Oh.My.Gawd.Really.

Wee bit wonky.

2007-02-08T10:04:00.000-08:00

Do I look a tiiiiiiny bit nutters to you? Ya? I thought so. Here's a run down of my last few days. You might want to grab a snack and by snack, I mean vodka. And pills. And more vodka.

I'm still on pins and needles waiting on news about the house we want. I mean what are the chances it will still be on the market when we're finally able to purchase it? Slim to none but who's counting? Yes, it's very ugly, straight out of the 80's but still. Maybe someone else will think it's an undiscovered gem and snatch it up. I'll just kick them in the neck and steal it back. I'm kinda ninja like that.

I have a recommendation to make. Never, ever, ever, take a big ass grocery cart out on slippery parking lots that are sloped. Why you ask? Lemme tell you. I went to the grocery store yesterday and it was snowy, cold and because it had been mild the day before, the pavement had developed a thin layer of ICE. Now cover that ICE with a little bit of snow, put groceries in a huge, heavy shopping cart, going downhill and then have a 5'2" looney pushing it. And by pushing it, I mean losing control of it and skating/sliding/being drug behind the cart like some kind of drunk ice capades has been. It was not pretty. And neither is my ass after being slightly bruised. Not to mention my ego. There were witnesses.

I did buy some chicken though. And cooked it in this:

Do you like my roasting pan? Not that you can really call it that. It's one of those $1.99 tinfoil-y jobies that you get at the grocery store when you're a loser like me and have no roasting pan to speak of. I mean I do have a big roasting pan, however, it's been missing since 2004 and I've been too ~~drunk~~ busy to search for it. Plus, really, do I cook that much that I need it? Hardly. However, I bought 2 chickens that I decided to cut up and needed a big roaster. So I happen to find that monstrousity that I had purchased a while back but because it was so big, I had rammed it into the cabinet, thus it came out looking a little mashed. I had to kinda pound it back into 'shape' (I use that term loosely) and recreate the sides as they were not looking too healthy. Oh and it leaks. I found that out once I put the chicken in there and then poured the marinade all over it. As I carried it to the fridge, there was a trail of brownish soupy mess behind me. Nice. But surprisingly my chicken turned out and my family didn't die of food poisoning, which is really cool.

Next on my list of whining, is these two:

My oldest offspring, goofy and goofier. However, I suppose I have to give them credit for being creative. Remember my ghetto dryer here? Well it finally crapped out and was sorta shooting sparks out of it's ass, so I'm thinking it's bit the big one and gone to dryer heaven.

So we needed to get the dryer that came with this house back in here. Hubby told me to ask the boys to take the old one out and bring the other one back in from the shed. Well after much huffing and puffing and complaining, they managed to get the shitty dryer out and get it to the shed. I had told them, they can't drag the newer dryer in the snow and get it all wet. So they hummed and hawed and figured a way to get the dryer over to the step without getting it all snowy. Now, I'm thinking they'd just CARRY it since, honestly, it's not that heavy for 2 big strapping young men, a bit awkward yes, but heavy no. But no, no, no, they don't want to carry it because that would require WORK. So naturally, they put the newer dryer on top of the ghetto dryer and drag them both over to the step. Quite ~~lazy~~ ingenious don't you think? Me too. Kinda white trashy too. Whatever, the other dryer is back and now working. Hooray!

Oh and on a final note, not of whining but of praising. I just have to say I have the best, best friend ever, as she spoiled me the other day. I swear it was just like Christmas and she was Santa, except it was February and she's not in a red velvet suit with a big fat gut and a long, white beard. And big man hands. She's actually quite lovely. I would totally marry her, well, you know, if I was a lesbian and she was one too and we weren't already married to men, with children and stuff. Nevermind. I probably should have just kept that part in my head. Anyway, she's so good to me and I wuv her alot.

I'm a thief.

2007-02-02T10:59:00.000-08:00

Do I look shifty to you? Would you think I'm someone who smuggles soup in my purse? Should I be wearing an orange jumpsuit? Well apparently some people think all of the above.

I was at the bank the other day and after I came out, I decided to drive over to the gas station to grab a bottle of water and some ~~peanut M&M's~~ healthy snacks. I didn't even actually park in the gas station parking lot, I parked across the street and walked over.

I go up to the counter with my purchases and the cashier/owner asked me if I put gas in my car.

No, I just have the water and M&M's.

She looks out the big window at the gas pumps and then looks at me with a very suspicous look on her face.

Are you sure you didn't get gas?

Yes I'm very sure.

Again, she looks out the window and then back at me.

So you didn't get gas?

No I didn't. Geez what is this woman's problem?

You're sure?

OMG, I didn't even park here. My van is parked across the street. Holy accusatory.

If I didn't have a major ~~hard on for M&M's~~ thirst for water, then I would have told her to shove it.

Next day, I'm at the grocery store and picked up my son's Pediasure at the pharmacy. We have it paid through Family Services for Children with Disabilities so the pharmacy just issues a manual receipt to show that we're not stealing it so I can get out the door without any hassle, HA. I go pick up a few groceries and get to the checkout and pay for my groceries. As I'm bagging them, the cashier sees I have 5 boxes of Pediasure in the cart and the receipt is laying right on the top box.

What's that? Pointing to the boxes.

It's Pediasure.

Give it to me.

Pardon?

Give me a box so I can ring it in! You didn't even pay for that! Why didn't you tell me you had it?

Ummm it's paid for. Hence the receipt that I got from the pharmacy that's laying on the top of the boxes.

It's paid for?

Yes, that's why I didn't mention it when going through the checkout. Not like I tried to hide 5 giant boxes right on the top part of the cart. *Smile* *Fakely* (Is that a word?)

She glares at me and goes back to her other customer. Geez. I'm walking towards the door and there's a lady (sometimes a man) (I don't mean that the lady is sometimes a man, I mean that sometimes instead of the lady, they put a man there, but I digress), that stands at the door to offer customers change for the carts, provide fliers, and also harrass people apparently. My favorite part.

Whoa. Get back here.

Pardon?

What's that?

It's Pediasure.

What's that? Is that for kids? What is it? Hmmmm?

It's a nutrition supplement for children. That's why there's a fucking teddy bear on the box.

Did you pay for it?

I have a receipt right here. I don't pay cash for it, but I have a manual billing receipt issued by the pharmacist.

Who's it for?

Nunya. Nunya fucking business you old bat. My son.

Well I learn something new everyday.

That's great, haha. Did that sound fake? I hope so.

Did you get porked?

Did I get porked? First I'm made to feel like a criminal and then I'm practically assaulted sexually with the pork talk by an 80 year old woman.

Did you get your pork? If you spend more than $150, you get free ribs. Here's a coupon.

Oh. Oh. Great. I was really craving pork. *snort*

I gotta go, get on my black and white stripped sweater and get out the old ball and chain, get my left boob tattooed and make a shank so I can escape later and maybe get a strawberries n' cream from Starbucks.

I've been tagged! Tagged! Did you hear me?

2007-01-26T10:14:00.000-08:00

Maybe my day will improve! Chris, my new fan, because she said I was the most talented, beautiful, sexy, sweet, gorgeous creature she's ever seen/read, has tagged me. Fine, I lied, she didn't say any of that but she did say I was hilarious, so that's almost the same thing. Anyway, I must tell you 10 things about me, which I KNOW you WANT to KNOW. I have to run out for a bit but I will return to tell you 10 things that you ~~will poke your eyes out because you DIDN'T want to know that about me~~ have been dying to know about me. Ab-so-freakin'-lutely. Now, listen, go about your day until I return, although I know that will be hard because you'll be sitting on the edge of your seat, breathlessly waiting for me to come back. Honestly, breath okay? Be back soon!

*Edit*

Told you I'd be back albeit later than I expected. And by later, I mean over 24 hours later, but I was ~~getting sloshed and whistling at the cars going by~~ rescuing a cat from a burning tree. Anyway, enough about my being a superhero, let's move on to ten things about me that you're dying to know.

1.) I love early morning. Why you ask? Because it's that time of day that I ~~open the booze~~ can play online without being interrupted, listen to the quiet and zone out before my day starts.

2.) I can't swim. I may have mentioned this before somewhere along the way but you probably forgot because you were mesmerized by my ~~insanity~~ beauty and all.

3.) I'm scared of sharks. And I know I just said I can't swim and therefore, will most likely never be out swimming in the ocean, however, should a band (is that what you call them?) of pirates kidnap me and throw me overboard, then it's possible that I could become shark bait and that scares me tremdously.

4.) I love pink. Like anyone with a brain can't figure that one out. However, I wouldn't want pink hair. Or a pink toilet. Or pink eyes. Or a pink elephant in my livingroom.

5.) I have a love affair going with peanut M&M's. I wish I didn't and I hope to end it soon because my heartburn isn't happy with our goings on.

6.) I listen to Chris Daughtry's debut cd every single day since I got it. He's a really great singer and not hard on the eyes. I'm not normally into bald guys, but hey, it works on him. I'd ~~hit it~~ shake his hand if I met him.

7.) I have 2 pens that light up. One is silver and one is pink and both write with black ink. They're $1.98 at Staples. And so worth the money, if you're into pens and such.

8.) I wish I could play the guitar and although my husband has been playing for over 25 years and is really really good, even he can't teach me. I suck. Plus I like having pretty nails and I'd have to totally cut them and then I'd look like I have short man hands with ugly nails and that is so unacceptable. I'm too girly for that to ever happen.

9.) I can't stand the smell of olives. There's an olive bar at the grocery store and I try to avoid walking by it because to me, it smells like dirty socks, b/0 and dog shit.

10.) I watch 3 soap operas. Not fully but I turn them on if I'm puttering around in the livingroom and half watch/listen. It's just that I've been into them since I was like 15 and how, I ask you, could I give them up at this point? It'd be like, you know, a sin or something.

There you have it. Ten things that, now that you know, you WILL sleep better tonight or perhaps you're passed out now because I bored you to death. I'm so glad I could make that happen for you.

What a shitty great day.

2007-01-26T08:22:00.000-08:00

Yes, I realize Christmas has passed and the next one is pretty far away but I wanted a "crappy" picture to show my "crappy" mood, so I searched for a "crappy picture" and this is what came up. So I'm goin' with it.

My nerves are so frazzled with all this house business, both with having to keep my house (that we rent) spotless 24/7, so the realtors can show it (it's for sale), leaving the house and trying to come up with things to do while I'm out, like ~~get drunk~~ shopping, worrying about whether we can swing buying the fugly pink (we'll eventually renovate) house we want and now my van. It's basically a piece of shit metal on wheels. I might as be driving around on an actual piece of poo with attached wheels. I think I've said crap, shit and poo like a million times already, so I wonder what kind of CRAP searches I'll get today? Hmmmm. Should be interesting.

I decided to drive my daughter to school this morning since it was cold, I'm fighting a lingering migraine and honestly, I just felt like it. Well I dropped her off, waited until the bell rang and then went back to my van to leave and it wouldn't start. There's a loose wire thingy attached to the battery thingy that you apparently have to beat or wiggle or some such bullSHIT. As you can tell, I know nothing about vehicles other than THEY'RE. SUPPOSED. TO. START. WHEN. YOU. TURN. THE. KEY.

I called my husband to see if by some miracle he was still in our neighbourhood but no, no he wasn't. He told me to lift the hood and hit the cable going to the battery.

The battery?

Yes, the battery.

I don't know what it looks like? Like a Duracell?

No. You'll see it when you open the hood, it's on the passenger side.

Ah huh. Right. Does it say 'battery' on it?

No.

Well I can freakin' guarantee I will not know what or where it is.

I get the hood open and just as I suspected I had no clue which dirty, blackish, dusty, metal thing it was. He explained and I eventually spotted it. He told me to move the cable a bit or hit it with something. Works like a charm for him everytime.

You want me to hit? With what?

I don't know, there must be something in the van.

No. There's yesterday's mail. Should I beat it with our power bill?

Sure. No, there must be something, a wrench, something.

No, I'm looking and I see nothing.

Did you open the back door of the van? There should be something there.

Fine, I'll check.

I find a trowel thingy for spreading crack fill. Oh this should TOTALLY WORK.

So there I am, beating my battery with a trowel. It's NOT WORKING. My husband is assuring me that eventually it will. No, it won't. I'm trying, my hands are now black/brown/dusty/crappy and I must look like some kind of circus sideshow pounding on the inside of my van's hoody thingy. My husband tells me to just walk home and he'll be over later. Sure. So I grab my book and lock the door and start walking home, cursing the world, my van, my frost bitten hands, Oprah, The Pillsbury Doughboy and anyone/thing I can think of. So there I am, walking down the sidewalk, bawling like a 2 year old, the stresses of the last few weeks finally coming to a head. Great time to have a breakdown. My makeup's sliding off my face, tears pooling on my jacket, snot most likely starting to drip from my nose and then I begin to hyperventalate and have an asthma attack. Gee, did I happen to bring my inhaler, you know that thing I need incase I STOP BREATHING? No, no I did not. So I'm walking as fast as I can, which doesn't help when you're fighting for air, wiping my face off with my jacket sleeve, which is not a great idea because my jacket is brown and my makeup is white seeing as I'm a pasty person, mix that with some snot and tears and you have a jacket that really needs to be WASHED. Oh and I'm trying NOT TO DIE from lack of oxygen in my lungs.

