Friday, November 27, 2009

lonely Black Friday letters

Hello Friday. My, how the months have flew by ... it's the last Friday of November, 29 more days until Christmas, 35 more days until 2010, and another edition of Letters of Intent from Foursons blog. And if I get this typed up fast enough, I'll be the 1st letter since most of you readers are either still sleeping off your turkey hangovers or are getting bailed out of jail for getting into fist fights with other black friday shoppers at the Wal Mart ... (and I'm sorry, but I'm in a potty mouth kinda mood today ... you'll see ....)

Letters of Intent

Dear T-Bone ....

Thanks for the fun last night. It's been a long time since I was ever so desired ... was very very happy to learn that schnoo schnoo was not a thing of our past (I win!) Good thing I shaved (You win!) And how proud are you of me that I only hit snooze 3 times this morning and not 8? I told you I was capable of change! Actually, I think my exact words were "fuck off!" But I told you ... don't mess with me in the mornings, I'll change when I'm good n ready.

Dear lady with the platinum blonde mullet with the black roots ....


Dear man in elevator carrying a murse (?) ....


Dear Sydnerella ....

You rock! Not only are you a great kid (minus the 3 days that you spew pure evil because of your monthly visitor), you are showing so much happiness since we moved, you are a beautiful girl, and now are on the honour roll? I win!

Dear High Heels .....

Are you fucking kidding me? What corner of hell did you crawl out of? You do not expect me to wear you around the party tomorrow do you? Not gonna happen. I win!

Dear body shaper (aka girdle) ....

I love you.

Dear growing body ....

You thought you'd get me down this time didn't ya? Nice try. And I wont even have to squish you into that pair of shiny pants that fit back in August to prove it. I bought a dress. That's right ... a dress. That covers your rolly ass belly without the scarves that I've been wearing almost daily. I win!

Dear Silly Sally ....

I am wearing those flats to my party, as much as it's probably killing you ... when you have this much weight to carry on tiny little pegs, you'll know ... and I tend to over-drink at my Christmas parties ... why I would I just make it that much easier on myself to fall down? Or look drunker? I win!

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Silly Sally and her big sister

Welcome back readers. It's time for True Story Tuesday, brought to us by Rachel and Mr Daddy over at Once Upon a Miracle.

Way back ... way way back, my friend and I were about 7 years old, and my sister, Silly Sally hadn't yet turned 5. We had been playing outside on the opposite side of the street all day. Down several blocks to the park, in forts of friends in the alleys, in yards and houses ... again, all on the "other" side of the street. It was summer and back in those days, you're kids could take off the entire day only to be called in for dinner and the worst you worried about was tending to a scrapped knee or a popped blister from the monkey bars. This particular day, we headed home early. Upon getting to the house though, we faced a dilemma. Not a dilemma like ... ‘we're late, what will we say?’ Or ‘my new shoes have scuff marks, who will we blame it on?’ Not even a dilemma like: we had raided the wrong neighbors’ tulip bed and they'll definitely rat us out (of course we never did that ... cough cough) No, our real and frightening dilemma was that the pavers have been to our street. There was a fresh sheet of asphalt laid out, and we'd be stuck on the wrong side of the street for all of eternity. We're 7 in this story remember .... Given that this was 23 years ago, I don't know if we contemplated our situation for hours or minutes, but we finally reached a solution. WE meaning ME… I yelled at my lil sis Silly Sally, "Why don't you run across first and see what happens!" (lots of emphasis on YOU) Always quick to please at that age, but still a little apprehensive (understandably), she replies "What if my shoes melt?" Now all three of us can see this fresh sheet of asphalt is hot ... steaming hot. Sill Sally was right, her shoes might melt. My solution to that (to spare her new shoes?) ..... "Take them off!!"….. And oh yes she did. Silly Sally, not wanting to disappoint her big sister, did as she was told suggested and took her shoes off to run across the fresh sheet of asphalt standing between us and the house. That evening, my friends mom (a loyal follower to my blog ... Lady Dee) had more to worry about than bandaging a popped monkey bar blister. She spent the better part of the evening consoling my little sister with the burnt feet, in the bath tub trying to get the asphalt off her soles. Silly Sally has since forgiven me, but at times, I'm not so sure .....

