Me on a flying trapeze. No, seriously!

No word of a lie, Michael reminded me of a healthier time, back in early 2009, when I took a vacation to Jamaica.

A bunch of teenagers tried this and failed before me.

I got my black-sock-fitted ass up on that high trapeze post there, and did this on my first attempt. Well, I mean, the socks were on my feet, not my ass, and all I had was black csocks... Anyway, BEHOLD:



Admittedly, I was too sore to do it again afterwards (my next two attempts were failures), but by gawd, I did do it!!! 

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I Will Finish The SNAFU Honeymoon Story...

I think a part of me just doesn't want to concede that by telling the last of the story, the entire wedding/honeymoon process is officially over and I have to go back to real life.

For those not in the know or in the loop, please find the previous (horrific by my oh-so-pathetic,  middle-class standards) here:

Part One
Part Two
Part Three

The final installment will be here shortly. I promise. I'll even provide real photos of the Maldives. You know, pre-uprising and presidential dethroning.

The New Husband, dining on a chocolate bar as we waited during the final hours at Heathrow Airport. ROMANTIC!

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DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT...

Drink half a 1.5 Litre bottle of Riesling wine all by yourself while your better half goes and plays Ultimate Frisbee. (Dad, I blame you for the leftover wine. Next time, it goes home with you!!)

Then challenge him to a trash-talking board game, upon his return.

Good things can never come of such events.

Consider yourself warned, and no, you get no photographic evidence.

Though, I may have pissed a few friends off on Facebook.

Sorry 'bout  that.
_____

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The Perfect Outfit

Ever wearing a perfectly comfortable sports bra and pair of  Great Dane drool-covered   knock off Lulu Lemon   likely should have been washed two days ago  yoga pants and think to yourself:

SELF: "You know what self? I feel too... I dunno... free in these pants. I feel as if something is missing."

You ponder this for a moment and then eventually come to the realization that what you are lacking is skin tight razor denim thrashing its own path through your ladybits.

How you missed it all along is beyond me, but facts are facts.

You need some seriously skin tight denim in order to feel complete.

SELF: "But, self, even with that, I feel almost claustraphobic. Like my torso just needs to shout to the world  'Look at me, bitches! Look at me in all my glory! Take me in! Desire me!' You understand, right self?"

So you come up with a solution there.

One that requires fishnet. And not JUST fishnet, but MORE fishnet. (imagine Christopher Walken saying it like "cow bell"...)

BUT,

In order to remain out of prison for indecent exposure, you realize you have to subject your torso to a little boob coverage. Just a little. I mean, those ARE AMPLE breasts you have there, Self.

SELF: "At least I can make that shit RAINBOW."

So you're almost there. Your yoga pants be damned. Your properly fitted sports bra? Well now, those are for  pussies   athletes  people with taste  pansies.

SELF: "I just... I just need something to really stand out. Like REALLY stand out. Some bling or some such flair! Ooooh... twinkle, twinkle, bitches."

And the shoes? Ah f_ck it, I'll just throw on my flip flops.

Do my toes look big in these sandals? (Image via "People of Walmart")

Thaaaaaaaaaaaat's the ticket.

___________

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Oh Shit.

Do you ever do that thing?

You know, that thing where you're kind of unaware and then that thing starts happening?

For me it started innocently enough. I traded my old impala in for a nice, compact, fuel-efficient car. (points for better gas mileage and environmental consideration).

Fast forward about 3.5 years and I'm in the new (okay, 2006) compact car.
After running to various flower shops, quite inefficiently, all the while failing to find purple roses for my niece's birthday.
Rush, rush, rush.
After having poorly planned the day and getting on the treadmill late, and being chubby and stinky, and showering late and.... (less points for poor time management and stupidity).

You know, that thing where you remind your husband to check his windshield washer fluid as he's driving, because you're terrified you'll get stuck behind a transport on the highway in slushy weather with no wiper fluid to save your ass from filthy, sandy mush, flung high speed at your windshield. Like it did to you two years ago in your compact car and you nearly drove off the highway because you couldn't see. You know, right? (less points for being an annoyingly nagging wife).

That thing where you ensured he checked his, BUT DIDN'T CHECK YOUR OWN. Because you keep forgetting that it was the OLD IMPALA that had the courtesy to let you know that you were getting LOW on fluid, whereas the new compact car just says;

"Hey you stupid motherf_cker, looks like you're outta washer fluid!!"
"Have a nice    day   death!"

