Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Don't punch my ass


Always a day late - My good friend, Aunt Crazy, or Y as we call her in Texas, told me about True Story Tuesday yesterday while I was at work, so I began typing like a mad woman as soon as I was off  work but hadn't left yet (or almost off) and was excited to get home to finish it. After a few run-ins with people I felt like throwing things at - #1. our doctor for talking to me about my cysts while my daughter sat right there waiting for her precription for her acne - #2. the optometrist type person that at one point told me to pick my battles mom, but then assumed my kid would be ok with wearing her glasses that are being held together with duck tape after taking a soccer ball in the face for another week (after a calm but firm confrontation, we agreed that today worked better for us!) - #3. one of the men in my life for not starting to fix the bath tub tap during the hour he was home before me because he was reading until he caught me just about to cry like a bitch, and #4. my kid for being the snottiest 12 year old with PMS I have ever met, I really didn't feeling like doing another damn thing. 

Anyway, unsure if it's even a good story, but too much effort has been put into it now, here it is:
I've been seeing one of the men in my life (let's call him T-Bone, he'll like that) for over 2 years now. I fell for him immediately after having 3 sleepovers where we didn't do that nasty, but instead laid in the dark talking and laughing until the sun came up. Fortunately for him, I am one of the few that can appreciate his sense of humor. I do not, however, laugh anymore when he's finished cooking and it looks like a bunch of toddlers on speed made mud pies on the counters and threw gravy all over the floor. I can't for life of me remember how I ever used to laugh at that. But I did. I also used to wake up every morning that we were together with a smile on my face, I'd turn into him for the small peck on the lips so not get a whiff of the morning breath (because that crap you see on TV ... the romantic morning sex where the man and the woman are kissing - with the tongues - and breathing at each others faces inches away is bullshit and we all know it ...), we'd cuddle for a few minutes, and ok, sometimes hours (even on work days), yes it sounds like we were sickeningly falling in love .... Well let me tell you how our last fight started ... I know I've mentioned before my recent battles with my weight, but I'm certain what you don't know about me, is I have a big ol' booty, seriously, an ass and hips that are completely disproportionate to the rest of my normally tiny frame ... ok, you got me, completely proportionate to my gut though .... crap. Anyway, as I've come to realize over the years, by big ol' booty is not a flaw. I have been cat-called by complete strangers. A fight even broke out last Halloween at the bar we were at when a short, yet very brave man tried to hold on to my booty ... not a great idea when I'm on the dance floor with friends of T-Bone .... moving on, I have confidence in my behind and I know that coupled with my tendency to gamble more than I should, it's one of the top reasons that T-Bone sticks around. I should also share that at the beginning of our relationship, I had mentioned (more like warned) him that I am a monster in the mornings. Or would soon turn into a monster. He kept sloughing it off, telling me that he couldn’t imagine me a monster. Maybe he just thought it was funny or cute, or dismissed it just as I had when I became of aware of what he manages to do to the kitchen when cooking. Anyway, it was almost 2 years before he saw the evil thing rear it's head and took notice, but even then, it was pretty tame. Until 2 weeks ago .... I went to bed with a pretty purple lacey pair of undies on .. he was already sleeping, but my plan was for the next morning. I’m not a selfish person, I wasn’t going to wake him up just to give me some lovins. Even though it had been forever and I was on a mission. I went to sleep excited for the next morning, almost like when you’re a kid on Christmas Eve wondering what Santa is going to leave in your stocking. Finally, it’s morning and I have waited long enough. I back into him for some cuddling (cuz we all know how much men love that ..) ..... now I understand that men don't notice a whole lot ... especially the T-Bone, like when I've trimmed a mere inch of hair off my head, or even when I've just had my eyebrows threaded to ensure they remain a pair, but the little purple piece of lace I have wrapped around my big ol' booty instead of the things I usually wear? Come on, meet me half-way here. No response. No response from the guy that will yell "BOOBS!" so I can hear him from anywhere in the house when he sees a nice set on the TV. But my position is assumed, I'm ready for the schnoo schnoo that is almost a distant memory, and I’m not taking defeat this particular morning. I feel a stir under the blankets; I’m getting a response, I’m getting excited ... Finally. WTF? A punch in the ass followed by "big bum"!!! Then he turned right over and tried to go back to sleep. Tried to go back to sleep. We didn't see each other for a week after that morning, didn't spend another night together in 2. But now he knows, don't punch my ass and tell me it's big in the morning.

see .... disproportionate ... (ok, I had gravity and on odd camera angle working against me here too ...)

Monday, September 28, 2009

I fit into my fat pants today

and I was happy!! How messed up is that?! I'm not happy about having gained all this weight (although I am very happy when I'm laying on the couch with a bag of chips), but I like these pants dammit. They are a nice shade of grey with pockets in the back. They fit funny in the crotch, so they can only be worn with a longer fitting black shirt. But I found the cutest longer fitting black shirt at the little second hand boutique I love (boutique sounds so much classier than "store" or "the sally ann"). I missed these pants. They are the perfect length to wear with my black sandals for my summer outfits and also the perfect length to wear with my winter outfits. And this strange September in Calgary has been smack dab in the middle of both. We were sweatin to death in +33C just last week, but we also hit almost freezing temps of +3C just last week. Make up your mind Mother Nature. The best part of my grey pants is they are comfy. They are a stretchy type material (which generally makes my ass look like a mess hence the longer fitting shirts) that feels good on my belly. I don't have to wear a belt with the top button open, which is a pain in the ass going to washroom bause I have to dig the buckle out of my rolls. So you can see how I love these pants so.