Friday, November 20, 2009

more itty bitty letters

I was just about to let this Friday go unblogged, but I've been 'accidentally' coming in to work earlier than I ever thought I could and I have some time to kill ... and I guess, a few things to get off my chest ... all good stuff though. Kinda. I love Fridays. Fridays mark the end of the week, Fridays mark the day I get to wear jeans to the office (although I will admit I liked wearing jeans a who lot more 20lbs ago ... ), and Fridays mark Letters of Intent day. Head on over to Foursons blog to read more letters, or to add your own (I say that as if there are so many more reading my letter that didn't find it through Julie to begin with ..... I can imagine can't I?)

Letters of Intent

Dear Calgary Weather,

I heart you! I got to wear capris the other day. Sure it was freezing and those without garages had to scrape the frost off their windshields the very next day, but it's capri weather again today! Sweeet. I know you had to throw that frosty day in the week to remind us how bad we could have it right now. Thanks for keeping us on our toes. And thanks for the sunny days and the warm chinooks in November. This will not go unappreciated.

Dear Girl that cleans my house,

I'm sure happy that you're the anal neat freak of the family. I don't know how I ended up being the slob, but it obviously worked out for the best. My house smells so nice, my bathrooms are sparkly, and my stove looks as if T-Bone never cooked on it before.

Dear Sydnerella,

I heart you! And your hair does look fabulous when you leave it to dry curly. It looked fur-izzy yesterday, that flat iron will kill it. And also, stop leaving your eye-liner shavings on the bathroom counter, Girl that cleans my house had a hard time getting it off.

Dear lady that came in to work drunk today,

You might not want to leave your desk or answer your phone or do much else. Umm, yeah don't know what else to say about that ....

Dear noon hour poker players,

I think I heart you the most. 4 hours to go ... shuffle up n' deal ....

Dear Bell,

In yo face bitches!


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Tgif Pictures

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

WTF Wednesday

So I spent the last 15 minutes or so gathering pics for WTF Wednesday when I came across one that hits close to home, so I thought I'd share my little story

First, the pic:

Now, the story:

T-Bone and I were spending a low key Saturday night together. We planned to stop at Pizza Hut, place our order for take out, hit the video store to grab our DVD's, then back to Pizza Hut to pick up our order. Unfortunately, the closest Pizza Hut has been known to have THE worst service of any other place in the NE. Literally, I've had people at our table get doused with chocolate milk, complete orders forgot, uncooked pizza brought to our table, and have even been left seated once without ever having anyone come back to take our order. But, I was craving the Pizza Hut and you know how it is when you get a craving .... We decided to take our chance, and hey, take out surely couldn't be as bad as eating in. Well Pizza Hut proved that to be wrong and hit a new low that night ..... I stood in line with T-Bone for close to 5 minutes before we got to the counter. Dine-in guests paid, delivery guys picked up their orders, and the stupid people in the back scratched their asses. I'm guessing. Finally, after the place cleared out, we got to the counter to place our order. The woman taking the order (we’ll call her Empty Between the Ears) listens to us rattle off our whole order before informing us of something so-very-important. Now remember, we're at Pizza Hut, so we ordered - along with salad & wings - pizza! The so-very-important information Empty Between the Ears forgot to tell us when we walked in the door was that Pizza Hut was out of dough!!! How do you even respond to that? I believe our reaction was just to stare at her for a moment, then ask "Are you kidding?", then look at each other, then back at her to ask again, "Really?”. Empty Between the Ears confirmed that we heard her right, they were out of dough, but assures us they will have more dough tomorrow! Not in an hour, or later than evening, but tomorrow. Great lady, thanks. This wasn't like when I waited for way too long at A&W after ordering poutine only to be informed that they were out of gravy, which didn’t leave me too happy either, but at least it's something you can understand. I can understand a place running out of condiments or garnishes, hell even the syrup for their pop machines. But Pizza Hut running out of dough?! That's like McDonalds running out of french fries, Subway running out of buns, or Outback running out of steak. You close the damn doors for the night because no further service is worth it. Or at the very, very least, you put a sign at the damn doors so your customers aren't waiting in line for 5 minutes knowing what they are going to order and knowing they aren't getting it. And to make Empty Between the Ears confirm to us that she was supremely empty between the ears, she asked if we would still like our salad and wings! I shit you not. That was a total WTF moment and finding this pic made me laugh out loud remembering it.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

