Dear Puppy: Goddammit!!

Dear Puppy*,

While your eyes are adorable, and your looks are stunningly beautiful, you are PISSING ME OFF!

That plastic I found in the hallway yesterday that you had chewed, and I couldn't figure out what it was? The only trays I own to my tooth whitening kit.

Thanks for that, goddammit.

Her stunning good looks distract me from the next damaged item...

Puppy, you know our little ghetto garden with the few sparse strawberries? Yeah, you are NOT supposed to raid it for new fruit at all times, even if the plastic chicken wire is no longer standing. That strawberry I took from you, rinsed, and figured it was still safe to eat? Well, that was just bad judgement on my part, goddammit.

While I appreciate you keeping  me company as I FINALLY begin to sort through my mounds of hoarder like papers/receipts/tax documents/insurance documents/gluten-free recipes, your compulsion to chew your bone on the assorted file folders on the floor (what?!? I am still in the organizational stage... or something...) has created wet, destroyed file folders and papers, which... um, kind of negate the whole saving and filing bizznazz, goddammit.

The fact that no matter the temperature you must, MUST, lay your head on my leg so I sweat even more is adorable, but really hot, and apparently not good for my whole alpha-dog-smoke-and-mirror facade the trainer has me attempting, goddammit.

That white-painted wooden baseboard along the carpet... you know that stuff? Where you exercise your extreme aversion to 90-degree corners, obliterating them in a near-silent chew-fest as I sit here and blog and not notice you are ingesting paint chips and lumber? It's supposed to remain in tact, goddammit! And stop licking that bitter apple spray!! You are supposed to despise it, goddammit!

"I iz carefree dawggie. Your paperz are not mah concern." *runs away into long grass*

Finally... you have allowed me to see why Feyoncé™ and I have lasted as long as we have.

I can be super problematic, much like yourself, but I must be as cute to him as you are to me, which makes it all okay. Goddammit.

Now come over here and lay on mommy's leg while you try to shower me with grass and paint-infused kisses.

Good girl.



*Disclaimer: Note, this post was written in "sarcasm" font. I am very clearly aware that all of this is within my power to change, animal rights peeps. 
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Ridiculous Wedding Wish List

I have decided that the following must occur in order to have a fun wedding.

Anything less will result in severe disappointment:

• A flash mob must break out in the surrounding park, or at the reception.
• I must be able to drink as much as I want, but still only remain 'buzzed' and coherent, so as to remember the night.
• There should, nay, MUST, be people on flying trapeze. I don't care where, just within eyesight.
• I expect Michael Jackson to be there. Motherf*cking moon walking. I don't care how it happens, it just needs to happen.

Like this, with more Michael Jackson, less headband, and more safety for the surrounding children.

• Elvis should arrive in time to sing my parents' song.
• I really hope the speeches are good/heartwarming/loving/filled with minimal content that is extremely embarrassing.
• My friend must break out an x-rated rendition of "I Like Big Butts", complete with dance moves.
• My dress should have a built in hoist in order to facilitate toilet usage.

Add some ribbon and lace and that should do the trick...

• All of my body hair must miraculously fall off the day before the wedding, except for my eyebrows and the hair on my head.
• And, finally, I hope to find the right balance between a romantic updo hairstyle and that of the Bride of Frankenstein... as well as subtle-but-flattering make-up vs. waxen whore vs. Jim Carrey's "The Mask".

Why So Serious, Eva Longoria?

Or:

You know, a nice, soft, natural look...

 See? I'm easy to please. No weding diva here. Nope. Not at all.


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Creepiest Job Title Ever...

I kid you not, at a hospital in Mississauga, Ontario:

Creepiest Job Title EVAR.

Could.not.pay.me.enough.

Are people actually running around wasting the stuff? Really? Seriously?

GAH.


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Pole Dancing - Sexpot Extraordinaire....

Well, surely I have your attention right now.


I decided, after a two (or so) year hiatus from trying a pole-fit class, which really isn't pole-dancing, that I would.. uh... get back in the saddle and try again.


My last lessons were taught partially by an extremely flexible lady and a very vivacious man who owned a studio in my hometown. This time, I paid the big bucks and went to a place locally...

I imagined myself looking like this (with a slightly rounder silhouette and less boobs):

IF ONLY my ass looked that small... I wouldn't NEED pole-fit class.

And after the first 4 minutes, realized that I wasn't even close to looking THIS cute, even:

This pole dancer even has better hair than I do.... *sigh*

I felt rusty, creaky and clunky as the instructor moved and swayed her hips, seemingly effortlessly, smooth, sleek and in-the-know.

I felt like the biggest fake EVAR. She did a quick run down of level 1 (see, I had done this before, you know, so I figured I could TOTALLY head straight into level 2, maybe even 3)... and I stared, slack-jawed at my inability to figure out a f*cking thing she was doing.