But I wont be wearing these fat pants for long .... I start trimming the chub again tonight as a matter of fact. I'm not hittin the gym, or taking the grease out of my diet, or anything crazy like that ... tonight I start playing soccer. I watched my daughter lose some baby fat after a season of soccer, so I'm hoping the same will happen to me. Assuming that I can actually get my smokers lungs working enough to have me out on the field in longer than 30 second shifts (no I'm not going to quit smoking, that's why I found a team that was willing to take on an out of shape smoker). Assuming that I wont have a leg broken after being knocked down by a big ol' man (because my idea of playing soccer wasn't crazy enough, I agreed to play on a co-ed team). And assuming that my metabolism is still in working condition after turning 30. I was like a little kid the day before school starts yesterday picking out my soccer stuff. My kid was a great help too, in convincing me that I didn’t need expensive equipment because I’m just starting out …she’s the soccer-pro of the family so she deserves the top of line equipment. So although I have a small hate on for her right now because she's vowed to come point & laugh while I'm at practice, she had me convinced that expensive equipemt isn't going to make me any better this 1st season. I let her convince so easily mainly because I was itchin to get back home to my couch & my left over Chinese food. But I like my cheap little shin pads, they are white with removable ankle supports, and I’m pretty sure the sales guy said they are magic shin pads and will prevent shin splints. And I'll be wearing my kids hand me down soccer shoes and shorts. I’m not that cheap ..come on, I will get myself some new shorts, but for today’s practice it was either her last season shorts or my own shorts. And my own shorts are a wee-bit revealing. And not in revealing in a good way I can assure you. All they revealed was the cottage cheese on the backs of my upper legs. One of the men in my life's vision is failing as fast as the grey hairs are appearing at his temples though so he voted for the tighter shorter soccer shorts, bless his normally cold heart. But I will be looking for long shorts when I go shopping. Hell, I wonder if they’ll let me wear capri’s?

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Will smile for money

I've been having small battles with my kid this past month over the time she spends with her friends and how mean she comes across when she's ditching family all the time for them. We just moved in to a new house and her school is 3 blocks away. This is a very new life for her as she'd been a daycare kid since 7 weeks old and we've always lived out of her school district. Now, she's never home. And when she is, she has her entourage. So we have mini-battles are over family time, and sometimes just evenings after work where I've planned something that includes her but not her friends. Well let me tell you, my kid has a look of death, and standing over me with that scowl can be quite intimidating (of course I never show this ....) Last night was our "family" time. That means we were sitting in front of the TV eating bbq'd steaks (which she said I made too chewy - snob!) and watching poker. I have a small fantasy about winning a free roll on pokerstars which gets me a seat at a televised event where I can play with Ivey, Hellmuth, Dwan, or Negraneau. As I sat there happy with my kid, steak, and World Series of Poker, a new fantasy came to mind - teaching my kid to play poker and taking her with me to Vegas. I'll be the smokin cougar mom at the poker tables and she'll be my 5 inch taller than me side kick. We'll win lots of money, get our rooms comped, and I'll already have my first WSOP bracelet ... ahhh now that's what I call a goal! I'm sure if you asked my kid though what she thought of that, she would look at me like I was riding the short bus with a helmet on. Anyway, my kid wasn't sitting there listening to me babble about what hotels we’ll stay in on the strip because she wanted to. I can assure you that. She was mock-enjoying our time because I told her earlier in the day that I had a surprise for her. She tried to get out of our mother/daughter time but curiosity got the best of her, so there she sat with a smile on her face asking what hand was best with a 9 10 J flop - the pocket J's or Q K, eating her chewy steak. Finally I let her in on the surprise. Which was a huge surprise for me too actually. Her gramma on her dads side (I was going to say we'll call him "Years Wasted", but we'll stick with JBE for simplicity) came into some money a few months back and decided to give me some. Not much, but a nice token. I'll take it. JBE doesn't give me any money and his family plays a rather small role in my kids life, so sure, I'll take the money. The last time JBE's mom gave me money for my kid, I lost it. Instead of putting it in savings account like I should have, I combined it with some of my own cash and bought some stocks in a company I thought for sure would make it off the ground, if not completely sky-rocket. I'm not much of a risk taker and don't usually part with large amounts of money without it being for a good reason (yes, blackjack is sometimes a good reason), and even then, I have a hard time. But I thought for sure we'd at least double our money, or hell, at least not lose it. Well shit, I would have had a lot more fun taking all that money to the blackjack table at my favorite casino. It would have taken all day to lose what I lost on the markets and I would have had a blast. I'd still be talking about that day in close comparison to the day I birthed my daughter. And who knows, maybe I would have won! Well, I'm not putting the money into stocks this time, I have plans for every last penny of it (half is mine, half is hers). I told my kid about the money and let me tell ya, you don't see her smile often. The last time she smiled this big may have been over 2 months ago when she saw her newly painted bedroom in the purple and blue she picked out, and even then, she covered her mouth when I took the picture so there'd be no evidence that she had actually smiled. But she smiled, so this was a great evening if not for the money, for her smile. Seriously. The first thing she asked to buy was a beta fish. She's been asking about getting one since we fostered one for a friend of mine. After explaining to her how bad she'll feel if it dies because she didn't feed so she better be responsible for it, to which she just rolled her eyes, I agreed. I actually approved pretty much everything she wanted to spend her share of the money on. I did not approve, however, the snake bites she's been asking for (see below). Besides the beta fish, her ideas were a new DVD player (her exact words were "and not a twenty-three dollar dvd player from superstore" ... right, we've been through about 4 of those .... ) and she'd like to buy her contract out of her current cell phone company and go with another one. I was all over that idea, I have a deep and pure hatred for her cell phone company. I throw stuff around and swear under my breath when I talk about bell, so we'll just leave it at that. To my surprise, she also agreed that the rest of her money will be put in a savings account. I didn't make any casino jokes at this point because I know me losing her money the last time on the stock market is still a sore subject. Also, to my surprise, when her bedtime rolled around and I went up to give her the hug, kiss, I love you thing she pretends to hate (even the days we've had a knock down drag out fight, I make sure to get the hug, kiss, I love you in at the end of the day) her bedroom was clean. CLEAN. I was stopped in my tracks, I stood frozen for at least a minute running through the last 24 hours wondering what threats I may have made that would have caused this, even considered that someone must have broke into the house while we were gone and cleaned the room. Then it hit me. It was the money. Money makes my kid happy. I'm not kidding when I say it takes a lot to get the scowl off her face, let alone a smile to replace it. Sometimes it only happens when I fall or drop something .... But the money did it. She even initiated the hug, kiss, I love you. Now this is something I can use to my advantage ... this could be fun ....

snake bites ... yeah never!