True Story Tuesday

Well for a Tuesday, and a work day, so far so good. We're expecting about 10C, I got to work just before 7:30 (which means I can leave before 4pm), I put together a new outfit that I'm liking from clothes I already had, I think my hair looks pretty decent, I think I have my new blackberry bought from Shady Man figured out, and of course, it's time for True Story Tuesday, brought to us by Rachel and Mr Daddy over at Once Upon a Miracle. Head on over there for more true stories, and to add your own.

Today's story isn't funny at all, but I'm sure it's one that all of you can relate to and probably have a few of your own. As parents, we all know what our greatest fear is. And even though most are false alarms, I'm sure we've all had the bejeezus scared out of us by our little angels. This has happened to me more than a few times, but these ones in particular stand out as the worst .... I can remember having such a knot in my gut, my knees going weak, and not being able to concentrate (I'd be horrible in the event of a real disaster).

Sydnerella was maybe 5 years old when Silly Sally's ex boyfriend thought it would be funny to take her to hide in a rack of clothes in Sears and not answer his cell phone when Silly Sally called to ask him if he had my daughter. It didn't take long for the fear to kick in, we were standing at the entrance to the biggest mall in Calgary from the Sears doors and I almost flipped right out. My legs turned to jello and I barely made it over to the perfume counter to sputter out to the nice lady working it that I couldn't find my child. I was holding myself up on the counter at that point because I think my legs had buckled. Just as she was reaching for the phone, I spotted a reflection in the mirror behind nice Sears lady of Sydnerella and the ex hiding in a rack of clothes laughing. I was too light headed to do much else but grab Sydnerella, but nice Sears lady gave the ex an earful and he's lucky she didn't drop kick him in the face, which we learnt much later on that he deserved for so many other reasons.

When Sydnerella was just old enough to play in the bath without me sitting on the toilet seat talking on the phone or reading a book. We had just got comfortable with me being other places in the house with no music or TV so I could still hear everything upstairs (in my teeny tiny shoe box) while she splashed away for sometimes close to an hour. As long as I could hear the splashing, she was ok. I was ok. One particular day, I couldn't hear the splashing. So I called her name, couldn't hear anything. I only had to try twice before I leaped up the stairs, I swear 3 at a time, and as I rounded the corner on the landing where I normally would have been able to see Sydnerella in the tub, I couldn't see anything but what looked like an empty bathroom. This time, I didn't take the steps 3 at a time, I literally leaped from the landing to the tub and was just about to throw myself in to pick little Sydnerella up when I came face to face with her - laying in the shallow water that covered her ears, with a big smile, a little doll that bouncing on her belly, singing softly .. so content. I fell on the toilet and sat there recovering my stroke for the rest of her bath. And for every bath after that ... actually I still do and it pisses her off. Well, ok, I don't but still ....