I finally make it home, stumble with the key in the lock because of the lockbox on the door handle and the fact that my once pasty white hands are now red/purple from being so cold. I get in and go on a search for my inhaler, find it, take a few puffs to get some much needed air in my chest, and then fall on the couch to continue my breakdown. I sat up a few minutes later and went to take a look in the mirror, which cracked from the horror show displayed on my face. Let's just say I WILL be redoing my makeup.

Anyway, now that my little cry fest is over for now, I think I'll go bitchslap my neighbour's dog that won't shut it's yap. Might as well get this funky mood out and what better way than to beat a small yappy dog? I can't think of a thing! Happy Friday.

Hold me.

2007-01-23T08:37:00.000-08:00

If you want me to have a heart attack or vomit, then put me in a room with Carrot Top. Good freakin' Lord what is that? Did he have plastic surgery or is he in desperate need of some? I can't tell, but I can tell you this, it frightens me to the core. It's like he's saying, "come here, I want to eat your face". Does he not have people? Like people to tell him, "listen dude, you really need to lay off the Botox", or whatever the hell it is that you're injecting into your face to give you that pyscho, I'm going to hack up your cat, kinda look. Be back later, I've got to get my garlic and wooden stake.

A star? What for?

2007-01-17T09:10:00.000-08:00

Donald ~~Frump~~ Trump was given a Hollywood Walk of Fame star yesterday. My question is WHY? For what? The longest combover? Shouldn't that be in the Guiness World Records book? Just sayin'. Why does he deserve a star? For shuffling around some real estate? For having the world's largest ego? Here's a little quiz for you...what's bigger? Donald Trump's ego or his scalp scarf?

I bet when he gets out of the shower, his giant muff is hanging down by his knees. I'm sure his 'hair stylist' (I use that term LOOSELY) has to put clothespins on his nipples so he doesn't laugh at his client, thus getting himself fired. I'm guessing that the amount of shellac used on Trumpie's rug each day, is enough hairspray to last most people a year or more. Maybe the stylist nails it to his head? Perhaps that's why he's not quite all there, his brain fluids are leaking.

Not that I want to picture 'The Donald' (stuck on yourself much?) and his bimbo wife having sex, but just for shits and giggles, let's go there.

Wife: Dahling, your knee hair is getting a bit thick, perhaps you should have it waxed.

D: That's not my knee hair, that's my wrap! Gah.

In other related news, Mr. ~~Dumpster~~ Trumpster has apparently ended his feud with Rosie, which really means, he's run out of insults 'cause grade 3 called and they want them back. You're fired.

Drama queen 101.

2007-01-17T08:28:00.000-08:00

Wanna learn how to become a professional drama queen? Sign up for Miss Maddy's Drama Queen 101 class.

I heard my daughter sobbing the other night and asked her to come out to the livingroom. She walks out, holding a crumpled piece of paper in her hand, tears streaming down her face. Now when you're reading my daughter's part, say it in your head using a loud, sobbing, 'my life is over' kinda voice.

Me: What's wrong? Why are you crying?

Her: I suck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *Sob sob sob* I suck as a dolphin artist!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *Sob*

Me: A dolphin artist?

Her: Look! *holding out the crumpled piece of paper*

Me: *I unfold the paper to reveal what honestly, looks to me, like it's a dolphin or at least some kind of sea life with fins* Honey, it looks like a dolphin to me.

Her: Noooooooooooooooooo, it doesn't!!!!!!!!! I suck as a dolphin artist!!! I'm never going to be a dolphin artist! *Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa*

Me: Maddy, just how many dolphins have you ever drawn? You're six. I can't imagine that it's been alot and quite honestly, I've never seen you draw a dolphin before.

Her: That is my *sob* second one.

Me: You've drawn two? That's it? *Calgon take me away*.

Her: Yes! *Sob* I suck! What will people think of me? I should be able to draw a dolphin, they're not that hard to draw!

Me: I'm sure people aren't going to have a bad opinion of you because of some dolphin drawings.

Her: Yes they will! I can't even draw dolphins! *Sob sob sob*

Me: Maddy, honey, you have to practice. How do you think people get good at things? No matter what it is, you have to practice and the more you draw dolphins, the better you'll get.

Her: No, I'm just never going to be a dolphin artist! *Sob*

She sulks off to her bedroom and about 10 minutes later comes out with a new piece of paper, the sobs have subsided and she exclaims that she's now going to be a famous dolphin artist. She hands me the paper and I can definately tell it's a dolphin for sure.

Her: Look! I'm sooo totally a dolphin artist now!

Me: Ah huh, for sure. Absolutely. How many dolphins have you drawn in the past 10 mintues?

Her: This is like, my 5th one! I can't even believe it! I'm a dolphin artist now! Can you believe it?

Me: Amazing, truly amazing. *Where is that Calgon*?

Just leave your name, a payment of $25.99 and we'll get you started on your Drama queen 101 lessons. Good luck.

Sofa king.

2007-01-11T09:27:00.000-08:00

It's sofa king cold out that my hair actually froze as I was walking home. I looked like a hippy grandma. I'm pretty sure my nose was running but since it was 8 million below zero, I think my snot froze on my upper lip. I didn't look because it would make me barf. Penguins and polar bears would snub their noses (beaks, whatever) at this weather. It sucks. What in blue blazes happened to our mild winter? Who the hell invented winter anyways? You're FIRED. 'Cept if I was firing someone, I wouldn't do it with ~~really bad fucking hair~~ a comb over/wrap around muff/dead mink on my head. I'm just sayin'.

I have to start packing today. I don't want to but I have to. Did I mention that I don't want to? I did? Oh. We don't have a new house yet but have our hearts set on one but we don't want to get our hopes up yet until we know how the financing thing is going. I will say that the house we hope to get, is, well, sofa king ugly it would win the 'you have the ugliest house in the world' contest. I guess it's not so much the house that's ugly, it's the exterior color that was chosen. And the inside looks fresh out of the 80's. So we'd have to do some major cosmetics. Anyway, I will speak more of this depending on whether we get it or not. It's all top secret right now, so putting it on the internet is probably not a good idea but really who's going to read it?

Oh did I tell you that I LOVED going to the hockey game? Me? A NON hockey fan/sports fan of any kind. It baffles me slightly but I'm not going to fight it. Flames won! And I had fun. FUN. I thought I'd be bored enough that I'd want to hang myself but nope, not the case. We had 2 drunk guys behind us that were taunting THE ONE Dallas Stars fan sitting across from us. It really was quite funny. The 2 dudes behind us, said fuck like it was the word 'the' or 'I' and had no regard for my 6 year old sitting beside me. Nor did the Dallas fan. However, as the night wore on, and the guys behind us got more drunk, they began to shout at the Dallas fan to watch his mouth since there was a little girl sitting here. It was priceless how they slurred their words, blew their big red horns, chanted, "Go home Dallas", laughed hysterically, then listened as the Dallas guy would shout back, "fuck the Flames", then they'd shush him and tell him not to say the 'f' word. You can't get any better than that. I've begged hubby to take me to another game. So I'm pretty sure we're going to the Flames vs the Sharks in late Feb.

Well I suppose I must get off my duff and get to work. I'm writing this in a whiney voice. Or whiney type. Whatever. Tell me that the packing/cleaning/cooking fairy will show up later to spot me.

Hockey anyone?

2007-01-05T12:36:00.000-08:00

I've never been to a hockey game. Ever. Hubby is taking me this Saturday to a Calgary Flames game. I'm actually kinda excited even though I can't really classify myself as a sports fan.

My 2 oldest sons and I were at the table the other night and I asked them if there's anything I need to know about going to a hockey game?

Me: So, is there anything I should know?

Both boys look at me and then at each other, then at me again.

Sean: Ya. There are naked girls that come out on the ice, to shovel it.

Me: Naked? Like nude? Like no clothes on?

Sean: Yup.

Me: Ah, well are there any naked men for mama?

Sean: Nope. Sorry.

Me: Well that sucks. But, anyway, that seems a bit inappropriate since people bring young children. We're bringing your 6 year old sister.

Sean: Whatever. Keeps the men happy.

Me: No doubt but still, seems a bit wrong.

Matt: Oh, there's the other thing.

Me: What other thing?

Matt: Well when Kiprusoff makes a good save, there's a chant.

Me: Okay. What chant?

Matt: Everyone shouts, "tops off for Kiprusoff". Then the women in the crowd are supposed to flash their boobs.

Me: What???????????? Uh, I don't know if I want to do that.

Matt: Everyone will boo you if you don't. You'll look like a loser.

Me: But, ah, that isn' something I really want to do in front of 19,000 fans. Plus, hello, we will have Maddy with us.

Matt: Well look like a loser then.

Sean: Hell I even flashed when I went to the game.

Me: Well you're a guy, that's a little different.

Matt: You're gonna get booed.

Me: I don't really want to get booed.

Matt: Well you'll have to flash then.

Me: I guess.

Later on, when hubby returned, I asked him if he'd be upset if I flashed.

Hubby: What? Flashed what?

Me: You know, for the chant.

Hubby: What chant?

Me: You know, 'tops off for Kiprusoff'.

Hubby: What the hell kinda weed you on? There's no chant like that.

Me: Really? The boys said there was and that I would have to lift my shirt up.

Hubby: Good Lord, why would you even listen to them?

Me: So it's not true?

Hubby: Ummm. NO.

Me: Oh. Well what about the naked girls?

Hubby: What naked girls?

Me: Ah the ones on the ice.

Hubby: Good God woman, they're not naked. The wear pants and a halter top, hardly naked. People take their kids to the games, it's a family event. Duh.

Me: Ya, well I totally knew that they were jiving me. *Blink blink blink*

Hubby: Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

Anyway it should be fun! Go Flames Go!

It's 2007. Duh.

2007-01-02T08:23:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year. Guess how I rang in 2007? Watching the Sopranos, which was over at 11:58pm, so I watched the clock on the stove change to 11:59pm and then 12:00am and then I looked at my husband and said, it's 2007. He said ya. And that was that. We are such party animals. Totally.

Oh did I mention we have to move? No? Well we do. The house we are living in is being sold and we have until May to get out but we've decided we want to move like 2 days ago before the house prices go up again, which they are predicted to do. Can you just imagine the panic I feel right now? So much to do and so little time to do it in. I mean how can I possibly ~~get smashed every day~~ pack up an entire house in such a short time? Oh and, ya, we kinda need A HOUSE.

I forgot to tell you, that when I was at the grocery store on Christmas Eve, a nice man, about in his 50's belched IN.MY.FACE. What a nice way to cap off my trip to the store and start the holiday festivities. I was packing my groceries and turned around to put something in my cart and as I turned, I looked up and was face to face with this ~~fucking pig~~ man and he literally let out the biggest, loudest, smelliest burp EVER and lucky me, it was in my face. My mouth hung open as I thought of something to say but no words would come out. He just looked at me like he'd done nothing more than give me the time. His wife must be so proud of him.

My daughter has been sick for most of her holidays thus far. She got sick during the eve of Christmas night and finally got better yesterday. Talk about a fun filled vacation with vomit and more vomit and more vomit. I'm going to spare you any further detail. I'm sure you're thanking me right now.

I must say that my husband and chillin's really spoiled me at Christmas. No I didn't get that trip to that warm place or the diamonds or the million dollars in cash I had asked for, but really what they did get me was super cool. Santa certainly came this year.

I'm on my way to have a shower and then dry my hair and then flat iron it. How cool is that? You're so jealous right now I know it. Also I'm hungry. And all I can see in the fridge right now is pizza. But seriously, who eats pizza at 9:19am? I'll tell ya. Me. 'Cause I'm a rebel. Oh ya baby, look out.

All righty-o, I must make this short and sweet. I have so much to do today like ~~pass out from eating too much pizza and then guzzling booze~~ cleaning my house from top to bottom and doing laundry. I'm a powerhouse I tell ya.

Don't ever buy these things for me.

2006-12-24T07:55:00.000-08:00

Have you ever received a crappy Christmas gift? Of course! Here are a few things that I never want. Ever.

1. Jenna Jameson's Pubic Hair Trimmer. Ah, just the mere fact, that this actually exsists, is enough. I need not go on.

2. Rectal pads. What does one do with rectal pads? Does that mean your butt leaks poo 24/7? If so, you might need to seek medical treatment.

3. A currency converter. WTF mate?

4. Grow-A-Frog kits. Hmmm, when and if I get into amphibians and want to manufacture them, I'll let you know.

5. A Christmas sweater. Please don't send me sweaters with Frosty, Santa or a 'snow' scene on it. Oh and no snowflakes please.

6. A pillow. I have some thanks.

7. Anything velour. Need I say more?

8. Bic lighter. I don't smoke nor am I planning on setting any fires in the new year.

9. A worm farm. See # 4.

10. Re-gifting (not always a bad thing). If you're going to regift to me, at least remove the previous person's name from the gift tag.

11. A toilet seat. My toilet is equipped with a seat. So a total waste of money. Thanks.

Tell me the worst gift you've ever received!

Merry freakin' Christmas.

2006-12-23T13:04:00.000-08:00

Well here it is that time again. Time for ~~spiked eggnog so you can get your drunk on~~ family and friends and a jolly good time.

You remember last Christmas right? I had special messages from my family members. This year they told me I was on my own and I told them that I was returning all of the presents I bought thus starting the festivities off on a good start.

I was actually done my shopping a few weeks ago, had it all wrapped and under the tree, which worked out well so I could ~~sit on my duff and eat chocolate until it was going out of style~~ bake nice things for my family.