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

"You're here early!"

Warning – work vent! As much as I love my job, I have many vents. I am impatient and haven't read 'Don't Sweat the Small Stuff' yet, so here's a work vent  …
My kid is in junior high now and gets herself to & from school. The earlier I get to work, the earlier I leave. I've been on Princess hours for the past 10 years, but I'm tryin to get my ass in gear because I want my pre-teen that looks 16 to have as little unsupervised time after school as possible. It's been a lot easier than I thought it was going to be, and have actually been getting to work as much as an hour earlier than what I'm used to. And this has been going on since school went back in mid-August. So why the hell does the Consultant sitting across from me still make the same damn comment - "oh, you're here early?!" - questioning me with surprise. My hours of operation are none of her damn business. Even when she sees me at, let's say 7:55, and I've been here since 7:15, walked past her office, and had conversations with people within ear-shot of her, she says "oh, you're here early!" WTF? This may not seem that significant, enough to even warrant more than an eye-rolling let alone a full blog post, but every freaking time I hear "Oh, you're here early" I want to smack her face, or at least add her to the list of people whose faces I want to smack in the office (my list only has 1 or 2 people on it at any given time, I add & remove people depending on my mood). Here's why the Consultant is permanently on my list now with no hope for redemption: A couple of weeks ago, she brown-nosed to our supervisor by writing a manual to train new people in our department and set up a meeting for the training. I've had this job for a long time and don't require training, but I wanted to sit in the meeting because these new people would be working along side me. Why didn't I write the manual you ask ... well because I am uneducated. I'm good at what I do because I've had enough lucky breaks in the industry and lots of time to train myself. Also, my head can wrap itself around what I do with ease because I'm not a stupid person. Or I just naturally have a knack for it like some people have a knack for … let's say house cleaning or hitting a golf ball with a club every time they take a swing. I don't need to be a leader, a teacher, or even know off the top of my head if a credit has a negative sign in front of it because I’m a problem solver and that’s what my job takes. And people like Work-Stacy. A lot. Anyway, a few minutes after the meeting ended, the Consultant comes past my office and says, "Oh you're in!” Then she says, “You missed the meeting." I can literally see myself getting up at this point and wrapping a hand around her neck to hold her still so I can slap her face. Funny though, her view was so much different than mine. My interpretation was that I didn't MISS the meeting - I wasn't invited to the damn meeting. No e-mail, no phone call, no sticky note on my computer screen .... And, AND it was 9:30 at this point. Of course I was fucking in! She then tells me she called the meeting for 8am. Well, that's even funnier because I was in at 7:15 and I know she was sitting in her office when our boss came in and said nice n' loud when she saw me "Good morning STACY". And even if she is that deaf & blind, if she still assumes that I come in AFTER 8am, why the hell would she call a meeting that she knew I wanted to attend for 8am? So I would miss it anyway? So the higher ups would potentially see me missing it or coming in late? Not that this hasn’t happened before. About 2 years ago, still very much on Princess hours, not only did I come in to work 45 minutes late, I was 15 minutes late for a meeting that was being headed by a higher-up. That's not the worst of it .. because I was running so late, I threw on the only clothes I could grab at the foot of my bed - a pair of black cargo khaki's, my favorite tight little black & pink Pirates of the Caribbean t-shirt, a hoodie, and a pair or runners. Yep, I just strolled in that meeting in the board room of our corporate office, sat across from the manager, smiled a good morning, and when the meeting was done, I walked with her back to her office as we talked about our weekends! See how I can love my job as much as I say I do … I know how & why the Consultant wants to work for this company, or even wants my job. I know she can’t take it from me, but she can sure weasel her way to a window office beside me. The Consultant doesn't intimidate me, doesn't pose a threat to me, she just pisses me the hell off.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

PRE-BLOGGER BLOGS - Anyone see me on TV shoveling cake down my throat? May 2007

I was at my daughter’s school last night watching her perform with her SAM (sing & movement) club for the school's 25th anniversary. Wasn't prepared at all for it to be such a big deal, but there was aldermen, MLA's, school trustees, past principals, etc in attendance ... AND CAKE. I settled into my front row seat (where I have never sat before in the 5 years of school performances) with my piece of cake. So I could enjoy the show fully (or maybe it was because I was intending on snagging a second piece…) I started eating the cake as fast as I could before the performance began. I was making pretty good progress on it, when I turned and noticed a cameraman & his camera pointed right at me. I put the cake down, turned my head, grabbed my napkin, and wiped all the icing off my face as I tried to swallow the massive bite I had just stuffed in my mouth. I’m completely red and now almost choking, and he's still got the camera on me. I'm not even sure how he wasn't cracking up, maybe it wasn’t funny so much as sick …. When he finally gets the camera pointed towards the stage, I see the big sticker on the side ….. Global TV, once of the city‘s biggest TV broadcaster. F**k!

Blog name idea UPDATE

UPDATE: After I insulted Blog name idea #1 by saying there was something missing, I found out there was something missing from Blog name idea #2 as well - an available URL name. Without making it look tacky with numbers where letters should be, misspelled words to make it fit, and/or several dashes, I typed in Coffee Table for Two really fast and hit save. So there we have it. Coffee Table for Two. Hope you enjoy it (if there is no YOU, well too bad, I know I will ….)