You know, that thing. Where you are on the highway, doing 125 km/hr, trying to arrive with non-purple roses in time in another city, in the fast lane, in rainy/slushy weather.

And that damn OH-SHIT light comes on.

Oh well, I lived to make it to the next town and thank goodness had the paranoia and foresight to pack extra washer fluid in the trunk (I ABHOR paying $6 at the gas station for it when you can get it for $2 at the grocery store).

Lived to tell the tale. (bonus points for surviving an untimely death).

Damn I hate this compact minimalist-bells-and-whistles business.

I need a Hummer. Or, rather, maybe my husband does (tee hee).

After all, his washer fluid WAS topped up and I ran out...
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Crying over?

Just to clarify - I can still cry if I spill soy milk, right?

I mean, it easily makes just as much a mess as dairy milk.

And I think it costs more.

And the soy milk totally got into someone else's smartphone wall charger cord.

*Proceeds to cry over spilled milk and lack of hand-eye coordination*

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I had Mike Weir for Valentine's Day

Yup, that's right.

I got to TASTE HIM. He was surprisingly dry. But I drank him all in.


Oh, you guys are disgusting. I meant his sparkling wine,  jizz  jeez.

He fizzed all in my mouth. Also? The dim lighting made me look better to the New Husband. Probably.

When we saw the sign for this Italian restaurant (highly recommended by a fellow in the Williams Sonoma store), we expected shag carpeting and beads onto the doors in the washroom.

Surprisingly swanky. You didn't make the table cut if you were forced to sit at the bar or pizza bar. Just FYI.

It was surprisingly elegant, and we managed to score a table at 6pm on a Friday night with no reservations.

We must have looked mistakenly classy.

Also, holyshitandallthingsnotaffordable, have you people ever been in Williams Sonoma? The New Husband spent $36 on a whisk. A WHISK!

We spent $20 on PEPPERCORNS, people.

PK, you have got some mighty classy taste. I felt so out of place in that store.

So here's to tasting Canadian golfers like Mike Weir, while your husband watches, on Valentine's Day!!

*clinks glass in right hand to glass in left hand*

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Things that piss me off

For no good reason, in no particular order, my list.

The antithesis of 1,000 awesome things (both shorter AND completely negative):

• My propensity for injury in ANY given situation
• Fashion magazines and/or Photoshopping women's bodies to completely unrealistic or unhealthy standards
• Wet, heavy snow that causes a full body sweat to shovel
• Constipation
• Diarrhea (you know - wet, heavy poo that causes a full body sweat)
• Your mother (just kidding, she's probably a very nice woman who bakes things)
• Your mother (because she causes a full body sweat, too)
• Gluten (that shit is in EVERYTHING)
• Cool air humidifiers (scented or unscented)
• Pretentious, obscenely expensive weddings
• Wearing sleeveless pajamas and waking up all night because my shoulders are cold
• Polyester pants (you know - the whole half body sweat thing)
• Half-visible, half frozen boogers that you have no idea are taking up real estate in your nose, while walking your dog outside

That's it for now.

How truly uninspiring.

You are welcome.

If you leave me a comment, tell me THREE RANDOM THINGS that piss you off.


______________________

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I Have Nothing To Say

Just so we're clear.

Nothing to say.

Nothing at all to say *shifts eyes left to right*.




So we're good then?

Okay.

___________

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Rock Band Is My Bitch

Like any youthful, popular, savvy, connected young married woman in her 30s, I am:

• sitting home alone
• on a Saturday night
• in my pajamas
• playing Rock Band 3 in the freezing cold basement (while the puppy tries to sleep and block out my voice in her head)
• all by myself (besides the dogs)
• with a laundry room full of clean cloth items
• an upstairs hallway filled with piles of give away blankets and pillows to sort through
• a linen closet to re-organize and re-stock
• a major buzz from a bottle of Dr. Pepper

That's what all the cool kids are doing these days, right?


On a Saturday night?

RIGHT?  RIGHT???


In need of a decent shower, seriously. Like, seriously, really.

Whatever... behold the magic of boredom and loneliness!!!