I had a weird call yesterday. Some dude looking for the Santa tree. I told him he had the wrong number and he yelled that I had no Christmas spirit. I yelled back that I certainly did and that I hoped Santa shits in his stocking. Merry freakin' Christmas to you too buddy. He hung up on me.

I miss my best friend already. She left to go visit family and will most likely be gone until the end of the holidays. Nice bff, to think of herself during the holiday season. Humph. Maybe I won't buy her that mansion and the diamonds I said I was going to. And the trip to Mexico. And the date with the Naked Chef that I won. That would serve her right. (I'm only kidding, I hope you enjoy your time away and by the way, there are no diamonds and such. That was a total lie.)

My kids are pretty excited and I've tied them to chairs so they don't open any gifts prematurely. Like who snoops? That's so lame. I would never do that. (Ducking, incase God strikes me down with a lightening bolt for lying. Not that I lie.)

Do you like my holiday picture? I splurged on a new Santa hat and added bling to my teeth. Because bling sure looks nice on one's teeth. Absolutely. Hardly looks cheap and white trashy at all. Plus my teeth are so frigging gorgeous anyway, that it's nice to show them off although I'm not normally a show-off-y type gal. However, I'm pretty sure that there is at least one person out there that thinks I am. She's an ex friend, who has begun to stalk me again. I'm being restalked. I think I should charge a restalking fee. Most places do.

I'm not making turkey this year. Well not that I've actually made the turkey in the past, just cooked the sucker. But we've decided we're going to have t-bones bbq'd and have some other goodies to go with it. I guess everyone is sick of turkey. So in ya face turkey traditions, we're going to be rebels and cook steak. Booh yah.

Well, I must go and finish making myself pretty. We are heading to the wench's place for supper. Hopefully she doesn't get drunk and flash her boobs like she normally does. That girl can cook but holy, keep your clothes on for a change. Ha!

Merry Christmas my sweet readers and I hope Santa finds you but I'm not hoping he shits in your stocking like I said to that weirdo that called me looking for the Santa tree. Whatever the hell that is.

Hey ma bitches, I'm back.

2006-12-18T13:34:00.000-08:00

Hey I'm back. Obviously. Now that I think about it, ya'll probably didn't even know I was away since I didn't mention it. I guess my big "I'm back" is really useless since noone even knew that I was gone.

We travelled to Edmonton, so I could photograph a friend's wedding. I took over 400 pictures and I will be spending the next week in photography heaven, sizing, editing, arranging, framing and shipping pictures. So much for ~~sitting on my ass eating Oreo's~~ my household chores. Oh well they can wait. My laundry isn't going anywhere. Unless my laundry moves out since they're not getting the service they thought they were supposed to get. Iron your own damn self.

My husband and I decided to bring our 2 youngest children along and stay at the Fantasyland Hotel and get one of those theme rooms. We were in the western room. My little outlaws slept in the 'county jail' bunkbeds but before the snooze fest, they went to town jumping on the beds, running around the room, opening doors, changing the channel on the tv 100 times, more running and getting in the hot tub.

There is a little bottle set out beside the hot tub, which says 'bubble bath'. Which I assumed was for the hot tub. I'm thinking now, you're not supposed to pour the whole bottle of bubble bath because then this happens:

Ya, like a ton of bubbles. And once all four of us got in it, we couldn't even find our daughter. We think she may have went down the drain. I couldn't even sit down all the way because then my hair would have gotten soaked and then I'd have to flat iron it again and that takes forever. So I just kinda half sat, half stood in the tub. Very attractive. And comfortable.

Oh and speaking of flat irons, as we were walking through the mall, I was stopped by a guy trying to sell flat irons. That curl. Lemme get this straight (no pun), you want me to buy a flat iron that curls my hair? My naturally curly hair? That I straighten. With a flat iron. I said to the guy, 'Listen, I have straight hair as you can see but it's naturally curly. So that means I own a flat iron. I don't want a flat iron that can curl my hair since I have curly hair and want it straight, hence the flat iron. That flattens'. He looked at me like I had a dirty diaper on, outside of my jeans. Whatever Jack Doofus in your white lab coat that makes you NOT look like a doctor trying to sell people flat irons. That curl. Good luck.

We had some supper and as we walked by Dr Flat Iron, his flat irons nurses came over to me and were holding up their pink irons. 'Hi Miss, we'd like to curl your hair with our flat irons that curl'. Hmmmmmmm. 'I have curly hair, that I flat iron, hence, you can see me currently with really straight/flat hair. I don't want it curly. If I did, I'd just fill up my hot tub again and swim in it. Thanks anyway'. They turned to each other and said, she's weird. Ya. I'm so weird because I flat iron my curly hair with a flat iron. I don't know how I get through life.

On Sunday, I went back to a place that I had been to on Saturday evening. They sold scrubs for your body and face, had speciality creams and other body treatments. All kinda sheee sheee pooo pooo if you ask me but I did like the sample scrub and cream I had tried. So I decided to go back before we headed home and buy some of it. Again, these people were wearing white lab coats to make me think they just whipped up this cream in their kiosk while shoppers walked by? Absolutely. A guy, about in his 50's came up to me and started to open his mouth to start his big schpeal. I stopped him by letting him know that I had been here the night before, tried the sample and I want to buy it. He said that was wonderful. Then he looked at me and said, listen, I know you're probably only 30 but it's never too early to start caring for your face. And if I bought this product, I'd surely look 25 if not younger. I let him babble on, all the while shaking my head like I was interested, which I was not. I was thinking about what I might have for lunch. Or maybe I have fleas. Or a nervous tick. Dunno. Finally after he shuts his cakehole for 2 seconds, I tell him that I just want the body scrub and cream that I came for. I also told him, that obviously I don't need your product, since whatever I'm currently doing is working because I'm not 30, I'm 39. Booh yah. I rock. Thank you very much. I did, however, want to ask him why he doesn't use his own product because his skin looked like it had been cooked and then laid out to dry. ON THE SUN.

Anyway, I must go now, because I look so young that I can hardly stand to be around myself. Peace out my people.

I've been tag-a-lagged.

2006-12-12T21:35:00.000-08:00

Miss Misery has tagged me because she said I'm really smart and really pretty and really funny and really cute, and adorable and fashionable and ~~clearly insane~~ sane. Okay, so she didn't say those things, but I know she's thinking them. I'm a mind reader incase you didn't know. I'm not even kidding. So I'm going to list 6 weird things about myself (only 6? Ha!). Here goes:

1. I love eating scrambled eggs, on toast with Cheeze Whiz and barbeque sauce. Not weird enough? Well I eat this sandwich while standing on my head, wearing only a wig and a pair of thigh high boots.

2.I worry. What's weird about that right? Well, I just don't worry, I worry about green aliens taking me, giving me an anal probe (exit only baby, exit only) and that they'll eat my fingernails. Clearly, this is not normal.

3. I only eat bread slices from the middle. I refuse to eat the ones on the outside of the loaf. Don't ask me why, I can't explain it.

4. I prefer my bras to match my panties and if for some reason, like the world is spinning faster on a certain day, and I end up wearing non matching under garment items, I feel like a freak, even though, chances are noone is going to see them. Unless the mail lady blackmails me with my parcels and says I have to run around my maibox wearing only my 'unmentionables' and throw spagetti at her car. I'm pretty sure that won't happen but you never know.

5. I won't go in water deeper than my knees. There could be sharks in that pool/pond/lake/puddle! You don't know! And I'm not taking chances.

6. I can't leave my house with dishes in the sink. I have to make sure any dishes are loaded into the dishwasher or washed by hand. It's sick, I know.

And there you have it. Some kinda ~~really fucking~~ weird things about me. Thank you Miss Misery for thinking I'm so ~~ill in the head~~ fabulous, that you just had to tag me.

Some things just make me laugh. Alot.

2006-12-12T17:55:00.000-08:00

It's been reported that Evel Knievel is sueing Kanye West concerning Kanye's video 'Touch the Sky', which really should be called 'Torch this Shit'. Ha!

Kanye ~~whiney little bitch~~ West crashed the MTV European Music Awards back in November, going up on the stage, shouting that his video should have won because 'Pamela ~~skanksalot~~ Anderson' was in it, it cost like 'a million dollars' (hey that's your problem if you want to piss away tons of moola over a shitty video) and people, he was jumping over canyons! Where's my violin? Here, let me cry you a river, betch. Hmmm, sore loser much, loser?

Evel Knievel said, "That video that Kanye West put out is the most worthless piece of crap I've ever seen in my life..."...............Can I just say, Evel, you're my new hero. Seriously dude, you rock. Apparently, cry baby Kanye had no comment. Here's a comment for ya Kanye........GET OVER IT. You ain't all that and a bag of potato chips. I hope Evel wins.

Does this look natural? Absolutely fucking not.

2006-12-11T18:44:00.000-08:00

I love shopping as you may have guessed from the many times I've mentioned that I've gone shopping. I'm always meeting strange people. Either they act like freaks, or as described below, they look like freaks. I've recreated a similar look that a lady was sporting while shopping at the Walmart. It wasn't pretty. At all.
Perhaps I shouldn't be so judgemental. Maybe she was just coming from, say, clown school? Or maybe she's in a play and had to make a pit stop at the Walmart to get some more ~~crayons~~ makeup because, you know, people on stage have to wear exaggerated makeup inorder for the audience to see them and not look washed out. Perfectly ~~fucking ridiculous~~ plausible explanations.

She had short brown hair (I was not cutting and dying my hair, so just imagine the short brown hair), was about 55 or so (you know, the age where you wear LOTS of bright makeup to accent your wrinkles and age spots), had the reddest blush I think I've ever seen, had spread foundation over her real eyebrows and then drew (not very artisticly I might add) new eyebrows on, had blue eye shadow on (see, I couldn't show you that because I.dont.own.any.) and had outlined her lips in a very, very, unnatural way. And by unnatural, I mean even drag queens don't outline their lips that much.

I could not tear my eyes away from this woman. It was so bizarre to me. The icing on the cake, was, she was with a woman, who was about the same age, who had the nicest makeup job ever. She looked very classy and it looked like she had had her makeup professionally done. It baffled me, like wouldn't the classy, non clown lady, say to the clown like lady, you know, how about I do your makeup today? Or here, let my pet monkey make you up because I know that a drunk, double amputee monkey could do a better job. I know it.

Help me, I'm melting.

2006-12-11T11:13:00.000-08:00

We took the kids to the Festival of Lights last night and guess who we saw? Frosty. As in Frosty the Snowman. I'm not even kidding.

I said to my 6 year old daughter, "that was the real Frosty"! To which she replied, "Mom, it's a dude dressed up in a snowman suit". And that folks, was the end of that. Nothing like raining on your mother's parade sweetie. Excuse me while I make a trip to therapy.

*Edit* My daughter looked at this picture and said, "Ya, confirmation (what 6 year old says confirmation?) it's not the real Frosty. His eyes aren't made of coal. Nice try Mom". Lord help me.

I've been napping busy.

2006-12-07T10:37:00.000-08:00

Hi all, I've been so busy, ~~getting sloshed and passing out every day~~ getting ready for the holidays, I haven't had time to do much of anything else. I am happy to report that my Christmas shopping is done, wrapped and under my tree and I didn't even kill anyone. Or tell anyone off. Much.

I bought myself a purse a couple of days ago. Usually they're filled with a bunch of crumpled up white paper but not this purse. This purse was special. It came with an air bag. Or a bag of air. Whichever you prefer. Now I've never seen this and thought it was quite funny that there is an actual company that fills up plastic bags with air and shoves them into certain products. I love that they feel the need to tell us with little cartoon pictures that, you cannot use this bag of air for a personal floatation device. Or use it as a life preserver for a baby. And it's not allowed to be used for a pillow for an infant either. Party poopers.

I was at Walmart yesterday and there was a guy watering the fake poinsettas. I'm sure the people purchasing them, will be happy when they pick up the potted fake flowers and their clothes get wet. A lady stopped me in the shoe isle and asked me if I had the time. I didn't have my watch on but had my cell phone with me, so I took it out of my pocket and told her what time it was. She looked at me and said, "I don't trust those" and walked away. Okay, was there a full moon or what? Seems like all the crazies were out.

I must go and start my Christmas ~~drinking~~ baking seeing as I'm pretty much Betty Crocker when it comes to that. No really, I am. Just ask anyone who's ~~died from eating~~ tried my cooking.

Nothing like a hot elf suit.

2006-12-01T09:57:00.000-08:00

I don't clean house on Friday's. I do this instead. I even got my bf hooked. The tights are hot.

Port de la port.

2006-11-29T17:34:00.000-08:00

While watching tv today, I saw a commercial for a 'weight loss' procedure, that quite frankly scared the shit out of me. It's called the ~~Crap-Band~~ 'Lap-Band'.

I was on the phone with Karen and I asked her if she'd ever heard of it. She hadn't. We both then went to the website and seriously dude, it was scary and laughable all rolled into one happy ball of confusion. When you go to the home page, a lion roars at you. Like, if you don't do this fatty, I will eat you? I'm not sure who designed their webpage but it is, ah, well, how do I say this? Not great. And by not great, I mean crappy. Really, really crappy. And funny. And scary. And confusing. I'm amazed that this procedure was even approved. Musta been by fat monkey's I guess.