Blog name idea #2 - On the Couch

This idea was a spin off of my first idea. All of the above is true, but it was missing something. Something genuine, something I love. Like they way I love my couch. More than I do most people I know and more than my black soft wood bed with the bowling ball mattress. I don’t quite like the look of it as much as the day I brought it home (don’t worry, I’m giving it a make over, not tossing it in the dump … I’m not as cold as they say I am …). I saw it 10 years ago in the “show room” of United Furniture (show room meaning a huge warehouse with dirty lino, furniture thrown all over in no particular order, and a sales guy at the ratty old order desk). It was one of my first big purchases as a grown up and I was so proud of the puffy comfy blue fabric. It was first hand, I didn’t have to guess or wonder who and what broke it in, it was me. And did I ever break it in. Get your head out of the gutter (if it wasn’t in the gutter … well then you just learned something new about me!) My couch has been the source of much comfort over the years. I’ve lived in 4 different places with that couch and that’s really what I long for when I say I want to be at home. Playing the role of mom, dad, bread winner, wife, girlfriend (I’ll explain later), soccer enthusiast, chauffer, and errand-boy, I don’t get as much time as I’d like on my couch, or as much time as I used to I should say. I guess this is a good thing in some ways too because there is a slight relation to not having drank as much gatorade in the same amount of time either. Couch and Gatorade day? Fuzzy headed and eating advil like candy or not, that’s a great day! When I get those e-mail surveys from friends and get to the question that asks “If you could be anywhere else right now, where would it be?” I always imagine my couch. I type other things though because I don’t want people to feel sad for me, but I am serious when I say right here and now, that I would be the most happiest if I was able to just stay on my couch. Not in the same way my mom stays on her couch, my own refined way. For example, I love my job. So if I just had a lap top, a printer and scanner, and probably approval from my boss and human resources, I could totally do my job from my couch. Hell, if I’m going down that route, I’d also throw a beer fridge beside the couch. Not full of beer because beer & my couch never lead to good things (hhmm scratch that … it leads to couch and gatorade day, ok maybe a few beer …). Beer & work never lead to good things. So probably just some bottled water, because I know I don’t get enough of that. And don’t worry, I have a bathroom on the main floor that actually has a view of the TV when the door’s open, so it’s not like I’d be hoping for a bed pan or catheter or anything like that. I’d literally be in heaven …. Especially, especially if between TSN, TSN2, Score, and the game channel was all day poker ….. I’m getting a little tingle just thinking about it. I’d still take my smoke breaks at the same time, maybe even drive to Tim Hortons for my morning fix (or more likely text my husband to bring me one … no I’m not married and I said I’d explain that later). I’d also still like to be the person that does my grocery shopping, cooking, all that stuff that matters - I didn’t say clean the house …. Jeeze I have my limits too … I just want to make it clear, I don’t want to be on my couch every second of everyday, let’s just say while my kid is at school for sake of argument. That would be ideal. As it is now though, I appreciate that hour I might get on my couch each day. I don’t take it for granted, and I try not to waste it. And on the nights where my eyes just won’t close and my mind refuses to stop spinning, my couch is always there to put me to sleep.

Blog name idea #1 - Coffee Table for Two

Because I can't think of anything else to write for this edition of True Story Tuesday (brought to us by Rachel & Mr Daddy), I'm bumping this from September. It's the "true story" of how I became writer to this blog (inspired by my best Texas friend, Aunt Crazy) and how I decided on a name for it. It was my first entry on Blogger and I'm sharing it today ..... (what I'd also like to share today quickly before I leave you to my story is that on this mid-November day in Calgary, I am wearing capri's ....)

I’ve been thinking about starting an official blog for a long time now, a few years actually. I started one somewhere and didn’t realize my privacy settings were set so nobody could read them. I had assumed they were being read by millions all over the world, but as I recently discovered, they had not been. So here I am, starting an official blog (and that means pulling a few old blogs and adding them here). It doesn’t mean that anymore people will read it now than before, but I’m facebooked out, can’t jump onboard with twitter, and actually miss my writing. I wrote a lot when I was a kid. I started my first diary when I was in fourth grade (I vaguely remember something about a boy pinching my bum and wondering if it was “sexual abuse” … now sometimes I catch myself sticking it out in hopes that someone grabs it …but times change). Throughout junior high, I was writing every few days (which is about how long it took for me to fall out of love with one boy, and in love with another, over and over and over), and by high school, I was adding entries before school & after school every day. Ok, who am I kidding? ….. I didn’t go to school everyday by that time, which is probably a huge contributing factor as to why my 1 year old attended my high school graduation, but you get the idea. I’m pretty sure I wasn‘t a normal teenager with a normal life by any means, so those journals will be burned before I die. Because I have a tendency to hoard, one of my sisters has sworn to me that if I bite it before she does, she will destroy the journals before anyone else can lay their eyes on them. I was going to burn them this year, but when I opened one up and began to read, things started coming back to me. Good things. And at this stage in my life, it’s a bit of a battle to think back and remember the good things. So I’m going to keep them a while longer, stuffed at the back of my closet and take them out whenever the mood strikes me. For now though, I have this blog. It was a challenge trying to decide on a name for it, I had dozens of ideas, but for some reason or another, none of them fit. Not even sure of this one works, but here it is - Coffee Table for Two. I didn’t like the simple idea of “table for 2” (isn‘t there a TV show out there somewhere called Table for 17, or 25?) because I felt like I would have been duping you. Don’t get me wrong, I take my little one out to eat every now and then. Just last long-weekend, as a matter of fact, we kicked it old school with a few burnt CD’s and drove up to Edmonton just to dine at the Old Spaghetti Factory in West Ed. I almost had her convinced to stop at the corn maze on the way back, but at 12 years old, that was way too lame to even warrant a response. Anyway, back to “table for two” idea … everyone who knows me knows that my kitchen table has never been set for two. Hell, it’s never been set at all. Yep, we eat at the coffee table. Right in front of the 42-inch HD TV. We even fight each other for the best spot …. Couch. Or love seat. The love seat has the advantage right now because we just moved in and I’m still getting a feel for the place. I’ve been eating in front of the TV pretty much my whole life. When I was a kid, my mom would cook great meals and we’d have to eat at the kitchen table, with our glass of milk n’ all, but as we grew up and TV became more interesting, we just retreated to the living room. And that’s pretty much where we’ve been ever since. Don’t get me wrong, we don’t always eat our meals watching TV. Sometimes, one of us is on the computer! Don’t judge me, I’m just being honest. And it’s early in my new blog, if you think this is bad, you haven’t heard the half of it ….. Yes, I am an unconventional mother. Not a bad mom, I do know that much (because we all know that as long we do one thing different than our parents did, we’re doing ok and you should see how many things I do different than my mom ….) but I wouldn’t rule out calling me a ‘laid back’ mom, and sometimes, I admit, downright lazy! Hey, I had my baby 12 years ago and haven’t been on mat leave yet. I’m tired, gimme a break.