Now that the scene has been set, I can share with you my story for today. Yesterday, I was working away when I got a call from Sydnerella. It was about 8am. She said she wasn't feeling well again, and wasn't sure she could make it to school. She was already on the couch for 6 days before Halloween but really hasn't seemed 100% since then, so I told her to go back to bed and call me when she woke up. It wasn't until about 11am that I realized she hadn't called yet, so I called home. No answer. I called her cell. No answer. I waited another 10 minutes, then tried each number again. No answer. I decided at that point that she must have went to school, because as heavy of a sleeper as Sydnerella is, she is addicted to her cell phone and doesn't miss calls ... ever. Well noon came, so I called again because being out for lunch, she'd be able to answer. Nothing. After another 15 minutes of repeated unanswered calls, I started to freak out. My bwf (best work friend) offered to drive me to my car so I can speed home. Being this would still take upwards of 20 minutes, I even put a call into a good friend who lives a block from my house to go bang on the doors, and start bustin out windows if there's no answer. She was on it! But before I even got to my car, and I'm still repeatedly making calls like a mad woman, she finally, finally answered the phone. A very groggy and quiet Hello! Well sumbitch! Her phone had dropped off her bed down the wall and she couldn't hear it. She'll never know the fear that she put in me, and it's not even her fault. I'm blaming the media, Health Canada, the person that was making out with the pigs in Mexico, whatever. I was very honestly scared of this damn H1N1. All I could think of while all this was happening was the 13 year old hockey player that died 2 weeks ago in Ontario. I thought horrible things while I was trying to reach Sydnerella. After I picked us up some Burger King for lunch, I grounded her ass for doing what she did to me. No, I didn't really, but I wanted to. And now I have to price out medicalert, or lifeline, or try to get a GPS implanted under her skin so I can always find her ....

Monday, November 9, 2009

I punched myself in the face

I came into work today limping .... on both legs! My upper right thigh has a bruise ... an inside bruise I guess because I can't see it, but it hurts like a bitch. And the arch of my left foot feels like my foot was bent upwards while someone banged an itty bitty hammer on it. This was the work of the roughest soccer game I've played in. My thigh started throbbing after I was knocked to the ground, right onto the ground, by some little gorilla with a leg brace who proceeded to shove me in the back everytime she got behind me. Wtf is that? If the ball came my way while she was behaving like a little child waiting for the candy store doors to open I would have been knocked down again, and I know this was her intent, but why? We aren't training for the olympics out there. I had to come off the field a little later on in the game because I took a ball in the face, yep, right in my mouth. I made sure all my teeth were still in my head and went back out to play. Hesitantly. Minutes later, I punched myself in the face, which actually hurt a lot more than when I took the ball in the mouth. You read that right, I punched myself in the face! Not because I was trying a new strategy on the field by showing the other team they better give me the damn ball or I'll go mental, I punched myself in the face because I was slammed against the boards while my hands were up and my face was in the way. This left a mark on my lip where my teeth almost went through. After the birds stopping circling my head , I left the field  again to make sure I still had all my teeth. I can't even tell you how I hurt the arch of my foot though, probably from running for my life away from the little gorilla in the leg brace. I don't know if anyone else noticed, but she had horns hidden under her head band and steam coming out of her nostrils. She took out a few more of our players, and she wasn't just going after the women, she took out some of the guys too. That little gorilla needs anger management, or a hug, haven't decided. She acted like they haven't won a game this season ... oh right, they haven't won a game yet, and as if we were about to award them with that privledge after the way they were barelling over us, and through us. Bitches. So we took them down. Not down in the same way I was taken down, even though I did go up against a little fruitcake in a bandana with tattoos up his arms and ran off with the ball while he picked himself up off the field and asked if I was ok ... (that's right! I did it!), we took them down by winning 5-4. Later last night I talked a bit to Sydnerella about getting shoved around or knocked down and she looked at my like I was nuts (it's soccer, mom, duh), which I guess I was nuts for asking. I do watch her on the field from the bench, pretty intently too, and I've never seen her shoved down (tripped maybe, but never shoved). But I guess it's because, unlike me, she's solid. About 5'4" and probably 125lbs. Not fat, solid. The little midgets on the field bounce off her when they come in contact. If she was playing football with these same kids, she'd be the one carrying the ball into her end zone for a touch down while the entire opposing team is hanging off her trying with all their might to take her down. Solid. Sydnerella laughed at me while I limped away, again checking to make sure none of my teeth were loose. So I spent last night babying my shin, arch, and thigh, and plotting my revenge. I have to get more aggressive out there appearantly, and it was suggested to me that I not punch myeslf in the face next game. Got that, thanks!