There is such an art to looking graceful while trying to spin and pull yourself up on the pole. There truly is.

My last class involved more running leaps to try to spin around the pole. This new class is more about sensual movement, empowerment, and transitioning effortlessly from falling off the pole, onto your ass, and back up again without looking like you are even trying.


Beginner Pole Fit Fun from Stephanie Cee on Vimeo.


I clearly lack grace, but man, it WAS FUN!!


I have the utmost respect (you know, fitness wise) for girls who pole-dance as professionals. They ARE STRONG, FIT women.

I saw this video on youtube and had to share it.

Check out the crazy move at around 1:31... I can't embed the video... the girl is clothed and should be safe for work, unless someone is looking over your shoulder and wondering why the hell you are looking up pole-fitness tips online at work. lol.

Hopefully I will start to suck less as time goes on.

I attended a chair-fit class on the weekend which included a strenuous, painful series of leg, butt, thigh and arm strengthening moves with a TEENY bit of chair dance at the end.

I woke up ALL night because I was in so much pain.


Good lord, I have a long way to go before I even hit puppy pole-dance cuteness...



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Happy Birthday, Blog O' Mine!

Well, holy shyte.

Yup...

Nothing butt

the finest, most upstanding writing on this blog...

not that I want to beat a dead horse... or club a baby seal.

I'm just cool like that, yo.

Who would have believed I could keep my attention span fixated long enough to maintain a blog for an entire year.

It was a year ago, today, when Feyoncé™ (then "BF" or "Boyfriend") was away on work, I was bored and had been watching way too many episodes of True Blood, and I had been exposed to the fabulosity and hilarity provided by Allie Brosh's blog "Hyperbole And A Half".

I figured I would try my hand at it, because weird shit or annoying stuff always seems to happen to me. My first month I had 82 whopping page views, most likely because of my emails to family and friends to check it out. So thanks to you guys who took the time to read, some even "followed", and others commented!

:)

Made it feel good to know I was sharing something with other people (what?? I'm generally not good at sharing).

Over 33,000 page views and a year later, here I sit. That may not seem to significant, but I think it's pretty neat. Sure, a lot of people stumble across the blog only through searching Google images for mainly hairy noses, sexy socks, "clubbing" and spandex ass (all from my stats, I cannot tell a lie), but there are still lots of people who take the time to read stuff and I LOVE YA!

Also? I have made an astounding $63.99 in ad revenue, which practically makes me a zillionaire, allowing me to quit my day job and live with a butler and chauffeur. Don't hate.

So, boring post, but YAY ME!

That very first post is HERE if you want to read it.



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Confessions

Let's see...

• I mainly buy Asparagus for the free elastic bands. It's a great product-to-free-elastic-band ratio, because they generally put one at the tips and at the bottoms. Double win! Oh... yeah, and I get to eat the asparagus too.
• God-DAMN asparagus makes pee smelly. I hope someone found this post based solely on Googling that phrase.
• It is ALWAYS appropriate, anticipated, and welcomed to pinch other men's nipples after consuming large quantities of alcohol. Feyoncé™ is wrong on this one. It's... like... a MUST, really.
• When surprisingly faced with a skunk, in the dark, while walking your puppy, it is both eloquent and effective to yell "Shit! No! RUUUUN!" and run across the street in a blaze of chaotic skunk-odour-avoidance-measures.

Don't be fooled by those coy smiles; These buggers will force a dangerous, treacherous bathing process involving hydrogen peroxide, dawn, and baking soda. Usually around 1am. You've been warned.

• Avoidance (to people, not skunks) is even MORE obvious over text. I feel the need to state that a reply is unnecessary approximately 6+ hours after an original message is sent. Unless your phone was off because you never leave the house. (Not that I know what that is like, AT ALL, people...)
• My extended family contains at least one psychopath/sociopath.

C'est fini.


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Hypervigilance: What You Don't Want For You!

I am of a particular subset group of people who have a lovely little quirk known as hypervigilance.

"What is it?" you ask?
"It sounds fabulous!" you say?

Let me break it down for you.

Hypervigilance makes it very hard to focus on the immediate here and now, because your eyes, ears, and brain are simultaneously attempting to focus on the task at hand, while assessing ABSO-fuckin'-LUTELY everything else that is happening within earshot/eyeshot around you.

How does it work? I shall provide you with an example. Think of it like paranoia, with a little less 'crazy'.

The setting: A lovely, overpriced restaurant for breakfast somewhat in the middle of the room.

The company: An attentive and talkative Feyoncé™.

The low down: Hypervigilance allowed me to learn the following, even though I wasn't consciously, actively TRYING to hear what people were saying, or watch what they were doing. (My back was to the general mass of people in the room):

It's like having waaaaaay too many ears.