There are 'ports' involved. Ports? When I hear the word port, I think of ships and water. I don't think of people's insides. This is one of the questions on the 'FAQS' page. 'Do I have to be careful with the access port underneath my skin'? What? The port underneath my skin? That alone is baffling. In several places on the website, they warn you to NOT DRINK MILKSHAKES. Run for your lives people, because that is not normal. To never have a milkshake, is just not right. And to be warned about them? I mean, come on, sure if you guzzle milkshakes like they're going out of style, well you might be entering into a shit storm sort of speak. Which leads me to my next point.

Speaking of shit, one of the warnings, is after the surgery, you may experience 'dumping syndrome'. So let me get this right, you might shit so much it will be classified as a syndrome? Well hells bells, sign me up. You should see the risk factor page alone. I can't imagine why anyone would want to do this. Below are some of the risks.........

Ulceration
Gastritis (irritated stomach tissue)
Gastroesophageal reflux (regurgitation)
Heartburn
Gas bloat
Dysphagia (difficulty swallowing)
Dehydration
Constipation
Weight regain
Death............DEATH. Hmmm, I think that might be a deal breaker. Just sayin'.

If you do decide to do this, you can go back to have your band either, tightened or loosened by having a big ass needle stuck in your port. Hmmm, a needle stuck in your port? Sounds kinda kinky, but hey, maybe you're into that sorta thing.

Oh they say, on their FAQS page, that if you eat out, you should tell your hostess upfront that you can't eat alot because you've had this procedure. Ah huh.

Hi, table for 2?

Yes please. Oh by the way, I have a port inserted in my gut and so I can't eat alot and thought you should know that because they told me on the website, that indeed, I could go out to eat but that I should inform my hostess. BUT DON'T SERVE ME MILKSHAKES BETCH BECAUSE I MIGHT DUMP. OR DIE. OR SOMETHING.

Right. I'll get your waitress.

I bet that person won't get funny looks. Well they might because they have a port sticking out their ass. Or bellybutton. Or neck. Or face. I dunno.

I punched in my weight, height and age to see if I might qualify for this procedure, and this is the message I got:

Based on your BMI (bowel movement index? Like I'm gonna give them that info!), you do not qualify for LAP-BAND® System surgery at this time. Well darn it. I was so looking forward to getting my very own port. Makes me sound rich. Hey ya'll, I got a port now! A freakin' port!

Anyway, I say lay off the cake and pie, walk a little, work out a little and you can avoid THE PORT. Just my little piece of advice for the day. I'm nice like that.

Ah. Choooooo.

2006-11-25T03:43:00.000-08:00

My daughter is 6. And she has a cute nose.
Here we have a bead. A pretty, purple, plastic bead. Lovely isn't it?
Here we have a certain scenerio. See where I'm going with this?

My child decided yesterday, while her mommy was having a nice little ~~chocolate induced coma sleep~~ cat nap, she would put a shiny, purple bead up her nose. Why you ask?

Mommy, there's a bead up my nose.

What? Slightly groggy from nap

There's a bead up my nose.

What? A bead? Huh? Is the house on fire?

No mom, there's no fire. Just a bead up my nose.

How did a bead get up your nose?

I put it up there.

Why on earth would you do that?

Well, I didn't know it would actually go up that far. Rolls her eyes, hands on hips.

Oh, I see. Roll eyes right back.

Doctor mom gets a flashlight and tweezers, thinking, well, how hard can this be? I look up her nostril and sure enough, waaaaay back there, is a bead.

Explain to me again why you did this?

It's a purple bead mom, very pretty.

Ah huh. Why?

I'm not 100% sure. I tried to get it out myself but all I did was push it further in there.

Ah huh. Fantastic.

I try unsuccessfully with the tweezers. We did the holding the one nostril closed and blowing. Nada. Tried the hold the free nostril closed, while mommy performs an inpromptu mouth to mouth session, nothing. Well Miss thought that was funny. Funny, mommy didn't think any of this was funny. Funny how that is.

My bf Karen, told me to pour 8 gallons of baby oil or olive oil in her nostril, lay her back and then sit her up and it would slide out. Ya that home remedy didn't work either. Oh and she did change the 8 gallons to maybe 4 or 5 drops. She thought the 8 gallons might be overkill. Wink.

My husband arrives home, I tell him the good news, that we have to head to the ER. That's what every couple wants to do on a Friday night, sit in a waiting room for hours with your child because she stuck a jewelry making product up her sniffer. I called the ER and the nurse said that we would have to come in but she recommended us finding a clinic that's open late and that they might be able to remove it there. She told me the ER was backed up and our wait time would be hours and hours and hours. Super. I eventually found a walkin clinic that was open near our home and off we went.

We arrived and waited about 40 minutes. The doctor came in and said he could certainly try to get it out and that he had a pretty good batting average. So, like you do this often enough that you have a batting average? What is wrong with kids? Geez, they're so immature. Anyway, after about ONE MINUTE, Doctor Amazing fishes out the dreaded purple bead and we heave a huge sigh of relief that we will not have to sit in an ER waiting room until dawn. He asks us if we want the bead. Ah, that would be a big fat no.

My daughter has vowed never to do this again. Oh, and that necklace making kit I bought her for Christmas, is SOOOO going back to Toys R Us. Ha!

No booth for you!!!!!!!!!!!!

2006-11-21T13:19:00.000-08:00

My husband and I and kids went to a restaurant on Sunday evening. It's a place that we've driven by many times but never eaten there. Apparently, so we've been told, they have a very yummy Chinese buffet (along with some Canadian dishes). We decided to check it out.

We go in, and wait to be seated. As we're looking around, we see an empty booth near the back and decide we'd like to sit there since we're with the 2 younger kids and a booth always suits us well.

The waitress comes over and I ask her nicely if we could sit at the booth.

No.

No?

No. It not empty. It's clearly empty, unless Mr and Mrs Invisible are dining out.

It's not empty? I don't see anyone sitting there.

No.

No we can't sit there or no, noone's sitting there?

No.

Alrighty, moving on, we follow her to a table that's crowded in amongst other tables and there's no room to move our chairs, or to have a decent conversation since it's so jam packed in this one area. There are about 30 other tables she could have sat us at but no, she crams us in at the table from hell.

What you having?

We'd like 2 buffets please and my husband is going to take our daughter up to see if there's anything that she likes and if so, we'll be ordering a third buffet. My son won't be eating here, he's not into buffets. She stands and looks at me like I'm sporting, oh, 4 heads. I asked her if they have chocolate milk.

Chocolate milk?

Yes, I'd like to order one for my son if you have it.

Milk?

Yes, chocolate milk please.

Milk?

Yes. Chocolate. If you have it?

She then writes a giant C on her order pad.

I guess C is for chocolate?

My husband and daughter come back to the table and she decides, there's nothing that she wants from the buffet, so as the waitress is still standing there staring at me, I ask her if we could see a menu. I'm thinking maybe they have a children's section to order from.

Menu?

Yes please.

You still want buffet?

Yes, my husband and I do but we'd like to see if there's something we could order for our little girl.

So a menu?

Yes. Please. Good Lord.

So she of course hands me a booze menu.

Ah, this is for beer and wine.

Yes?

I'm pretty sure I'm not going to order beer OR wine for my 6 year old. I was thinking more along the lines of say, a grilled cheese sandwich or some mac and cheese.

It a menu.

Yes, with licquor in it. Not anything suitable for a child in grade one.

She storms off like I asked her to shit on the floor and then dance through it. All I asked for was a bloody menu. She comes back and throws 2 menus down. One would have sufficed but hey, double the fun, double the pleasure. I take a quick peek through it and there's nothing there that Maddy wants. She decides she'd rather just wait and have a sub after we are done eating. We tell her that's fine.

~~Pyscho~~ Waitress comes back with Ryan's chocolate milk and throws the order pad on the table in front of us and walks away. Ummm, what was that for? And apparently our waitress DIED because she never came back to our table again. We did catch a glimpse of her here and there but she never came back once to ask us how our meal was or if we wanted a refill of drinks, nothing. We had wanted to order a drink for our daughter but that didn't happen. Apparently, we were the invisible family.

We finished our meal and noticed the big sign hovering over the buffet. It stated that any food we didn't eat, we would have to pay extra for. WHAT THE FUCK? I'm going to have to pay for my scraps? As we're chomping down on our chicken bones and beef gristle ('cause there's no way in hell I'm paying for that), we decided, we would not be dining there again. Just as we're licking our plates clean, some man comes over and asks us how old our kids are. Huh?

Why do you need to know how old our kids are?

To charge you.

Charge us? For what? Having kids?

Yes. They pay by how old.

They pay? What? I'm on tv again right?

Yes. For buffet. They pay by age.

Okay, listen, they didn't eat the buffet. Only my husband and I did.

They pay by age.

Right. I understand but they didn't eat the buffet, so.............

I get your bill.

Super. We left there picking chicken bones out of our teeth, confused and vowing to one another, that we'll stick to McDonald's and Subway. Geez.

Maybe I should go tool shopping more often.

2006-11-21T12:11:00.000-08:00

My husband and son went to The House of Tools the other day and were telling me about a certain product. It's called the Caulk Master. Interesting. I'm not sure that's the best name for a contractor's product but hey, I kinda like the sound of it. I can see me going into the store now and asking for one.

Hi, I'd like a Caulk Master.

Ah, err, ummm, whew, is it hot in here or what?

Listen Mr Sales dude, are you gonna give me a Caulk Master or what? Because I can go elsewhere if you're not able to provide me with a Caulk Master.

Ah, no, listen, I'm a Caulk, err, I can show you the Caulk Master, right this way.

Now, how big is the Caulk that comes with it?

It's, err, a, pretty big, you know, there's lots of caulk.

Good. Because there's nothing worse than not getting enough caulk. I hate when that happens. You're getting all ready to caulk and bam, not enough caulk. I like to have lots.

Ah, sure, right. Can I show you the Caulk Master?

Absolutely! I'd love a demonstration on how to use the Caulk Master. That would be fantastic!

So maybe the next time hubby is heading to the House of Tools, I might just saunter along and see what this Caulk Master is really made of. Ha!

Love....Good vibrations.

2006-11-16T04:47:00.000-08:00

I like my cell phone, I really do. It's all prettied up the way I like it, I have several great ringtones of my favorite songs, there are some cute pics I have as wallpaper on it, it takes pictures and 30 second videos....there's alot that I like about it.

However, I don't want to get a room with it. I'm just not that into you cell phone. I'm sorry but honestly, I don't want that kind of relationship with it. I never will, so stop trying to lure with your sexual advances. It won't work.

I have never seen a cell phone just start vibrating for no reason. There was no call coming in, no voicemail, no alarm going off, nothing. However, my phone just started vibrating and would not stop. You'll see below and that's just a 30 second blurb. It went on and on until finally, I shut the frigger off. I mean really, hang it up already betch.

So on this Love Thursday, I will say, I love you cell phone, just not in that way. Don't make me betch slap you.

Don't step on my pink suede shoes....

2006-11-15T10:39:00.000-08:00

I love pink. I'm sure even a braindead shrivelled up fart could figure that one out. It's not rocket science. Anyhoo, I've been searching and searching for a pair of pink boots, that are not high heeled since I need something practical for walking ~~while intoxicated~~ my daughter to school.

I had found a pair on Ebay that my bf Karen found for me. She was bidding on the same boots (in a different size). They were adorable! But we both lost out since there was a bidding war and the boots, which started out at around $9 bucks US, ended up being like $45 US plus shipping. Whatever people, you can keep them for that price.

Today, as I'm shopping for ~~booze~~ healthy food for my family, I take a swing over to the footwear section. Sitting there, almost beaconing me, are a pair of pink suede boots, that are very similar to the ones that I had seen on Ebay. My heart starts beating fast (stop snickering), and I slowly walk up to them, as if not to scare them away. Then I decided I should run incase some other freak for pink boots, wants them and snatches them away before I even get to feel them. Stand back people, I will fight you for them.

I pick one up and smell the suede. Gosh it's a great smell isn't it? Anyway, my next dilemma is, what if they're not the right size? I mean there was only one pair sitting there all by their lonesome. I slowly turn the boot upside down to see if there's a size on the bottom. Yes, yes there is. It says 5. Size 5 girls. Jackpot! I love having feet small enough to wear a girls' five. It gives me so many more options. Well, not that I'm going to buy Dora footwear anytime soon but you know, they have other great styles that are suitable for ~~an old bat~~ a stylish ~~75 year old~~ 30 something broad. Aren't you thrilled for me? Aren't ya? Huh?

Well I must go spray them with suede protector and walk the walk in my pink suede boots.

Just one more thing.........

2006-11-09T17:32:00.000-08:00

........I swear I'm not going to beat a dead horse but I just have to make mention of my new pink hat again. I know I spoke of it just last night but listen, this is huge. Huge.

I was waiting for my daughter to get out of school today and one of her peers, a girl from another class walked right over to me and said, and I quote, "I really like your hat".

Ummm hello? A 6 year old, who doesn't know you, walks right up to you and just out of the blue says that, do you know what that means? Knock knock. I'm cool. Cool. I never get tired of saying that. I bet you ~~want to punch me in the neck~~ never get tired of hearing me say it. I mean come on, kids are sharp these days. That little sweetie could point out ~~a heavily medicated lunatic~~ a fashion diva a mile away. I bet she ran home to tell her mom about the ~~old broad trying to look hot and not succeeding~~ pretty mom who is clearly only about 25 and has super fashion sense. Sigh.