PRE-BLOGGER BLOGS - I'm here and I know how it happened (Sept 2009)

I know how I got here, and I did it all by myself. It started in June. I was packing to move and decided that with everything going on, I couldn't be bothered to go grocery shopping. I didn't have enough time to grocery shop, I wouldn't have enough time (or energy) to cook, and whatever was left over come the big moving day, would get thrown out. So we ate take out. Lots and lots of take out. And getting any type of exercise in?? ... Well I was sweatin like a pig moving boxes all over the house and cleaning what I could possibly bring myself to clean, that had to have counted for something .... right? Anyway, the big day arrived July 11. From that day til the end of summer, I was faced with too many "occassions" that added to my reasoning that grocery shopping was just going to be a waste of time. I left for Texas July 15 to spend 5 days with 11 of the greatest American women I've ever met. We spent that time eating and drinking (bud lite though, but I discovered lite in American just means "very little alcohol"). Actually, I'm scratching my Texas trip off my list contributing factors of why I am where I am today because the Texas heat, comparable to pitchin a tent on the sun, made me sweat out everything I ate, and I peed a lot, so what I drank didn't count either. And really, when I got back home, I felt lighter and my clothes were loose (that's my story and I'm sticking to it). The ensuing weeks however, were not spent in the Texas heat. They were spent in the BC rain (which meant a house full of beer and food), camping sites with coolers full of food & beer, and in fast food joints all over Calgary and southern Alberta. But I haven't had a decent-length couch session since June, so I was sure all that food wasn't going to make its to my hips and thighs, or the beer to my belly, but it has! And now here I am, mid-September, pulling out the winter clothes (because sadly, this is when Calgary winters roll in) and I find myself depending less on my belt to hold my pants up, but more to hold my pants closed because the bottons no longer reach the button holes. The zippers are still working though, so I have a little more time to get this under control. Not much though. They are starting to make funny sounds when I try to do them up. The disappointment is laughable, because what else am I going to do?? Cry like a bitch?? Even if I wanted to, I know I've probably earned it. I faced the same dilema last winter and January 1 2009, I decided I wanted to be skinny again. I said good-bye to my 3 glasses of orange juice and ginger ale a night, found a new route home where I didn't pass the the mc d's or the kfc, kicked my addiction to potato chips (with the help of enough episodes of Intervention to drill it into my head that kicking a potato chip addiction surely couldn't be as hard as kicking an addiction to, let's say, heroin), and and I hit the gym (the same gym that I joined 3 years ago, but had spent a total of 2 hours in that wasn't for a visit to the tanning bed, the same gym that my company pays the membership for because they believe in healthy employees, the same gym that I passed every day on my new route home), yep, I hit that gym ... hard! I got my smokers' lungs working over time and was able to jog for over 20 minutes out of 45 on the treadmil. I hit that gym so hard unfortunately, that I ended up with shin splints that hurt so bad I wanted to rip the bones out to caress them then give them shit. I turned to the eliptical trainer for support, but after a few more weeks of abandoning my child for trips to the gym, hundreds of dollars spent in the healthy food isles at the grocery stores, and spending more time cooking healthy meals than I could afford (and the fact that my shins just wouldn't heal), my 5 day-a-week gym regime slowly decreased, and by March, I had only put in 1 work out. By April, I was going to the gym just to use the tanning beds. But in defense of the tanning beds, tans hide cottage cheese legs more than a pair of tight jeans does anyway, but who wants to wear a pair of tight jeans when you're pitching a tent on the sun?? During my two months of trimming the chub, I reached a nice goal. I gained many compliments (which, depending on my mood made me either feel great and accomplished, or sad that my close friends and family hadn't told me I was getting that fat) and was also able to do up my pants without the help of a set of pliers. Not only that, but my muffin top had shrunk, almost invisible to those that would have never had a reason to see me wothout clothes on. Yes, over-all, I felt good. March doesn't seem like that long ago. And to be honest, I'm not feeling that great about March now. It was a lot of work that I was very proud of and I ate & drank it all away. And as harsh as it was to hear one of the men in my life tell me to either do something about it or quit complaining, there was something in that conversation that made me smile (even though I wanted to shove a handful of chips down his throat before he had a chance to chew them, or kick him in the shins until they hurt as bad as mine once did). He loves my body the way it is, but he can't stand being put in a position to either say the right thing or the very very wrong thing when I'm complaining to him about my weight. He's right. If my laughing about how this all happened is now to turning to tears (and I don't cry like a bitch for no good reason ...), it's time to put down the potato chips, unpack my gym bag, and re-familiarize myself with the healthy food isles at the grocery store. And to end this on a happy note, in the time it took me to write this blog, lunch is now close enough that I don't need to call down to my favorite take-out place on the 2nd floor to have my order of beloved hashbrown & greasy egg breakfast ready for me to pick up. I'm not saying I'm picking up where I left off in March, I'm just sayin ... I see how I did this to myself and know that what I may have in store for me in the next few months will require a healthier ME. I'll let you know what that just may be another time .....