- The man beside me had accidentally flung his business cards out of his bag when I approached my own table. I picked them up for him and he thanked me. Then, through the course of our breakfast, I learned he was:
A) a lawyer looking to get the gentleman at the table with him out of insider trading charges
B) he found it humourous recalling stories of when his sister hit two separate men on two separate occasions in her car due to seizures, laughing as he said "I thought it was hilarious! I think the guy was a war vet and I've never seen a man cry like that!" accompanied by boisterous laughter.
C) I regretted picking up his cards and, instead, wish I had stomped on them.

- The server with the long ponytail does not like her job, as is evident with every forceful kick she throws into the swinging doors into the kitchen. This was sometimes punctuated with a long, loud, sigh.

- The daughter was clearly pissed at her mother, sitting about 3 tables away from us, as was indicated by the dour look on her face, her crossed arms, and her lack of ordering food or eating along with her mother. Teen daughter then proceeded to ignore her mother with her cell phone while mom fruitlessly tried to engage her in conversation.

"Uuuuuh, mo-om, I so hate you right now. Like. Whatever. Let me text in peace."

- The two ladies to my left, I'm quite certain, believe that there poo has no aroma, if you catch my drift. They were horribly rude with the waitstaff, and lady #2 went on to tell a tale about a woman she worked with (she described her solely using expletives) saying how this woman was clearly wrong because lady #2 has NEVER been wrong her entire life.

- The gentleman server listened patiently as the female server with short hair complained about the scheduling change and how she did not want to work the weekend again.

- Two younger guys at a table snapped their fingers to garner the attention of their server, more than once.

I forget the rest, but you get the idea. I figured this stuff out in about 10 minutes.

All the while, I was carrying on a conversation with Feyoncé™, thinking about a family health issue, making sure I was grabbing the soy milk and not the regular milk for my coffee, trying to remember to use my fork AND knife, because even though a fork can be a multi-use tool and can slice through eggs and hashbrowns, that's not how the 'fancy folk' do it...

It's like I am plagued by a persistent, ever-present Whisper2000. You remember that shit. Infomercial made of pure gold.

The Whisper 2000: Your greatest enemy or your best friend?

Anyway, that's your Freebie Friday: A lesson on hypervigilance.


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With All Due Respect, You ARE a D-Bag.

I was in a mall store today that sold suits and rented tuxes.

Some preppy blonde douchebag proceeded to be douche-y and ignorant to the minimum-wage making sales staff because he wanted his RENTED tux to be shortened in the body (READ: major alteration to the construction of the RENTED jacket).

Approximation of douche-i-ness. Plus an entourage who reeked of cologne. Image Source.

The abused sales clerk tried to tell him they can make minor adjustments to the sleeves and pant hems, but not the jacket, as it is rented and isn't their property to cut/modify to that extent.

MY FAVOURITE (READ: Rage-enducing) MOMENT?
When aforementioned blonde douchebag got EXTRA snippy and started an ignorant, respectless tirade with the statement:

"With all due respect..."

People, don't be fucking stupid. If you mean to offend someone, don't start your passive-aggressive line with "No offense, but..."

or be completely and utterly disrespectful, but preface it with:

"With all due respect..."

While you gaze at your reflection in the mirror and swear at the sales staff of a rental store because you are the GODDAMN EMCEE of that wedding, and ANOTHER JACKET you own fits you better and you SIGNED A RENTAL AGREEMENT, and B!TCH, B!TCH, B!TCH. This guy was more of a bridezilla then I will EVER be.

*SIGH*

I made this shit. So image credit is MINE, bitches. No offense...

Also? I suck at returns. I leave them until the last minute, then turn around and spend MORE money in the store than the amount I returned. Fuck.

Also? I CANNOT extract myself from conversations I don't want to have. I talked about wedding bands for over 45 minutes with the sales lady who pressured me and told me the rings hardly ever go on sale at Michael Hill

(Srsly? You are a mall jeweler. You have pre-printed signs up every other week promoting a sale. Don't insult my intelligence.)

Could I say that to her? NO. I was ball-less and said I needed to think things over and blah blah blah. JESUS, MAN UP, STEPHANIE!

I also managed to end up talking to the Koodo sales rep about marriage, trust, relationships, and how overpriced those damn iPhones are. (At least I get points for that last one, since it was relevant). He was a nice guy... but who else seriously ends up in hour long off-topic conversations with sales clerks for such extended durations? If I made a friend out of it, great. If not... WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!?!???!

Also? I'd like to send a big shout out and fuck off to stress sweat. Dear laaaaawd I HATE that shit~!

Like me, but with slightly less MOOB. (Moob = man boob)

You know, so... you're typical mall outing. If YOU ARE ME.

/RANT.



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The Best Quote I've Ever Heard...

Goes like this:

"If we knew each other's secrets, what comfort we would find." — John Churton Collins

No need to feel ashamed, little kitty. S'okay.

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