In closing, although it was a cold, shitty weather day, it was warm in my heart, hearing that I still got it from a 6 year old. (Listen, I'm gonna take compliments where I can get them, ya hear? So do not rain on my parade.) Thank you.

Did I mention I'm cool? Okay, fine, I'll shut it. I don't feel like getting my teeth punched in tonight. Thank you to all who said I looked nice in my pink hat. Even though, you were most likely drinking, I still appreciate it.

Love...bootswatches Hats.

2006-11-08T21:53:00.000-08:00

I have a few obsessions. Nothing weird, like wanting to lick giant clown noses or anything like that. Purely innocent, I assure you.

I've always loved boots and shoes. Like who has enough footwear? Not me. I could own 500 pairs of shoes and boots and never get sick of buying more. I also love watches. Yes, yes, yes, I only have 2 arms and thus, why would I want to own more than, say, 2 watches? Doesn't matter that I can't possibly wear 43 watches at once, I just can't stop buying them. You can't make me.

I am a purse freak too. I just got this super leopard print purse off of Ebay and it's so glamorous and that is totally appropriate for me since I'm famous and all. Gotta look the part you know.

My new thing, however, is hats. I love hats. I've always loved hats but never would buy them for fear of looking ridiculous. I know what you're thinking. You do look ridiculous ass monkey. And perhaps that's true. However, I'm at a point in my life, where, honestly, I just don't give a shit. If I want to wear a hat and I think it looks good, even though people are surely making fun of me behind my back, so what? I'll just drop kick you with my ~~drunken karate moves~~ super powers and then you'll fall to your knees, begging me for my autograph. I'm that cool.

And speaking of hats, I bought a new one today while shopping with a ~~crazyass bitch~~ dear friend. Then after we shopped, we ate at Montana's with another one of our ~~lunatic wench~~ dear friends. They both said I looked wonderful in my new hat. Nevermind they were ~~sloshed~~ blinking alot when they said it.

Anyway, happy Love Thursday. And if you want to wear a hat today, ~~get drunk first~~ go for it!

Let me get this straight........

2006-11-04T12:59:00.000-08:00

.......a guy goes into a convenience store to buy cigarettes. He pulls out a $100 bill (US). So far, not so odd. However, the money he's holding, is a little funny. And by funny, I mean the man's face is missing and it says 'Clinton' and, ummm, well, the ink is running.

I can hear it all now.

Hey, can I get a pack of smokes? *Insert brand, I don't smoke so I'm not up on all the names, ha!*

Sure, that'll be $7.45. *Again, I don't know prices, so sue me.*

All I have is a $100. Is that okay?

Sure. Of course.

Mentally unequipped man hands clerk the bill.

Ah sir, I don't think this is a real $100 bill. Ya think?

Sure it is. I got it from the bank today.

Ummm, well, the face is missing off the bill. And it says 'Clinton'.

Ya? So? Clinton's the president right?

Hmmm, well, he was a few years back yes, but his face isn't on the $100 bills. It's actually Benjamin Franklin on the $100 bills.

Okay, so. These are new bills. I just got a few at the bank today.

Ah, well sir, umm, also, the ink is running. So put all of that together and I'm guessing this is fake. Not saying you made it because you seem like a ~~dumbfucker~~ smart cookie and would know that Clinton is not featured on the $100 and that if you were to make counterfeit money, but not saying you did of course, you would use ink that wouldn't run. Am I right? Or am I right?

Where have all the smart people gone? I feel like freakin' Enstein I tell ya!

Take the wheel little Johnny.

2006-11-04T12:51:00.000-08:00

I don't drink. However, if I were to, say, get shitfaced and I just happened to have my SEVEN year old child with me, I probably wouldn't ask him/her to DRIVE ME HOME. Good God.

If you read this, you will see a little news blurb of a drunk father, who, figured since he was so smashed, he would teach his 7 year old son to drive. Okay, listen buddy, I can't even give you credit for not driving drunk because you LET YOUR SEVEN YEAR OLD DRIVE ON THE BUSY HIGHWAY. What is wrong with people? Honestly.

Who goes drinking with their elementary school aged kid to begin with? Maybe my 6 year old daughter and I should go out bar hopping tonight. Whaddya say? Geez.

Come join me in my insanity stupour.

2006-11-02T13:41:00.000-08:00

I'm scouring the phone book as we speak to see if Calgary has a Museum of Shitty Animals, so I too, can drop my kids off for 9 hours. Hold on.

Well we apparently don't have one. Is it Monday? No? Well it sure feels like one. You know, one of those Monday's that you wish you would have stayed in bed? Ya, well I did. Stay in bed that is, thus, waking too late for me to send my 2 youngest to school. What the hell was I thinking? Clearly, I wasn't.

I woke at 4am with my husband and when he left at 5am, I went back to bed, knowing I only had about an hour before I had to rise and get my day started and then shortly after, would have to wake my young'ens. Well I either, got really drunk in that hour or I didn't hear my alarm clock. I'm not sure which happened, but the end result was pretty much the same. I woke in a bewildered state, not sure of my surrondings, a ~~lot fucking loopey~~ little loopey, slightly nauseated, migraine starting and in a general fog of reality.

My daughter immediately starting crying, begging me to take her to school. Ummm no, I don't even know my own name, or how to put one foot in front of the other, let alone feed you and dress you and pack a lunch and walk you to the school....the right school. I'm sure a squirrel's fart would have more smarts than I in that moment.

My son, was all happy, and off to play Xbox or watch Spongebob clips from Youtube. My 6 year old scholar was not impressed with her less than average brain function mother. Do you have to be so damn smart child? Do you? Geez.

After about ~~6 hours~~ 2 minutes, I finally emerged from the fog and somewhat came to my senses and realized, oh shit, now they're going to be home. ALL DAY. Thank goodness for ~~booze in their milk~~ Playdough and coloring books.

Basically my day has been all discombobbled and weird feeling, because really, who takes a day off on Thursday? Only a mother who oversleeps from her unearthly loud, annoying cell phone alarm ringtone. It's good tv night people. ER and Survivor. Now my day has been thrown into chaos and oddness and it doesn't feel like Thursday. It feels like a Christmas break Tuesday. That is just not right. How will I recover? How?

Now my children are doing a whole dance production to the Scooby Doo soundtrack and if my husband had not taken my camera/recorder, I would show you. And then you could step into the insane world of me. And by insane, I mean insane. I'm so not joking.

Is it Wednesday yet? Or is it Sunday? No, Friday? I'm not sure what day it is. Obviously I need more ~~medication~~ information inorder to make a clear assessment.

A witch and her brew.

2006-10-31T19:37:00.000-08:00

What would Halloween be without some yummy witches brew? Nothin'. Okay, I'm just kidding, it's not really brew, it's stew. And I just made a rhyme. 'Cause I'm clever like that. And by clever, I mean I'm slightly below average intelligence. And by slightly below average intelligence, I mean I'm a retarded ass monkey.

What a fun day I had. Let me tell you all about it. Get some coffee, maybe a donut or a bran muffin and a pillow. A pillow you ask? Yes, because by the next paragraph you'll be snoring and laying in your own drool.

I woke up at 5am because apparently my brain doesn't want me to get used to the time change. I got up, and eventually made it to my computer and checked my email. Nothing much exciting there. I do have many offers for penis enlargement (thanks but I have a vagina and I'm not looking to enlarge it) and an invitation to join the 'dirty housewives club'. I'm going to pass on that but will keep it in mind if I so desire to one day become a dirty housewife.

I eventually got my kids up for school, came home, did Billy Blanks You Will Die After This Workout dvd, took a shower and started my stew. I chopped vegetables and put them in a pot. Added meat and some seasoning and ~~took a long nap~~ stood by that stove for hours stirring that mixture and babying that stew so it would come out and be the best tasting thing ever. I can safely say it wasn't ~~toxic~~ the best tasting thing ever but it didn't kill anyone. Whew.

Fast forward to getting the kids ready for trick or treating in the freezing cold. We got 3 inches of snow a few days ago and good old ~~bitchface~~ Mother nature decided to put us in a deep freeze too. So the kids had to wear 34 layers of clothes under their costumes so they both ended up looking like the Michelin man despite being Tinkerbell and a police officer. We braved the cold for about an hour and then came home, to have my daughter puke all over the kitchen floor. It was a super way to end the evening. And how was your Halloween?

Now I have a migraine from hell, so I popped some pills and will now flake out on the couch since I've bored myself to an almost coma state. I can feel the drool about to start. Happy Halloween.

I'm so totally delusional famous.

2006-10-26T15:35:00.000-07:00

Today, while heading to the grocery store, I heard, "Hey I know you"! Oh shit, is the credit lady that calls my home from time to time, and now she's after me and about to karate chop me in front of the Pepsi machine? As I turn around, I hear it again and, "I read your blog"!

Holy crap, I'm a freakin' movie star! I knew it would happen, hords of fans swarming me, making me claustrophobic. Okay, so it was one girl but still. And she happens to know my son Matt. But still. And we may have met briefly a few years ago. But still. Let me live in my glory people, dammit!

I'm sure my ~~bag lady appearance~~ my gleaming beauty drew her attention immediately and compelled her to stare at me and then realize, that I'm the fruitloop's blog she sometimes visits. I have to run out and get some pens. You know, to sign tons of autographs.

Gosh, there's so much to do now that I'm famous. Like get some ~~booze~~ fancy clothes and a new do. And a Porche. And some new high heels. And some ~~medication~~ new jewelry. Gotta look the part of a famous person. If you don't see me around alot, it's because I'm being mobbed by adoring fans and my arms fell off because I've signed so many autographs.

Love...Ghetto style.

2006-10-26T12:13:00.000-07:00

My husband comes home yesterday a bit earlier than usual. Our conversation kinda went like this:

Hey, you're home early.

Yup. I got you something today.

You did? *Me jumping up and down all excited*

Ya, come out to the truck and see.

Okay!

I walk out and see a big beige-ish/brown-ish metal thing. Oh, it's a dryer. And not a new dryer. It's a dryer from the dryer ghetto.

My dryer hasn't been working well lately. It would normally take 4 times to dry a load of towels. It was like a crap shoot. Sometimes you'd hit the jackpot and the thing would dry your clothes and then other times, you'd go down to the laundry room, expecting to put on your favorite jeans and go out ~~drinking~~ doing nice things for the elderly and then you'd get all disappointed because they'd still be soaking wet. Wet jeans are not fun to put on lemme just tell ya.

I try to act excited but honestly, who gets their panties in a bunch over an older than dirt dryer? But then I decided, well, if the thing works, that should be all that matters. I mean, so it's really ugly looking. So it looks like someone shit on it. So it looks like it hasn't been cleaned since the ice age. If it works, then yay.

Hubby gets it all hooked up and anxiously waits for me to put some wet laundry in it. Low and behold, I happened to have some and reluctantly inserted it into the drum. I turn it on. And wait. My husband leaves for an appointment and calls me afterwards.

Well?

Well what?

Does it work?

What?

Duh, the dryer.

Oh, yes it does.

It does? Really?

Yes, I swear.

That's great!

Yes, it is.

I know, I know, it's kinda ugly but it works.

This is true.

And I only paid $20 bucks for it!

I know you said.

You're excited about it right?

I suppose I am. I mean it sucks wearing wet jeans. And panties. And socks. And drying off with wet towels.

Well there you go.

Yup.

So there you have it. Love Thursday, Ghetto style. Thanks honey for thinking of me and my wet panties and bringing home the ugliest dryer on the face of the earth. But it works!

Be sure to click the pictures and read the labels, the dryer totally came like that. I swear. *Looking around*. Oh and I swear I washed the damn thing but that bitch ain't getting any cleaner than that!

Gosh, I love wrong numbers. I. GET.THEM.ALL.THE.TIME.

2006-10-25T11:40:00.000-07:00

Hello?

Hi, I was wondering if my order was ready yet?

Your order?

Yes, I dropped off my glass to be cut into sections, oh, I'd say about 3 hours ago now.

Your glass?

Yes! Can you please tell me if it's done yet?

No.

No it's not done?

I don't know.

Can you ask one of the glasscutters?

Glasscutters?

Yes please!

No.

Pardon? Is this Economy Glass?

I don't think so.

This isn't Economy Glass?

Hold on. *Pause for about 3 seconds* Nope. I checked. I see no glasscutters.

You could have said this was the wrong number.

And?

*Click*

Ah, between that wrong number, being on hold now for 8000 years with a gov't agency, having my 10 year old hacking up leftovers for the past week, dealing with my 6 year old, who thinks that we really should be spending more time on her 'feelings chart' and getting to know her 'looks', trying to clean my spawn of the devil storage room and trying to keep up with all of my ~~soap operas~~ responsibilites, I just feel like I have no time to ~~sit around and eat cake and be lazy~~ be the perfect homemaker. Where the hell is Martha Stewart when I need her? Oh right. She's busy carving monuments out of pumpkins and then getting a bazillion dollars for making soup out of her pumpkin vomit. Lucky bitch.

How's your Hump day going?

Love Thursday: Big kid, little kid.

2006-10-19T11:59:00.000-07:00

I love this picture. It's of my oldest and my youngest (I have 2 inbetween, just so you know but most of you do know, but I don't want them to feel left out and as a mom, the guilt is sometimes overwhelming and this is turning into a story within a story, so now is the time to shut my cake hole and get back to the original story. Whew).

