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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