PRE-BLOGGER BLOGS - Week 38 2009 Mom - 1, Kid - 0 (Sept 2009)

My kid started an argument with me last night. Last night was Sunday and she wanted her friend to spend the night. Being that it was a school night, I said NO. Well, you all know what happens when you say no to your kids ... they morph into evil little witch women. I don't know what happens to boys when you say no to them, I've never really heard any stories but I know all too well what happens to a hormonal pre-teen girl when you say NO. Driving a vehicle at those times becomes dangerous ... to yourself, to them, to others on the road. And I don't know if it's against the law to leave 12 year olds on the side of busy roads in the dark, but I imagine you get some sort of a tongue lashing from the police when they bring the kid back ... or you have deal with child protective services dropping in every now and then to make sure the kid isn't being kept in a box under the stairs. At any rate, I was in a rush to get home to watch the highlights of Big Brother, and pulling the car over to make the kid get out would have caused me to miss seeing Chima getting taken out of the house by the producers for destroying big brother property. I decided, in haste, to take part in the argument. She was arguing anyway, whether or not I was talking back. I guess I should probably explain why she thought I would say YES in the first place when she asked if a school friend could sleepover on a school night ... and this is a lesson to you all .... when you are on the 19th hole of a golf course and have just thrown back 6, YES 6, drinks and your kid calls asking for ANYTHING at all, get out of the conversation as fast as possible. Hang up the phone and call for back up. No matter who it is, get someone who doesn't compensate for their less than par golf skills by sitting in the cart with a pack of menthols and a 6 pack of beer cursing the t's, clubs, team-mates, beer cart lady, others on the golf course that aren't keeping up with your drinking games, someone else .... but at all costs, do not take part in that conversation. Because of my (drunken) generosity the night of the golf tournament, I had been pegged as a pushover (that along with many other battles surrendered over the years I'm sure, but we're not talkin' 'bout that ...) and my daughter thought this was a fight worth fighting. So did I. Unsure of whether or not she would make the rest of my night a living hell, I dropped the evil little witch woman off her friends for 30 mins of catching up on the latest gossip, the newest hottie of the school, all that stuff that is ever-so-important to the girls of junior high, and rushed to my couch to watch the highlights of big brother in silence. When I picked my kid up, she fought harder for her cause than I'd ever heard her fight (well probably not, but you get the point ....). For a 1 block lengthed conversation on our cell phones, she begged and pleaded, and made offers I've never heard her make in her life (and knew she would never keep). No way out of the heated debate, or to make the begging & pleading stop, and not wanting to waste another second of commercial time at the last part of big brother, I demanded she get out to the car alone and hung up. As I waited for her to surrender, I thought sure as shit I'd be in for one hell of an argument ... probably the battle of the year in which I would always look back and think that it really wasn't worth the fight in the first place. I was, however, very surprised. The evil little witch woman had surrendered. After 1 slam of the car door, she retreated. Almost in a way that terrified me ... like she was silently planning an attack in the dark if night. Her ambush never came though, the dust had settled. We enjoyed the last few minutes of big brother (and we both agreed that Kevin, and all his gayness, would win the half a mil this coming Tuesday) and she was eager to hear my advice on how she can make her hair puff up on the back without using 3 quarters of a bottle of hair spray. Bedtime came around, and yes, the fight was definitely over .... I got a hug, an I love you, the whole bit. I had won!!! Did I win?! Am I wrong to feel at ease? Is it naive of me to feel confident that I had in fact defeated the evil little witch woman without any bloodshed or visits from child protective services? Or should I be preparing my troops for an ambush? I think our troops should always be prepared, but I think this battle has been put to bed. Week 38 (2009) = mom 1, kid 0.

PRE-BLOGGER BLOGS - Almost home - August 31

I called my daughter last night to let her know I was almost home, and that it was time for her and her friend to get to bed. With a sweet innocent, (yes, I know .... deceptive) voice, she said ok. I pulled up to the house two hours later (I'm no fool .... I am ALWAYS "almost home" ... even when I was still a province and eight hours away was I "almost home"). As I pulled into the garage I noticed that my daughter must have forgot to turn the lights off in the computer room. As quickly as I turned around to grab some things out of the car, the computer room light went off. I dropped my crap on the kitched floor and tip toed up to my daughters room. Without so much as a knock, I opened the door. There lay my daughter on top of all her blankets, fully clothed, glasses still on. Little neighbourhood girl beside her, also on top of all the blankets, fully clothed, with her cell phone light still on from the last call or text sent or recieved! But their eyes were closed, they were breathing heavy, they must have been sleeping. "Get your pj's on and get to bed now!" I demanded. Response I received? "I am in bed ... I uh, was sleeping". I had to just stare to prove my point, or A point anyway. I then commented what a cool feature it was in our new house that the garage door opener controls the lights on the second floor.... I waited almost a full minute for a reaction, then finally saw the bed start to move under their belly's trying ever so hard to suppress their laughter, then a few slips. They were busted and thought it was pretty funny. Serves me right really for going out of town in the first place and not telling my daughter anything except that "I'm almost home."

PRE-BLOGGER BLOGS - F my life May 2009

For anyone that's visited the fmylife website, you will appreciate this short story I have to share. I guess before I continue, I should decide who I'm typing to when I say "you". I don't think anyone has read these, but it makes me feel accomplished when I type them. Just as I feel so accomplished for filling 5 spiral notebooks with 1 year of my depressing adolescence, that for my 30th birthday, I decided to have a fire, fueled of course by the notebooks. Moving on ... In fear that my true story (because let's face it, anyone who reads fmylife knows that most of it's bullshit, teenagers just trying to cause some internet dramatics with the people that leave comments) wont be published on the site of my newest addiction, I'm leaving it here because ... again, unsure of who I'm writing to, it's funny and sadly so true.