Anyway, today is Love Thursday and I've never heard of it (well I've heard of Thursday. Ha!) and went to my best friend, Karen's site, where she was talking about Love Thursday and she told us to go to another site by another Karen and so thus, the chain of events (and not so much a chain of events as a braclet of events since it was a really short ride back to here) that led me here to post about Love Thursday. Holy long run on sentence. Stay away 'sentence structure' police. I follow noone's rules! Bah!

As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted. By. my. self. **Blink blink blink**. I'll tell you why I love that picture. I love it because it's so pure and random. My daughter wanted her brother to pick her up and so he obliged her and I got lucky and snapped it. She's the little princess, who, is adored by her older brothers and at the same time, she can annoy each one of them with her constant chattering and her 'occassional' tantrum or when things are not acceptable to her (See her chart below for details) but for the most part, she's the little doll that they all want to love and protect.

I always love the people that come up to me and say, what I consider kinda rude things, things like, 'wow, what a gap between your kids'. Excuse me? Do I know you? And so? We have 2 older boys and yes, there's an 8 and 9 year gap between them and Ryan. And then 12 and 13 years between the 2 older boys and Maddy. Again, so? That's my family and I happen to be quite happy with the way things have turned out. I guess it's just annoying that they assume things, like, we didn't really want more kids and Ryan must have been an 'oops'. Okay, well, he kinda was but very much accepted. It's not that we didn't want more kids, it's just we couldn't make up our minds and were sometimes on different pages of our family book. There were times that I wanted more kids but hubby didn't and vise versa. Eventually, some other force was at work (okay, okay, we had sex) and brought Ryan to us, regardless of what page we were on. And in the end, we were thrilled that we were having another child.

We then decided to give Ryan a sibling close to his age, however, our first daughter passed away. We were, of course, devastated. But someone, maybe our angel in heaven, looked down on us and 14 months later, Maddy came along. So that's our family in a nutshell. And to the people who look down their nose at us, thinking there must be something wrong with us because we didn't have our kids, like stair steps, all the proverbial 18 months apart, well you can just pound sand (that sounds totally threatening doesn't it?). We like our family, no wait, we love our family and as the picture above shows, age differences really don't factor in when it comes to matters of the heart.

Not acceptable

2006-10-17T09:40:00.000-07:00

My 6 year old daughter has drawn us a 'feelings' chart so we'll know her different looks. As a mom, I'm sure this will come in very handy. Because when she's on the floor, screaming, pounding her fists, I will surely go to the "feelings" chart and try determine what 'feeling' she's experiencing. Ah huh.

She's got the usual feelings jotted down, happy, sad, 'madd', blue, tired etc. My personal favourite though, is feeling number 8. Her face is serious looking and her mouth is a straight line. Thus, meaning, it's her 'not acceptable' look as she's so wonderfully written so there's no confusion on the part of her parents. So when I ask her to go clean her room, she will undoubtly pull out her feelings chart and point to # 8.

Did ya see it? Did ya? Did ya?

2006-10-12T21:46:00.000-07:00

Oh ma gawd, did ya'll see K'Fed on CSI last night? What acting talent. I can't even believe how well he played himself, a crooked hat wearing, punk ass, most likely dope selling, underwear showing, wanna be gangsta, with a goofy smirk on his smashed up assholes kinda face. Gosh darn it. His raw talent amazed me. It was so life like. Made me wanna eat Cheetos and get pregnant again.

And as you can see from the picture below, it's like seeing into the future, what with the white socks stuffed into flip flops. You can just tell that he was destined to be on CSI. I mean I can't believe he wasn't snatched up long before this and already starring in 'leading man' (I use the term man loosely) roles.

I was going to link to his My Space page and/or his web page but then I thought, I don't want to be responsible for anyone getting cramps, diarreah and maybe vomiting from the possibility of hearing his 'music'. So if you really want to risk becoming ill, search for them at your own risk people. It ain't pretty. I keep looking at that picture and shake my head in amazement that he's not been approached for more acting jobs before now. Look at him. Amazing. So hot. And by hot, I mean hot like steaming, fresh, dog poo.

Peace out.

See what 8 pounds of.........

2006-10-08T23:19:00.000-07:00

....makeup can do? And a few days. Well, that's all I have to say for now since I'm going to bed so I can dream about ~~Brad Pitt lookalikes~~ white, cuddly kittens. Sweet dreams.

I really should stay home.

2006-10-05T13:51:00.000-07:00

I don't know what it is with me and the grocery store but for some reason, the cashiers are either obnoxious or dumb or my kids act like zoo animals and really should be tied up or I make an ass out of myself. Let's go with the latter.

I had to pick up a couple of things so I headed on over to the grocery store, with the intention of getting a handful of items, not really planning to make a complete and utter moron of myself. As I'm in the produce section, I look up from choosing just the right bag of radish and low and behold, Brad freakin' Pitt is standing there. Okay, so it wasn't really Brad Pitt but man oh man, it sure looked like him. I was all googly eyed and flustered, like he was paying attention to me. I grabbed whatever the hell bag of radish was closest and decided to follow Mr P. I'm sure I looked like a dweeb or desperate. I noticed others staring at this guy too. So I'm not the only ~~retarded housewife~~ chick checking this speciman out.

I lost Mr P somewhere between the bread and the frozen goods. Damn. I decided to just forget about him and get back to the chore at hand. I'm browsing down an aisle, seeing if there's some new flavour of salad dressing available and I look up and there he is again. I let go of my cart and pick up a jar of pickles, 'cause that's hot and make eye contact with him. He smiles at me. He walks past and I decided mama is gonna take a second look and that was a really bad idea. As I'm slowly walking ahead, my neck and head slightly turned to look at BP man speciman, I don't notice the ~~big fucking~~ metal pole/support beam thing that is looming in my immediate future. As I'm smiling, looking at Mr P and he rounds the corner, I turn to look ahead and I make contact with said ~~big fucking~~ metal pole. With. my. forehead. The aisle was not empty. I'm pretty sure I see stars and not just ones that look like Brad Pitt. An older lady asks me if I'm okay. Sure, sure. I'm fine, I stutter. I quickly go back to my cart and ditch the pickle jar and walk away with my big, giant sack of humilation.

As I'm regaining ~~abso-freakin-lutely no sense of sanity at all~~ some sense of sanity again, I decided I wasn't quite done with being an ass apparently and head on over to the women's clothing section, because that's where BP lookalikes browse. I'm scanning the racks of pants and shirts, my head swivelling from side to side to get just one more glance at this guy because I'm obviously ~~not on enough fucking medication~~ not on medication and want to be greedy and just get that last look. I'm pushing the cart, looking, searching, scanning, then, BAM! I turn straight ahead to see what I've bumped into. Please, please let it be a clothing rack. Standing on 2 legs. Wearing jeans. Looking hot. Oh.My.God. I've just ran into Brad Pitt's legs. He turns around and smiles and I turn redder than the walls in the hubs of hell and am asking if the devil himself could come snatch me for the day because it would be less uncomfortable than this moment.

BP man looks at me with ~~frightened eyes~~ sympathy and asks if I'm okay? No. Clearly I'm insane and you must see it, along with my giant black/brown/purple/red/blue bruise on my forehead. I open my mouth to apologize and some kind of squeak came out, can't say for certain if it was an intelligible 'I'm so sorry' or not but at that point, I honestly didn't care. I just wanted to run for the ~~pharmacy to get lots of medication~~ hills and go drown my embarrassment in a ~~big ass bottle of booze~~ milk.

I think I might hire a personal shopper for getting my groceries. Oh wait, I'm not rich. Damn. Damn. Damn. If you look below, you'll see a lovely picture of my head. My husband took my camera today but lucky for you, I have a cell phone that captures pictures. Fan-freakin-tastic. And how was your day?

Marnie Cook doesn't freakin' live here.

2006-10-04T19:03:00.000-07:00

Joy oh joy. Or not.

2006-10-03T11:42:00.000-07:00

I'm grocery shopping the other day and bought some shampoo. But I didn't buy Pantene shampoo. I picked up some other brand, which I can't even remember now because honestly, it's not that important to me. Yes, I love clean hair but am not big on fancy brand names, whatever works.

I get to the checkout and my cashier is Joy. Well Joy sure didn't bring me any joy lemme tell ya. She's just about done ringing through all my items, when I look over and see her scanning a big $140 bottle of Pantene (Okay maybe it was only $7 but still).

Ah, that shampoo isn't mine.

It's not?

No it isn't.

She looks to the lady behind me, who is placing her groceries up on the counter. She shakes her head no, to let Joy know, that it's not her shampoo either. I'm guessing, gee, ya think it could be the lady who was ahead of me? The one who just left? Ya think? Huh?

So this isn't your shampoo?

Correct. I do have shampoo and it's right there by the apples. But the Pantene isn't mine.

So it's not yours?

No it's not mine. Is her head filled with, hmmm, I don't know, shit?

So,ummm, it's not yours?

By this time, I'm refusing to answer her. Maybe she wasn't even asking me, maybe those voices in her head were trying to strike up a conversation with her. I dunno.

I pay for my stuff and as I'm pushing my cart out the exit, I glance at my receipt. She didn't freakin' take off the Pantene. Okay, now I'm a little perturbed. I wheel my groceries back over to her and stand behind her until she notices me.

Hi, excuse me, you charged me for that shampoo.

I did?

Yes, you did, and you didn't take it off after I explained that it wasn't mine.

Oh.

Oh? Oh? How about I kick you in the ass?

Right, so could I get a refund please?

Yes. And then she just stands there.

Okay, I can wait until you're done with this customer.

No. I can't give you a refund. You have to go wait in line at customer service. Then she laughs.

I have to now go wait in another lineup? I'm not laughing.

Yes. Hehehe.

What's with the hehehe? I give her the evil eye, hoping maybe she'd fart really loud and get all embarrassed and flustered and maybe then she'd let out a big belch and get all embarrassed again, but no such luck. She just continued to look at me and smile. I guess my evil eye doesn't have magic revenge powers. Fooey.

I walk over to customer service and wait in the lineup. I get up to the counter and Miss Pleasant, asks if she can help me?

Yes, I was charged for some shampoo that wasn't mine and I'd like a refund please. I hand her my receipt.

Do you have it?

Do I have what?

The shampoo.

No, I don't have it. It's not mine so why would I have it? She rolls her eyes at me and lets out a giant 'you're annoying' sigh and then scowls at me.

Geez. Well now I have to go get it to SCAN IT! GEEZ!

Ummm what the hell? Why would I have the shampoo that wasn't mine? I'm not following this woman and her crazy talk.

She comes back over and she's still all huffy like it's my fault that Joy rang in the shampoo that wasn't mine which I had to state 64 times and then I was supposed to take it anyway because I guess she thought I was a thief which tecnically I wouldn't have been because I PAID FOR IT.

Oh joy. Or not. I'm taking not. Anyway, guess where I'm going? You got it, grocery shopping. This time I'm picking up 97 bottles of Pantene, scouting for Joy the cashier and then I'm going to let her ring them all in and then I'm going to scream, THOSE AREN'T MINE. Just for fun.

Say flat iron cheese.

2006-09-28T13:27:00.000-07:00

Today was picture day at my daughter's school. In preparation, I told her last night that I would get her up early to flat iron her hair in the morning. She readily agreed.

I woke her at 7am and she bounced out of bed like she had ants in her pants. Her hair is really silky and has a bit of a wave to it but it's nothing like her mother's giant mane of curls so it's way easier to flat iron and takes only about 15 minutes.

She wore a pretty mauve and white dress with daisies on it and she looked like a little doll. We walked to school and got there a few minutes before the bell and she spotted a friend and classmate and asked to go wait with her in the line. I said sure, gave her a peck on the cheek but didn't leave. I walked over to the wall and just watched and listened. Her friend started playing with Maddy's hair and told her how beautiful it looked. Then the friend called over other girls from their class and wanted them to see how pretty Maddy looked in her finest and how straight and gorgeous her hair was.

Soon, there were 7 girls all gathered around my daughter, continually gushing over her and her gleaming hair and her dainty dress. It put a huge smile on my face. I wanted to run over to the girls and say, 'hey, I'm her mom! I helped create her! She has my genes! I had a hand in making that beautiful creature!'. To which, I'm sure, they all would have looked at me and ran screaming to a teacher and ask that she call the police. Or psych ward.

I've never really thought my little girl looked like me. She definately has her father's features. But today, just for a moment, when I saw her standing there, smiling and loving all of the attention but having enough maturity to be grateful and thanking her friends for the nice compliments, she reminded me of me. I guess it takes a ~~princess~~ grounded, level headed woman to make a princess.

My little 80's whine. Get some cheese.

2006-09-25T17:03:00.000-07:00

Vanity Lunch anyone?

2006-09-25T15:55:00.000-07:00

Each day, from Monday to Friday, I pack a lunch for my daughter, who is 6. She's a pretty easy kid to feed, as she likes a variety of things, which really makes my life easier. And as I keep reminding you, it's all about me.

And as the picture below depicts, she's got a good selection in her lunch bag. A sandwich, some chocolate milk, a cheese string, grapes, pudding and a mirror. Yes. You heard me correctly. A mirror. 'Cause who doesn't pack a mirror in their lunch bag? All princesses do.

She informed me the other day that she needed to take her purple mirror to school because heaven forbid, she got food on her face and what if she didn't know it was there and people were making fun of her and she didn't know why? So she told me that inorder to solve that 'dilemma' she would pack her little mirror so she could 'check out her face' after eating to make sure everything was 'fine'. I have no idea where she gets this sort of personality. Must be from her ~~nutty ass mother~~ father. Proof below:

I won't do it. You can't make me.