Check this shit out:

Of ALLLLL the people that play Rock Band, (mind you, some songs I had to buy, but still), I've placed in the top 6, beyotches.

ON EXPERT VOCALS.

Suck my smelly pits, competitors!!



I submit the following into evidence (I am Stephaniescooby):

Booyah!

Aw yeeeeeeeeeah booooy.

Ditto

And you may have remembered long ago when I held the #1 spot for the Canadian Band, The Tragically Hip on Rock Band 3 in this post back here. But, since then, I had been knocked off my thrown down to second place.

Well not tonight folks. Tonight *I* was so hip it was tragic. (Wow. That was truly awful. Even for me.)

THE CROWN IS MINE ONCE AGAIN!!!

It feels so gooood to be Queen.

Shania Twain, Third Eye Blind, Alanis Morissette and The Tragically Hip are all own-able. For now. I wish I could remember the other ones I did well on, but my memory is shot.
Okay, that's all. I just had to share this with someone since the Hubs is out playing poker.

If anyone out there plays RockBand, you should add me as an online friend in your system, because clearly I need some friends, people!!

____________

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Letter to my then-Feyoncé™, now The New Husband AKA the Former Feyoncé™

As a start to our wedding ceremony, the wedding officiant asked me and The New Husband AKA the Former Feyoncé™ to secretly write letters to each other, and not share them, and she would read them aloud.

I want everyone to know how I feel about him, so dammit, I'm posting it on the blog.

I need some love and positivity right now, so here it is:

~~~~~~~~

Dearest [Name Redacted to Protect The Innocent], aka “[Redacted Variation on Previously Redacted Name]”, aka “Babe”, aka “My husband-to-be”,

I don’t even know how to start this letter. How can I express the love and appreciation I have for you in words? I simply cannot do it justice with words. I can look into your eyes, and smile, and know that you will know how I am feeling or what I may be thinking by the tilt of my head or the look in my eyes.

I love that understanding, and the connection we have. I love our mutual sense of humour, and ability to laugh at things. I love our “fit”. I love YOU, and I love us.

But how do I tell you how important you are in my life? How very fortunate I feel to have met you, and to have the honour of being the woman you are choosing to spend the rest of your life with?

From the very moment we met, I felt you exuded honesty and sincerity. I was charmed by your laugh and your sense of humour. And you were handsome (YOWSA! AND STILL ARE! Look at you!). And the more I got to know you, the more incredible you became to me. You amaze me every day with your intelligence, kindness, patience, understanding, and determination. Our bond has grown, deepened and strengthened as time has moved on. Each day I love you more.

You have let me see that what I thought, or can think, is a broken, flawed, embarrassment, is actually the woman you love with all your heart, and believe in more often than I believe in myself.

You’ve shown me that I am a lovable partner (unless it’s time to do the dishes or walk the dogs). You give me purpose (in explaining song lyrics), keep me on my toes (always seeking out the cutlery that doesn’t hurt your hands), and we work together with our strange quirks (like needing the car window cleaned, or never turning left into a gas station).

We have traveled together, and I have had opportunities to see things I never would have had the courage to try without you in my life. Like seeing the gorillas in Rwanda. And seeing the huge rhinoceros in front of our vehicle… in that crazy trek we took to the far-reaching African Lion Safari!

[Redacted], you ARE my life. You have given me courage, strength and comfort when I thought there was no strength left. You have cheered me on, and encouraged me to fight for the things that are worth fighting for. We have stood together through the rough waters and the playful waves and the calm stillness. And your support means more than any vows, or words, could say.

You mean everything to me. I can’t truly articulate how much love my heart holds for you. You are brightness, sunshine, warmth, and safety. You are wonderful.

I promise to do my best to be a good wife, and eventually a good mother to our not-yet-conceived children.

I am the luckiest girl in the world to be standing here, with you, the man who holds my heart, who makes me whole, who loves me unconditionally, who works alongside me, who challenges me, who makes me smile, whose hugs can make the world seem kinder, who can turn my mood and my day around. I love you so much, Babe, and I am so happy we are standing here today. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I love you more than any words could ever say.

I hope I keep making you as happy as you make me.

Stephanie

Oh, YES I DID!!!

p.s. To the people who didn't like the centrepieces: Really? Seriously?  I liked 'em, and we made a decent donation to an organization in my home town with the money we saved.

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