I spent $60 on a new hair cut & style to make myself feel better about turning 30. I was feeling great until I asked my young daughter what she thought. She said it looks just like her new cut. I looked in the mirror again and agreed. She's 11, and a 12 year old boy cut & styled her hair FOR FREE.

PRE-BLOGGER BLOGS - eyeliner, mascara, and the almost 12 year old - May 2009

My soon-to-be 12 year old stared at me yesterday, eyes caked with liner and mascara, and asked me if she would be allowed to wear make up in junior high. She starts junior high in 4 months. And I should also mention that when I say "staring at me", I mean looking down on me when standing toe to toe. Was she really asking me to give her permission to do something in the future that she has already done in the past? What does this mean? That deep down she respects my opinion? Or that she has figured out a way to out-smart me by making me think she respects my opinion, when in fact, she will continue to assume my answer was YES even though it was a loud & clear NO? And what is the real harm in letting an almost 12 year old wear eye liner and mascara? I'll share my opinion (assuming I'm entitled to one). My almost 12 year old stands over 5 feet, 3 inches tall. My almost 12 years old wears a B36 bra. My almost 12 year old looks, sounds and acts years beyond her age. My almost 12 year old is growing up too fast! My reply was three-fold, trying to leave as little damage in the Taco Bell as possible. #1) "I didn't start wearing make up until I was 27". Instant fail! A head tilt, a hand on the hip, and a good ol' fashioned rolling of the eyes. Ok, moving on .... #2) "How about if I catch you wearing it again before you start junior high, you wont be allowed to wear it until next year?" My strategy of answering a question with a question while adding threat potentially causing enough fear and frusteration to leave the previous near-altercation for a new, less complicated one. Fail! Not as misearably though (either the strategy worked and the fear had been planted or because she was saying "yeah, that will happen" in her almost 12 year old mind). #3) "Your allowance does not pay enough to buy cosmetics at Sephora". Pass! Her reply, "I can get 2 eyeliners at Wal Mart for, like, a buck". So, it's settled, my almost 12 year old will be wearing light coloured eye liner and mascara to start junior high. My almost 12 year olds successful negotiations made her very happy... until approximately 3 hours later when her next request was for me to think about letting her get her lip pierced. Fearing what the reply NO morphs most children into and not having the enegy to go over the negotiation process at 10 at night, I told her we would discuss that when she's an almost 16 year old.

PRE-BLOGGER BLOGS - I learned 2 things about my crush today - Nov28 2008

In the 2 years that my company has been in this building, I have been ordering turkey bacon club wraps from one of the lunch places on the second floor. The wraps are great, but most of all, I like the scenery while standing in line .... I developed my crush immediately. Dark, messy hair, soft spoken, HOT! I have never maintained a conversation lasting over 2 minutes with the guy, but everyday that I'm dressed & feeling my best, that's where I head to pick up my lunch (albeit this is not often) but again, it has only been 2 years. Today, I'm feeling particulary good, not because I look particularly good, but because my company Christmas party is tomorrow and I'm getting sexified ... er, excited. Aside from a battle I am having with an ingrown hair, everything seems to be falling into place .... my breasts into a great push up bra and an altered dress, my hips and ass(ets) into a body shaper, my spider veins into a pair of sheer black pantyhose, and my oddly narrow and long feet into a pair of heels that I almost twinge at the thought of the pain they will eventually inflict. All this coupled with the purchase of blush, liquid eye liner, and even a negligee (you must be wondering what kind of party this is .. ) has given me a womanly feel these last few days .... yes, I'm feeling particularly good. As the noon hour passes, I head to the place where I can order my usual. I begin to act my usual, as usual, which is no eye contact, a barely-there smirk, then quickly ends with " .... and olives on the side!" But as I rounded the corner to retrieve my order, I see a photocpy of a news paper article praising the sandwhich place and mentioning a second location (which I had actually learned about during my first conversation with my crush about 1 year ago). Perfect. A conversation piece. As my wrap is being prepped, I smiled big and piped up "wow, that must make you feel good!" (wtf?) He smiled and said, "Yep, I'm famous!" Really, that should have been MY line ... but I'm lame. I replied with an even bigger smile "YES YOU ARE!" Wink! Ok, no wink, but I was thinking about it. So we exchange a few words, then are interrupted by someone wanting to introduce him to customers. This is the part where my smile has now tripled in size compared to what he's probably ever seen (it's not because I'm a bitch or snob, or anything like that ... I am serious when I say I'm lame. I'm shy and nervous and awkward) ... ok, so back to my favorite of the 2 things I learned about my crush today .... His name is Rob! Anyone that knows me, knows that I think Rob is the sexiest of all sexy names. Well ... a dark messy haired, soft spoken hottie with the name Rob ... why don't you just kill me now! Or get out of my way .... I'm on a mission. I pondered this new discovery while he chatted with the customer, then turned his attention back to me. Well maybe not me so much as my wrap that is now smoking under the grill .... we chat it up a few more minutes. This is also a first, since I am already holding the wrap ... which at this point in the past, I would have already bolted thinking that by doing that gives him more reason to look at my ass(ets) which probably leaves him wondering when I'll be back ...right?? Anyway, the conversation had quickly turned to the discussion of weekend plans ... perfect ... "Yes, in fact, I'm spending the 2nd half of my weekend wearing my negligee in bed (with you) in the castle in the mountains after attending Christmas party all womanly sexified". My least fond discovery of my crush came right about then ... in telling me that he had attended a party at the same castle with "the Wife!" This left me with 2 assumptions ... 1) "The" Wife means A wife, just not HIS wife. 2) "The" Wife was his wife ... that he's since left in his dust. Either way, I decided it didn't matter. It took 2 years to get to this point in our relationship and it went a little faster than I was comfortable with anyway. I ceased all eye contact immediately, told Rob to have a good weekend and walked away, deciding this view of me was probably what he was going for when he mentioned The Wife!