2006-09-20T16:36:00.000-07:00

I was watching a 'fashion' type show the other day. At first it was kinda interesting and then I thought I had fallen asleep and was having a really bad nightmare. Really bad.

The lady hosting the show was telling us.......ready? Telling us, that 80's fashions are coming back. Eighties. The 80's. I damn near died.

I had fun in the 80's, don't get me wrong. I attended junior high and high school. Ended up with a kid. Or two. Got married. Twice. However, although I had no choice at the time but to wear 80's fashions, I can tell you now, with all of my heart, I will not go back to leggings, big ass hair, parachute pants and shoulder pads. No way in hell.

The show was featuring models and they were wearing leggings. LEGGINGS. I'm sorry but leggings are one of the worst fashions ever created. They do not flatter anyone. Not a soul. If you're skinny, then they make your legs look like broomsticks. Not sexy. If you're too fat, then, well you look fatter. Ummm, no offense, but not sexy. But everywhere I look, I see they are the 'must have' for the fall season. Well, I'm just going to go naked then. I'm not wearing them ever ever again. I remember having a legging outfit (God help me for even admitting this) when I was pregnant with Ryan and that was back in '95. The mere fact that they were still around years after we escaped from the 80's is baffling. I must have been on drugs or I had a brain eating disease and wasn't aware.

It was a red outfit, and although it was super comfy especially when one is with child, it was fugly now that I look back. I, thankfully, have no pictures of myself with this attire on and for that I'm very grateful. It makes me shudder to think I owned leggings. I pray my Fashion God will forgive me. I repent. It's almost as bad as owning sweatpants. I don't look down on anyone who owns or wears sweatpants but I'm not compatible with sweat clothes. I don't want to sweat. In my clothes. Ever. And I try to avoid that when I ~~eat brownies all day long~~ work out like a freak. It's just my personality is all I'm sayin'.

Ugly 80's blouses are back too. *Insert fake happy clapping here* Again, they are a 'must have' piece to add to your wardrobe. I'm sorry but I will not be wearing 'puffy' shirts or anything with gigantuous ruffles running down the front with big stupid assclown pleats. Nope. Not doing it. If that makes me old and out of style, well so be it. I just down care. Call me a fashion retard. I dare ya.

Oh and I'm not wearing ballet flats with moronic fake flowers attached to them. I'm wearing my high heeled slutty ankle boots and you can't stop me. Call the fashion police on me. I'll kick them in the cornholio with my heels. Ha! Hopefully their anal beards don't get caught in my boot. That'd be gross.

And, and I'm not wearing tunic sweaters or pencil pants. Pencil pants? Nice name. Who came up with that? A fucking pencil wanting to wear pants? Pfffftttt.

There's a new show premiering next week called Ugly Betty. And I'm going to watch it. And what does this have to do with 80's fashions and me refusing to be caught dead in them? Well, perhaps people will start calling me Ugly Sassy because I refuse to get all wrapped up in the idea that some 'fashion' person has decided to pull out the 80's crap and tell us it's all 'MUST HAVE'S'. Ugly Betty looks like she's the kind of person who's not afraid to be who she is and if that makes her ugly, well sign me up. I'm going to wear my cute tee's, my jeans that were in style just a few short months ago, my sweaters with fake fur around the collar, my pink monkey pajamas and anything else that I like whether it's a 'must have' or a 'must throw out now'. And if anyone has a problem with that, well I'll just kick them. In the box. Or balls. Whichever.

I guess.

2006-09-14T17:17:00.000-07:00

I don't know what made me think of this scenerio today, just out of the blue but I decided to write about it. Not that it's particularly interesting or most likely won't make you bust a gut, but it might be slightly entertaining and I just wanted to relive it for the hell of it.

I worked for my father at a paint/wallpaper chain back in the late 80's, early 90's. I dealt with the public day in, day out. Most people were nice and had manners. And brains. Some did not.

Hi, what can I get for you today? Standing at the front counter, looking across at the paint section.

I dunno. Ooooookay.

Are you looking for paint today?

I guess. You don't know? You walk into a paint and wallpaper shop and you're not sure of what you want? Moron.

Okay, what are you painting?

I guess. I guess you're an idiot, braindead fartsucker.

Are you needing interior or exterior paint?

Yes.

Okay, which one? I give a slight chuckle. What I really wanted to do was hurt him badly with the ceiling paint that was on sale for $10.99.

So you're painting your....?

I guess I'll paint my bathroom. Who 'guesses' they'll paint their bathroom? Is that something you do on a whim while picking your nose, walking down Main St?

Okay, do you have any colors in mind? How big is your bathroom?

No. It's just like pulling teeth. Really big, ugly, rotten teeth.

How big is your bathroom? Let's try this again shall we?

It's medium. Medium? Medium? Someone please bring me dat broom over in da corner 'cause I'm 'bout to pop a cap in this guy's ass....well at least shove a broomstick up it.

Is it 10x10? Bigger? Smaller?

I suppose.

Okay it's bigger than 10x10? Throw me a frickin' bone here.

I guess. Boy you're sure a real talker. A friggin' charmer you are. I bet the women are all over you.

So let's say it's 150 square feet or so? Does that sound about right?

Sure.

Okay! Now we're getting somewhere.

What color is your bathroom now?

White.

Okay, so you're probably looking for something with a bit of color. You probably don't want to go too dark. How about a mushroom or taupe and then you could accent it with darker colors with your accessories and such?

No. I want green.

Okay, sure. I'll get you a color chart and you can pick a shade of green that you think you'd like.

After about 20 minutes of him staring at the color chart like a freakin' frozen turd, he chooses a light shade of sage green. I compliment him on his choice and ask what finish he'd like.

Now for a bathroom that will have some humidity and moisture from showers etc, I'd recommend an eggshell or semi-gloss, depending on how much shine you want.

Eggshell?

Yes, eggshell is a finish. Much like the texture of an egg. It has a slight sheen, and it's very durable for washing walls etc.

But I chose green.

Right. Eggshell is the finish of the paint. It doesn't refer to the color. The paint starts out pure white and I have to tint it to the color you chose.

I don't like shiney paint. I don't want shiney at all. Boy, I bet this is the most fucktard has spoken all week. He sure gets his panties all in a big bunch over shiney.

So that eliminates the semi-gloss then, since that's got quite a bit of a sheen to it. And you don't want flat paint in your bathroom, since it's not very washable and can't really stand up to the moisture. So as I previously mentioned, I think the eggshell finish would be perfect.

I don't want beige paint.

It's not beige sir. It's white. I'm going to make it green for you. Eggshell is the finish, the sheen of the paint. It's not beige at all.

You're trying to sell me ugly beige paint.

No, I assure you I'm not. I'm trying to recommend the best possible finish for you so you'll be happy with the choice of paint and color. Can you see me rolling my eyes?

I hate beige.

Me too. This guy is a shit for brains ass monkey.

I don't like shiney paint.

Right. I agree, I don't much like it either. So that's why I'm suggesting eggshell finish. It's not very shiney but washes nice and is just as durable as semi-gloss. And it's white. But I'll make it green for you.

I've changed my mind.

Pardon? You don't want green now?

No.

Okay, what color would you like? I can help you choose a nice color.

No. I don't want to paint my bathroom. You're trying to sell me ugly beige paint. I don't like eggs.

Sir, eggshell isn't beige, I promise. It's just the texture, finish of the paint. It's got a slight shine to it and very washable but not really shiney like semi-gloss. And I can make it the nice green you picked out. Holy repeat myself.

No I refuse to buy it.

And with that, he turned on his heel. I, scratched my head and then did what any normal person would do. Ran to the back room, grabbed the broom and followed him into the parking lot and gave him an enema.

Happy decorating!

Merry-go-rounds, giggles and fun.

2006-09-10T00:01:00.000-07:00

See those letters? They spell a really cool word don't they? They're adorable magnets that my friend Miss Lissa bought for me, for letting her use my bathroom and eat my food and stuff. How sweet was that? She was going to get me enough letters to spell 'You're a bizatch and even though your hair is pretty, you can't cook' but she didn't have enough money. Plus she said I wasn't really worth it. It really is the thought that counts. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

She arrived at my house on Thursday afternoon and although we've known each other for going on 4 years, we'd never met in person. Freaky right? Well, okay not as freaky as when you get an anal probe from an alien, 'cause that's a kind of freaky that noone wants to experience. But freaky like, I just saw my boyfriend from grade 2 and he's bald. That kind of freaky. Like fun and wild kinda freaky. I swear it was like we'd known each other for a long time. Yes, 4 years is a long time but I mean, like 17 years long time. Well maybe not 17 years because she'd still be in diapers and since I'm old and shit, I'd still be old, but you know what I mean. It was easy is all I'm trying to say. Gosh, must I 'splain everything?

Anyway, we've been having a wonderful visit and I'm pretty sure she thinks so too unless she's making flight plans while she's in my room and hoping to make a fast getaway tomorrow and is going to 'conveniently lose my phone number' and block me from messenger and tell all her friends to avoid anyone with the name 'Sassy'. I don't think so though. However, I'm not sure really, why she told me that her phone number changed to 555-5555 and that I should update my speed dial. I'll ask her in the morning.

We took our kids to Calaway Park today and spent the day watching our offspring spin, glide, swing, run, laugh, eat cotton candy, burp and giggle. Noone barfed, which in my opinion is a good thing. The kids were all pretty well behaved, however, I can't say the same for Mel and I. Was punching that annoying guy dressed in a bunny suit, in the ass a bad thing? You be the judge.

We had fun going on the slower than death train ride, which had seats so low that Mel and I had to have a crane lift us out. We all did a big woot woot afterwards, to which we got 'looks' from bystanders. Or maybe it was because Matt was naked except for flipflops and a motorcycle helmet. I can't be sure. They were whispering to one another, who are the freaks from freaksville? Ya, well, what can I say? We like to get our freakin' freak on at the kid amusement park. We're rebels don't ya know? It was either holler out woo hoo's or try to find a bar and get wasted. I'm pretty sure they don't have a pub there for half insane moms who are just about ready for the looney bin because they'd been on the merry-go-round 8000 times.

All in all, it was a fun day though and we came back here and pigged out on pizza, hotdogs and salad. We finally got our children to bed and then sat around and ~~got drunk~~ knitted scarves for the old folks at Shady Meadows. Na, I'm kidding. We didn't get drunk or knit scarves for any old people. We just made fun of them.

Anyway, I've had a great time visiting with Mel and her kiddos, glad that we finally got to meet in person and hopefully we'll be hanging out more in the future. Which, I'm sure we will be since she gave me her new phone number. I should go program that into my phone now, 555-5555...............;)

Welcome to my Freedomland.

2006-09-05T09:40:00.000-07:00

Lemme ask you, is it so wrong to be so happy that you look demented and crazy and appear to be on 'something'? No, no it isn't. Let me tell you why. My children are in school now. Today. There is noone here but me and ma crazy self. Can you freakin' believe that?
My 18 year old, looking slightly less than impressed about getting up early and out the door by a decent time. As he so eliquently put it today, he's going into grade 13. And by grade 13, he means, I goofed off last year so I am required to do grade 12 again. But not so unlike his ~~insane~~ gorgeous, redhaired mama, he too, lives in a fantasy land at times and so we'll let him ramble on about going into 'grade 13'. Whatever works for ya sweetie. Muah.
Ryan, all set for the big grade 5, proudly wearing his Spongebob attire and a big smile. He's now letting me photograph him again because I told him his hair was growing back. He hated his new hair cut, which I personally love, and refused to let me take any pictures for the last 2 weeks. He finally relented because I went on and on about how his hair is getting long again. His bangs are not crooked by the way, but he is the proud owner of a cowlick and his bangs always get pushed back, making it appear as if he was barbored by a drunk pirate. Which I'm quite certain my sister in law is not a drunk pirate. At least she's never said she was.
Maddy, Maddy, Maddy. My last child to go to school full time. Was it wrong of me to push her into the teacher's arms and run away cackling like an assclown and yelling, she's all yours until 3:30, good luck? Tell me I'm not alone. Wait. I am alone! Gosh, the possiblities are endless. Endless. I get goosebumps just thinking about it. No, wait, that's the air conditioning blowing on me giving me goosebumps. Well, anyway, it's a feeling of pure joy and I will not feel guilty about it one little bit. Weeeellll, maybe one little bit. But for the most part, I'm gonna love it!
I had to post a picture of my oldest son, although not in school, he works full time, so he's not here either. Noone is. Not a soul. Just me. Alone. I want to do so many things, like ~~go back to bed~~ clean my whole house from top to bottom. I'd better get started. Welcome to my Freedomland.

Shop 'til you drop. Or barf. Whichever.

2006-09-02T12:39:00.000-07:00

I took 3 of my kids shopping last night and it's really interesting who you see at the mall (or what happens at the mall too). I didn't see a single person I knew personally, being in a city of a million (officially!) people, you don't usually just bump into someone you know but I sure did see some 'characters'.

I actually drove myself to a mall that I'd never been to before and to my surprise, I didn't get us lost and have to be one of those dopes driving around really slow, looking for signs, holding up traffic and all that shit.

We get to the mall, and my son and his gf, leave to go off on their own. That left Matt and Maddy with me. Matt soon blew us girls off to go venture out on his quest for a new something or other.

