lubricant. (What?!? She WAS in prison, folks, regardless of her ridiculously fake I-have-a-team-but-I'll-make-you-feel-less-than-inferior domestic skills.)

I came home and made soup from a can. I stirred it with a metal spoon, in my metal pot from Walmart, and didn't have a fancy spoon rest. *gasp*

I may or may not have eaten it straight from the pot. I'm not telling.

Domestic mastering is just not my thing. What a depressing "shopping" outing.

*sigh*


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Embarrassing Realizations (Part 3 of ∞ )

All in the same day....

Realizing, as you arrive late to hot yoga, that you have no towel to sop your sweat/keep your clammy, slimy hands from slipping and letting you face-plant/wipe off your appendages so you can actually hold on to them.

Oh, LOLcats, is there anything you CAN'T do?

Further realizing the closest thing that will have to make due, out of the trunk of your car, is a sweater of grandmotherly proportions and quality that you purchased at a thrift shop in 1996 and have left in your trunk "just in case".

I think the layering was cool, a-la-Nirvana, circa 1996. I could be very, very wrong, though.

Upon implementation of said granny sweater, realizing that NEITHER your rubber yoga mat nor your acrylic/polyester/synthetic knit sweater stops hands and feet from slipping.

Then realizing that your I-only-wear-these-capris-when-I-haven't-washed-my-workout-clothes-and-they-are-all-that's-left purple capri pants display, quite clearly and nicely for all to see, that you sweat excessively in your groin.

You know, like this, except not nearly as nice, probably from circa 1987 or else free from the Goodlife Gym. What?!? It was free.

Fast forward to the end of a painful hot yoga class. Throw on a pair of jeans that happen to be in your dufflebag (does anyone under the age of 50 refer to these things as dufflebags, or is it just me? Just me. Okay.).

Go to the pet store, and shop at the grocery store for over an hour before realizing that your zipper is down.

Totally down. Completely open.

And, well, you just came from being drenched in hot yoga and therefore removed your sw-assy underclothes and put the jeans on as a temporary sweat cover until you were able to go home and shower.

Also noting that you are allowing a certain amount of... erm.... growth, in order to facilitate honeymoon sugaring (much like waxing).

Finally get into your car, giving yourself multiple, much-needed facepalms.

Awesome day and it's only 12:20pm.

Grin and bear it, folks. You've got another 12 hours of awake time to suffer through. Well, if you're me, that is.

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Carry-on Luggage BLOWS MY MIND.

I was a cheap bastard one time when I was flying with Delta. Okay, the only time I ever flew with Delta.

Why? Because those buggers charge $25 USD for every checked bag.

And a worrier like me ALWAYS overpacks, thereby immediately costing herself $50 USD for a round trip.

And also ALWAYS visits a Marshalls or T.J. Maxx, thereby requiring even MORE luggage space that doesn't exist.

Well, with some finagling I was able to switch my luggage with Feyoncé™'s. No, I didn't pack his bag without knowing, (I hear those terrifying airport security warnings, c'mon people, some credit here!) we just switched, and he had to carry back a bunch of my crap with his. (Okay, so maybe that meant I did pack part of his bag. Shhhhh). In my BIG suitcase. On Air Canada, before those buggers started charging for checked bags. *cough* Bastards! *cough*.

I would just like to say that standard-size carry-on luggage with that little expandable zipper BLEW MY MIND.

This is all the shizz I fit into it. Into the CARRY-ON only:

That's right - 5 pairs of pants, 2 pairs of workout bottoms, 6 bras, 2 workout bras, 8 shirts, 3 dresses, 3 sweaters, 2 pairs of heels, 1 pair of casual shoes and a bunch of toiletry-crap.

I still can't believe it.

That shit is MAGICAL.



Yeah, shitty blog post, but so what?? I'm putting off doing important things.


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Cocks. And Gay Marriage.

Now that I have your attention, a photo of cocks:

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What?

Let me tell you, I would advise against doing that Google search unless you want to see a lot of skin and veins.

Anyway, in my quest for an image that would be appropriate for this blog (you know, because I am NOTHING, if not always appropriate *stifles laughter*), I came across an amazing Canadian blog, whose author's tagline is:

"Combatting bigotry the gayest way I know how".

I thought it was quite awesome. I hope you will pop over and check it out.

Here I am: whining about trying to sort my shit out regarding all our wedding details. Simple things, but necessary things like seating charts and guest counts. Trying to get in touch with the caterer and signing really large cheques for really silly things. You know, meaningful stuff like that.

He has given me an entirely new perspective. For an interesting, yet hilarious, read, check out The Author's article on his own quest for marriage.

Awesome.

Also? A fantastic link to a cock picture..

Go ahead, I'll wait.


See? Get your mind out of the gutter!


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