PRE-BLOGGER BLOGS - Don't make me hate McDonalds November 2008

I received a youtube clip via e-mail today .... a lady talking about a mcdonalds hamburger that she's been carrying around for 4 years that just wont rot. The video also goes on to compare a regular slice of potato with a mcdonalds french fry. I've seen it before but it hasn't come up for discussion .... until today. The short discussion was between me and a few-inches-taller-and-several-pounds-lighter version of me. This isn't about the fact that I do wish I could re-proportion my "assets" every time this version of me walks by, but then again, maybe it is ...... Back to my point. I commented that I'd already seen the video and it sure hasn't stopped me from eating McDonalds. Thinking this was probably true for most people, she replied that she hasn't eaten it since she was "like 16"! Ok, so the difference between us might be more than a few inches and several pounds. I think McDonalds is genius for finding a way to preserve foods for such long periods of time. If we could preserve fruits and veggies and low fat yoghurt, let's say, as well as McDonalds preserves their "food" then perhaps the fruits & veggies & low fat yoghurt I buy each & everytime I vow that today IS the day wouldn't make it to the garbage just in time for trash day (or the odd time it gets shoved to the back on the bottom shelf in the fridge, just in time for it's fruit fly babies to hatch). This is something worth exploring ... think of the money we'd save buying never-rot foods. Well seriously, times are tough .....

PRE-BLOGGER BLOGS - What the hell Kelly Clarkson? June 2007

Where does Kelly Clarkson get off charging so much for a ticket to her concert? How many albums does she even have out, how long can the concert possibly be? She's an American Idol winner for chrissakes. Just because her name was screamed out in 40 Year Old Virgin, doesn't make her worth more as a performer than Avril Lavigne for example, whose tickets went for much less. She’s a good singer, don’t get me wrong, definitely one of my favourite artists that my 9 year old listens to, probably a show that is clean and appropriate for younger kids to attend. But come on ... And I’m talking about the crappy seats here, not even the floor or the first level. Not to mention all the different fees we have to pay on top of the ticket price. These artists who have a large fan base of young kids should realize that for every 2 concert tickets they sell to a fan, they are also selling a ticket to the parent that gets stuck (in most cases) taking the kids to the concert. Ok, well they the probably DO realize it and that's exactly why they charge what they do. And $40 for a child sized t-shirt that they will outgrow before the next album is released? Good job! After doing the math, if I decide to take to my daughter to see Kelly Clarkson in concert, I will spend almost as much as a one way ticket to Vegas would cost me (for crappy seats remember), which can & probably will include parking, a t-shirt, a drink, popcorn, and maybe even a hot dog. Nice!

PRE-BLOGGER BLOGS - Pebble's funeral - June 2006

The day that every parent dreads - the day the hamster wont wake up. It was a heart breaking day; I have never seen such pure pain in my daughter. It was much more devastating than the day we found the fish floating at the top of the tank and my, then 6 year old, asking if we could feed it to the cat. I actually shed a tear the day Pebble's died. Mostly because of what my daughter was going through, but also partly because I loved that little thing as well. I don't ever remember my childhood hamsters letting me put them in Barbie clothes or playing in Barbie’s talkin townhouse. Pebbles was also making progress with it's friendship with the cat. I sensed this because the few times the hamster did escape and I caught her toodling along the carpet, the cat was close behind, but did nothing. So after only a short 6 months, we buried Pebbles out by the garage, with a chopstick grave marker. Pebbles will be replaced one day, but not with the chihuaha my daughter wants.

PRE-BLOGGER BLOGS - Bad haircut of June 2006

Have you ever walked out of a salon thinking, Damn I look good? And have you ever looked in the mirror later that day thinking OH SHIT! I got my layers more 'defined' the other day and now I just want my hair back. Think Charlize Theron in North Country. Yeah, something along those lines ... yikes. Thankfully, my hair grows fast. And thankfully I sleep in often leaving roughly enough time for a 10 second glance in the mirror still fogged from the shower, that my hair ends up in a clip still wet. But still ....

PRE-BLOGGER BLOGS - A morning commute in June 2006

Well, we have 3 routes out of the cluster (f**k) of communities where I live leading to the rest of the city. The first, and usually easiest to downtown, is under construction. An interchange is being added, which has shut down a few sections of lanes within a 1-kilometer stretch of road in all 4 directions. The second, which is furthest from downtown and not a route I would take anyway, has the whole intersection closed for the next 30 days for water mane repairs. Between the two closure, people wishing to leave the 7 communities north of the construction zones, are choosing the middle exit. Immediately after my 35 minutes of chaos to get out of the house, the commute turns to a 40km/h coast among mini-vans. Good thing a new Tim Hortons opened and is located conveniently on a road in which fewer commuters take to lead them to the hell in the middle exit (you thought I was going to say East didn’t you??). So the drive is smooth for awhile. Until we hit the #1 Highway, or 16 Avenue. Yes, the same highway that runs across all of Canada runs directly through our city (most of it 2 lanes … figure that one out …). This section, where I get onto the Deerfoot, is 6 lanes …. 4 of which are CLOSED. These are the two busiest roads in Calgary. Good thing I have my coffee. And really, when I compare it to what I used to go through to get to work (and believe me, we’ll get there) - when I was a c-train commuter - there is really no contest. So I am thirty minutes late for work, but with coffee, my music, and my menthol lights, it's rather enjoyable way to spend a chunk of the morning.