I took Maddy to a store so she could browse the toy section. My favorite part. While I'm standing there, waiting for the princess to pick out something pink and girlie, I see a couple coming down the isle. I'm guessing they were about late 20's or so and they seemed really in love. And by really in love, I mean they were practically ripping out each other's tonsils with their tongues. Say it with me now people: Classy.

As my young daughter is engrossed in her doll search, the 'lovebirds', continue to slowly walk down the isle while giving each other cpr. Hello? Get a freakin' room already.

I distract Maddy while the saliva twins walk by us so my 6 year old doesn't get an impromptu sex ed lesson in the department store while shopping for a toy. Honestly, what is wrong with people? They were practically dry humping in the Barbie section. Ummmm ewww.

My daughter picks out a doll and then tells me she's tired and wishes she could go to bed. Huh? What kid under 21 says they're tired? I ask her what's wrong? She tells me that she feels a migraine coming on. Oh no. I had no medication with me so we quickly booted it over to the pharmacy and grabbed some Tylenol and I get it into her within a minute of paying for it. We sit on the bench and just as we do, Matt shows up. He's bought himself some new shoes and starts to lace them up but as he's doing that, I notice Maddy has turned kinda green. Green, as in, I'm gonna barf green. I dump the purchases out of the bag and hand it to her and quietly instruct her to try to puke in it as opposed to the passerby's or the potted plants surronding the bench. However, there were a couple of people that walked by, that if by chance, my child threw up on them, I wouldn't mind so much. Example: The 2 'ladies' that walked by, who for all I knew, were actually ~~cheap, filthy whores~~ librarians by the look of their 'outfits'. I say 'outfits' loosely because quite frankly, there's more material on the doll my daughter bought. When I can see what you've had for supper, then you're not wearing enough clothes.

I tell Matt to pack up his new shoes and that we have to blow this popsicle stand before his sister blows chunks everywhere. Now there's a visual. We make our way back to the store we came in through and hustle as quickly as we can to the truck. By then Maddy is white, yawning and quiet. A sure sign she's gonna lose it. I place the department store bag in her lap, which is now her own personal 'I'm gonna toss my cookies' bag and buckle her in.

We get home with no puke in the truck! Can't ask for more than that when you go out shopping. Right on. Anyway, I'm off again today to try to finish up the school shopping as my kids go back on Tuesday. Did ya hear me? On Tuesday! I'll be alone. Alone. Oh the ~~trouble I'll get into~~ work I'll get done. Can't wait!

You want special?

2006-08-30T11:35:00.000-07:00

What's a trip to Burger King without a fooked up order? And some moronic staff to go with it? Nothing baby, nothing.

I took my oldest son and his gf to Wally World last night to do some shopping and on the way home we stopped at BK to bring home some grub for ourselves and hubby. We placed our orders, waited, and left without incident. Or so I thought.

We get home and as I'm taking things out of the bag, my husband says his order is wrong.

What's wrong with it?

Well the poutine has no gravy on it.

No gravy?

Ya, no gravy.

Well that sucks. I'm going to call them and let them know.

Tell them to deliver some gravy to me.

I'm pretty sure they won't do that.

Oh and my burger is wrong.

Figures.

I called and the phone rang about 15 times and noone answered it. I hung up. Waited a few minutes and called back. Again noone picked up but this time there was voicemail, so I left a message and asked if the manager could call me back in the morning. Left my name and phone number obviously.

The phone rangs this morning at 8:30. Goes like this:

Hello?

Hi, I calling from Burger King. I got your message. I'm looking for Iman.

Iman? I'm pretty sure I'm not a tall, gorgeous, black super model married to David Bowie.

Yes.

Ummm, well I was the one who called you last night and left the message. I'm Lechelle. Because Iman and Lechelle practically rhyme.

Oh okay. What the problem?

My order was messed up. I ordered poutine and there was no gravy on it. Gravy is a key ingredient to poutine.

You order special?

Pardon? Special?

Yes, special.

No, I just ordered a Whopper meal, with poutine. Nothing special really.

Okay what was wrong?

It. had. no. gravy. on. it.

Okay, that it?

No, my husband's burger was supposed to be a Whopper, with cheese, only lettuce and onions. It had all the other stuff on it.

What stuff? The special?

I'm not sure what 'the special' is. It wasn't anything special. Just a Whopper with only lettuce and onions.

Okay and what was wrong?

It had everything on it. Didn't I just frigging say that?

Okay, what wrong? What's wrong? Apparently you have the mental capacity of a stale donut.

I ordered poutine. It had no gravy on it. I ordered a Whopper with only lettuce and onions and it had everything on it. I didn't want everything on it. I'm being Punk'd right?

You have your receipt?

Yes I sure do!

You want to come in now?

At 8:30 in the morning? Ummm no. I ate BK less than 12 hours ago, so I'm good thanks. But next time I do want BK, I'm going to bring my receipt and I want a free meal.

Okay, I give you free meal. Damn freakin' right you will.

So your name is Iman? I write that down.

Yup, sure Iman. You spell that L-E-C-H-E-L-L-E. Forget anything you may have learned in phonics, phonics sucks and doesn't work.

Okay, you come in with receipt and I give you free. I'll give you free, a free punch in the ass.

Great.

I'm flat flat flat........

2006-08-26T11:21:00.000-07:00

......well not me per say but my hair. Okay, not so much flat as straight. I was finally able to purchase my Chi flat iron on Thursday and I'm in love. In love with my iron, my hair, myself. It's all about me today and my long, straight hair. If you click my profile pic, that's what my hair looks like straight. And I'm demanding that you click it because as I just mentioned, it's all about me. *Insert big toothy grin*

I do have to say, since we're talking about me today, that I am fairly intelligent. Sure, I have my 'Jessica Simpson' moments, as my teens so lovingly tell me, but overall, I'm decent in the brain area. As I was looking over the instructions for my flat iron, it occurred to me that the person/persons responsible for writing them, must have decided that they would include things, that if by chance, a retarded monkey bought the iron, they'd know what to do or not do.

And what do I mean? Well, for instance, they instruct me not to put the hot flat iron on my skin or in my eyes. Gosh, now that just ruins my Saturday night plans. Asswipes. I so wanted to give myself third degree burns and maybe even pop my eyeballs out with the hot iron. So much for that.

It also states, that I shouldn't give it to my child when it's heated up to 5000 degrees. No? Really? That seems a bit excessive. I mean come on, if my young child wants to hold mommy's scalding hot, give you 200 degree burns flat iron, they should be allowed. I say go for it.

I should also not use it while sleeping. That's a typo right? Honey, don't mind my flat iron in between us in the bed, but I was going to get into a deep, relaxing sleep and then flat iron my hair so I won't have to do it when I'm vertical and alert in the morning. Saves time really.

It says I can't use it outdoors. Damn it to hell. I wanted to take it hiking in the mountains with me and you know, plug it into a grizzly bear's ass and straighten my hair. My whole weekend is ruined now!

I'm also not allowed to use it while bathing. Again, planned on saving time, but pffftttt, they've put a damper on that scenerio too.

I guess folks, I'll just have to use it while awake, not in water or in the woods and be sure not to burn my children or the elderly with it. Bummer. But the bright spot is, I have silky straight hair, something I've wanted for a very long time. Right now, as I type this, I'm flipping my fabulous hair all around. Remember, it's all about me today. That should be your Saturday motto.

PS...I just noticed, that you could buy a pink one! How lovely is that? And proceeds go to Breast Cancer research. I totally would have bought a pink one if it were available to me. *Wink*

I'm truly frightened. Hold me?

2006-08-22T16:39:00.000-07:00

I should really reconsider staying up late and channel surfing. Really, really, really. As I was sitting on my duff, big, ~~chocolate fudge brownie~~ healthy apple in one hand and tv remote in the other hand, I came across a very weird and disturbing cartoon. I was horrified and mesmerized all at the same time. Who created this show? Surely it must be someone with a giant ~~drug problem~~ creative imagination. It skeered me.

We first meet this guy, who I think is the planet (I don't want to say city because it looks more like they're on freakin' Mars or YourAnus) retardo. He doesn't really speak in full sentences but from his grunting, you can ascertain that he wants to save something or someone. His retardo horse looks upset that he's wearing a glowing greenish blue saddle. Or perhaps it's because he's just got big open circle's for eyes. I dunno.
Then, all of a sudden, we see a nekid chick, who has definately pissed off the 'blue men' and they are trying to cart her away and are yelling obsceneties at her. She in turn asks one of the blue men to 'make love' to her. Whatever floats your boat sista.
Next, we see Liberace. I don't know if his name is actually Liberace in the show but let's just say he was very animated and flamboyant. Very. He was screaming at big boobied nekid chick that he loved her like his cousin (huh?) and she had no right to leave him and his 'kingdom'. I don't know if he's a king but he definately fit the profile of 'queen'.
BB Nekid chick escapes from the blue men and comes back to Liberace and calls him a bitch. He calls her a ho and then they begin to fight over this stick thing and continue with the insults and start trying to claw each other's eyes out. Sounds like a blind date I had one time.
They continue to fight for the next 10 minutes and at this point, I should have just turned to another station but no, I couldn't bring myself to flip it to Much Music or watch CSI reruns. It was scary yet like the proverbial train wreck and you just can't look away.
We again see planet retardo and he's lovin' on some blonde chick who thankfully has her hooters covered up unlike her slutty co-star. Then the camera pans down and blondie, although wearing some kind of bikini top, is not wearing pants. Or panties. Or floss. Or anything. Just her cartoon beaver hanging out for all of the blue men and me to see. Thanks for that.
We get to see a close up of her cartoon ass crack (bet she finds a long hair of hers every now and again, caught in that said ass crack) as she bends down to pick up this green ball that everyone and their freaked out horse has been searching/fighting for all throughout the show. Apparently it has some kind of magical powers (maybe it produces clothes for these freaks to wear) and they all want a piece of it.
Finally at the end of the ~~nightmare~~ show, some big blue man wearing a fugly green shirt finds the glowing ball and starts laughing hysterically. I'm not sure what significance that holds but at this point I just don't care and wanted to run and hide in my closet with my daughter's stuff bears. I'm not sure if this show is a continuing series and airs every Monday night at around 12:30am but I can assure you I'm not about to find out.

Gettin' down with Beyonce.

2006-08-21T11:42:00.000-07:00

Streamers, balloons, girls and giggles.

2006-08-19T17:25:00.000-07:00

Six. six. Six, errr, maybe we'll just stick with one six. I can't believe my youngest is now six and will be going to school in the fall full time. Although I'm excited for her (and me, ha ha), I think I might have a twinge of empty nest feelings and the first few days of the new school year will be weird, being here all by myself.
Maddy's party went very well and the whole day in general was good. I took my kids shopping a couple of days ago to buy party favors to do up the kids' bags and my ~~princess~~ daughter just had to have a crown to go with her birthday dress. I guess that's standard procedure when one is royalty, even if only in one's head.
I spent part of my morning blowing up balloons and tying ribbons to them so I could tape them to the wall. Always looks festive and fancy right? I couldn't find any pink ribbon to go with the pink balloons and pink table cloth so green it was. I doubt her royal heiness and her friends would notice or care. But, of course, my daughter wanting things to match, did notice. She of course had to put her two cents' worth in.
The cake was delicious even if the frosting was sweet enough to put an elephant into a coma. There was only one small piece left at the end of the festivities.
I like to pride myself on being creative and handy, especially in a pinch. So when the wrapping paper I bought was not enough to completely cover the Dora dollhouse we bought Maddy, I of course, used Home Depot flyers to finish it off. Looks purdy don't it? Need some paint for your house?
Princess Madison invited 6 girls and 2 boys and 2 of her brothers were here as well. The younger boys hung out in Ryan's room most of the time (Lord forbid they should all hang around and associate with the girls) and the girls stuck together like glue playing with the awesome makeup kit (hint hint) that Ang bought for Maddy. It was definately the hit of the party. I know a certain adult that liked it too. Not mentioning any names.
The party wound down around 4pm and the kids all had a really nice time, all got along wonderfully and everyone was well behaved. Even Penny. Ha ha.

Note from Maddy: Thank you for coming to my party. I had 2 pieces of cake. I like my 'makeover' kit. I'm going to give my mom a makeover because I think she needs more glitter on her face and arms. I have a Kim Possible charm now. I have Kim Possible clothes. But I didn't get those for my birthday. Well I did buy one pair of Kim Possible pants with my own birthday money last night. But it wasn't exactly money, it was on a gift card, so it's kind of like money or a credit card. My mom has a credit card with a lady bug on it. It's not a real lady bug though, so don't think it is. My mom loves pink stuff. I do too. My brothers don't really like it. Well my one brother does. But not my other two. I think they like blue. But I'm not totally sure on that. I'll have to ask them I guess. ***Ah Maddy, could mom interrupt here? Let's wrap this up shall we? Thanks*** Okay my moms says I have to wrap this up, but not wrap it up like a present though. I think she means she wants me to put a lid on it. So I guess I better go and I'm going to ride my new scooter. I got that for my birthday too. I also bought that with my gift card. I had $45 all together. But not in money, just in the gift card. I think I already talked about that. Okay my mom is giving me weird looks as she is typing this so I had better stop talking now. Anyway, thanks for coming to my party. Oh wait, I said that. Okay now my mom is getting out the duct tape. Bye bye.

Holy, can a person get a word in here or what? Happy Birthday Maddy, my little princess! You can view more photographs HERE.