Friday, November 6, 2009

little letters

Happy Friday, it's time for

Letters of Intent

brought to us by Foursons.

Dear crazy lady who sent an e-mail out accusing someone in the office of stealing the soil from you plant,

You're weird and the cleaners probably knocked your plant over and vacuumed up the mess. My guess is that nobody stole your soil. Because really, why would anyone do that?

Dear shady man that sold me a red blackberry out of your backpack with the cops standing behind us,

I hope you get this browswer enabled & the phone registered like you said you would. And if not, I hope you're a nice shady man that agrees to give my money back. I know this sounds unlikely, but I don't have buckets of money laying around the house and I feel dumb enough for going ahead and buying the phone when I decided you looked shady, but it doesn't mean I deserve to be ripped off.

Dear Bell mobility,

I hate you and all you stand for.

Dear Sydnerella

I saw what you did to clean you're room and I don't feel sorry for you that you can't find your iPod. Maybe, just maybe it's in the 2 foot high pile of crap in your closest that used to be all over your bedroom. Sorry, can't & wont help you out. Love you.

Dear time wasted (aka Sydnerella's dad),

I actually kinda hope that Sydnerella did lose her iPod because you are a real POS for buying it for her. Sure she may have loved you for it at the time, but she's on to you, don't kid yourself. I appreciated though that after I told you I had just spent over five billion dollars on school fees, school clothes, and soccer fees & equip, not to mention everything I paid for all summer, including oh, I don't know ...buying my house that you decided an iPod was so necessary, even though there are 3 mp3 players kickin around that Sydneralla was more than happy using. I'm glad that you have finally learnt to prioritize. She still likes me better btw. Oh and I did not appreciate the drunken call I got from you the other day asking if we can "hook up for a session" ... yuck!

Dear Friday, coffee, and free breakfast,

How I love you so.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Class, Las Vegas style

Ahhh Tuesday ... not really much I want to say about this particular Tuesday, except that it's True Story Tuesday here on blogger and that means if you're reading this, there are several more stories over at Once Upon A Miracle that will probably make you smile. I'm not writing a new True Story ... I am yet again recycling an old blog (thanks again Kmama). My mind is at full capacity right now with 2 "issues" and I'm being lazy. I was up until 1am in deep relationship talk with T-Bone, and by deep I mean me trying to express some concerns I have and him responding with #1. "I wish everyone would just bottle things up the way I do". and #2. "You have to entice me by dancing at the foot of the bed!" .... And the second issue is internet people related which has, yet again, left me wondering if I was in the wrong for speaking my mind ... maybe I should take T-Bone's advice and just keep things bottled up. I can shake my head and flip the bird to the computer screen all I want and nobody needs to know. Except maybe those who can see me at work, but I can talk my way out of that I'm sure .... So not to get myself more irritated with the thoughts of last night's conversation that didn't go as planned and crap I've read from grown ass women today that I no longer want in my life (or on my facebook I should say), I'm taking you to one of my favorite times, the weekend that I turned 28, when my ass hit the pavement on the Las Vegas Strip ...

May 2007
I‘m coming out of one of the hotels on the strip (didn‘t remember which hotel until I saw the pics when we got home .... it was the Excalibur and I'm only assuming this because there's a pic of me groping an armour clad statue). It’s late, it's hot and I see a sprinkler. Running off margaritas, jello shooters, and pizza pretzels, I make a mad dash for the water (to cool off??) First flip-flopped foot down on the wet pavement and it's out from under me. First thing to hit the ground? My left hip .. and I got some weight on these hips, it wasn't a delicate fall I can assure you. I went down! My pride was bruised (until I pounded back another margarita) and 2 days later, so was my body. My entire (and did I mention before - BIG) hip and my arm (the arm that was, no doubt, holding up my cigarette because heaven forbid I sacrifice a Marlboro menthol to break this fall) is sore. My kidney area is sore too, but I'm thinking that's not a result of the fall, but indeed an after-effect of what caused the fall, which I also have an explanation for.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

soccer blog (or just a blog while drinking wine!)


So I played soccer tonight, my 3rd game EVER (not including pre-adulthood or any game that us parents played against our kids for fun) and I rocked. Not rocked like scored a bunch of goals - or A goal, but I played loads o' shifts and for much longer than I ever have AND I saved a goal. Ok, our goalie may have saved it whether or not I kicked it out of his way, but I still rocked. People told me so! I have a feeling I'll be paying for tonights game for a few days to come. I literally thought I was having a stroke by the time I was almost home, I was seeing stars, or something twinkly in my line of vision that prevented my from reading the labels on the bottles of wine in the liquor store, and because after 45 minutes I was still sniffing and breathing hard. Are those symptoms of a stroke? Anyway, I have the house to myself and decided to pop on the pc to read some soft porn blogger with my glass of wine to add a cool new pic to my page because I am so very officially a soccer mom. If I was another glass or 2 into this bottle, I'd put my new Coach's shirt on and take a racy pic to prove it!

The soccer story condensed: My daughters first soccer game was about 6 years ago. She was on a co-ed team and they played 30 minutes every Sunday for a few months just blocks away from the house. Basically, they just charged us a small fortune fee to watch our kids chase the ball around a 1/2 gym while the goalies hung off the bars of the nets showing off their acrobatic skills. But the fees included the cutest little jerseys, we picked up the teeniest little shin pads and our team, Spiderman, was the start of our soccer lives. **And I just have to mention the day that they had to pause the game because Sydnerella's tooth fell out and she had to come hand it to me to make sure the tooth fairy would come that night** We skipped the following year and tried basketball, because EVERY tall person SHOULD be good a basketball player, but I can't recall if Sydnerella ever actually touched the ball, so basketball was out and the following indoor season, soccer was back in. That was her U8 season. She played indoor only until U12 when we gave outdoor a shot, and right then and there like we had shot our 1st hit of heroin we were hooked. I say WE because as much as Sydnerella bitches and complains each and every year I hit up registration day at the sportsplex, I know she loves it. I KNOW she loves it. I've been the bench mom all her indoor seasons (they don't have benches in outdoor, so I guess they don't need us), which has given me the honour of being included in team pictures, awarded medals when awarded to the team (oh YES, there was a gold medal in there!), and also gave me the opportunity to plan little parties to celebrate the seasons end. With the exception of the time I showed up at Chuck E Cheese, maybe still drunk from an important work party the night before but definately hungover, and had to run the party before retreating the darkest quietest corner praying for death, the parties were a success. I became friends with the soccer parents, lived vicariously through my daughter for years, and finally decided it was time to turn it up a notch. Not only did I take the offer to be this seasons manager, which earned me a gate pass for the soccer centre & the shirt that has COACH stitched right on it, I did the unthinkable (for this out of shape smokin lazy ass .. and not smoking like sexy hot - well, ok yes smokin hot, but smoking as in, need to smoke cigarettes to function like a normal human being...), I joined a soccer team! A freakin co-ed soccer team. Which brings me to why I am sitting here at 10pm on a Sunday night drinking a bottle of wine by myself. Did I say bottle? I mean, glass of wine. I popped on here for the cute new little pic to the right, but as I google searched "soccer mom" for images, this is what I found:

I can assure you, this is NOT what I as a soccer mom looks like, and I can assure you this is not what any soccer mom that I've met looks like. In fact, this isn't even a soccer mom, this is just a ho. Can you imagine? I'd kicked a ball at her head (and I could cuz I'm that good) and cause a stampede somehow that would trample on her popping her ... balls! Not jealous AT ALL, just sayin ... she aint no soccer mom from up here in the Upper Hood. As I got all offended that this is what men probably think of when they hear the term "soccer mom" and are sorely disappointed when I appear ... I found this:

Which made my whole mission of tonight's stop on blogger worth it, however at this point in the bottle of wine is a little questionable. But it made me forget about soccer ho and how offended I was ... Now that's what I call a soccer dad!