Dear blasted shin splints ...

It's Friday (thank freaking god) and it's time for Letters of Intent, brought to us by Julie over at Foursons.

It was either this letter, or a letter to the 17 pound pumpkin I grabbed yesterday and had to leave gutted with just a mouth because I started to develope blisters from carving the big bastard. And because it was pushing 9 o'clock which meant Survivor time! Didn't end up catching most of it anyway because I was competing with my daughter over who could catch the most popcorn in their mouths when throwing it high in the air. She won, which means I get to vacuum all the popcorn that was left all over the living room when I get home tonight. Here's my letter ....

Dear Shin Splints:

Go away, you painful little fuckers. I can feel you creeping back into my body but I am serious this time. I was serious the first time too, and if I could kick your ass for what you did back then, I would. You stole something from me that I will never forgive you for. I loved the treadmil. I loved the music, the sweat dripping down my face, the accomplishment I felt when I was able to run a whole minute, then eventually 3, all the way up to 8. It was a real love and you destroyed it. I tried to get as close with the eliptical trainer, I kept the music turned up, I moved fast, I sweated then too, but it wasn't the same. And I gave it an honest try, I swear I did. And sometimes when I tried to get back to my 1st love even just to get through Let it Rock or Piece of Me (yes it's Brittney Spears .. don't judge ...), you crippled me again. And much worse. So I rubbed, and iced, and heated, and stretched, and whatever else I thought would make you go away, and after 4 week, I kicked your ass. But it was too late. I lost my feelings for the treadmil and although I think back to that time with fond memories, and I get a little tingley if ya know what I mean, it's lost. Maybe not forever, but for now, I've moved on. I found a new love. It's harder than the treadmil, but I get to wear ugly shoes and a fancy jersey. And you blasted shin splints, I get to cover you up with hard sweaty plastic guards and thick socks. I get to run around a big piece of green felt chasing a ball while others run around me, faster and with better judgement. Some bigger, some smaller, some gentle, and some just damn mean. I cough and sweat and turn red, but it's a love that is developing and I know you can't stand it. I can feel it. Not all the time, and not even on the field. But when I get home to unwind, I can feel you. I can feel you when I press. And I hate you. I will kick your ass again before you ruin this too. This love I am not willing to give up, I will fight for it. You better believe it. Fuckers.

For your listening pleasure ..... who the hell doesn't want to just jump out their chairs and start dancing hard or running around when they hear this song? Love it ......

the little things that make a big difference ...

I haven't decided yet if it's sad that I sometimes feel like I have nothing of real value going on in my life that makes this little stuff put such a big smile on my face, or if it's a good thing that I can smile so easily because that means that I am a generally happy person. A few minutes ago, I walked into my office kitchen to get a coffee. The coffee would have been a house blend with my low fat french vanilla creame. Low fat not because I have done anything to try to get my newly packed on 17lbs off my body, but because the store in the lobby of the building only sells low fat french vanilla creamer. Wtf? What surprised me when I walked in the kitchen just now was that there was a full array of coffees to choose from, and yes, my FULL O FAT french vanilla cream that the company used to provide before we moved buildings. OOhhhh heaven here I come. Sure they needed time to get us all settled in the building and they figured that making sure we all had desks, computers, networks, etc, that the coffee would come later, but what they didn't realize was that with every cup of coffee I drank that tasted like tha poop, I was slowly dying inside. I was outwardly bitter, and decided that instead of getting right to work when I turned on my office computer, I had to blog, or read blogs, or look at wtf pictures, or look on kijiji for cell phones. How the hell was I supposed to wake up when I didn't have a decent cup of coffee? Decaf breakfast blend? Are you kdding me, isn't that what we could call an oxymoron? I was almost reduced to tears one hormonal morning last week because I literally had to dump out two cups of coffee because the taste of tha poop was too much to bear. I stormed through the maze of our new office to the elevator, rode down 40 floors to the lobby where I hoped on the escalator to take me to the 2nd level where I would gain access into the building across the street using the brilliant +15 system, passing (I kid you not) two Starbucks within spitting distance of each other (oh yes, I passed them, the nastiest of all poop tasting coffee for 7x the price), walking fast & hard into the other building, glaring & growling at anyone and everyone that got in my way. And as I came out of the +15, that's when I spotted it .... the A&W. OOohhhh, the A and the Dub! Helloooo greasy breakfast! How complete I felt at that moment. I didn't order my usual of over-easy eggs with toast, bacon, and hashbrowns, but I walked past slowly, oohhing and awwing, taking it all in, putting that discovery in my back pocket so that one day, when I was craving the grease, I'd run down and get me some breakfast. Completely forgetting the rant I was on, I hopped on the escalator down to the Tim Hortons while I stared back up at the A&W until I couldn't see it any longer. I so happily waited in the line up of about 1/8 of the population of down town to get my fix, then skipped back to work whistling show tunes with my coffee. Aaahhh the little things ........

WTF Wednesday

conversations with kicked in the head by a horse lady

It's time for True Story Tuesday again, found at Once Upon a Miracle. There are some good reads over there, check it out if you have time.




Here's my story for today ...

Not that I have to mention this again, but I love my job, I've been here forever so it seems. And I loved the floor that I used to work on and most of the people on it - when they aint on my face-smacking list. When they're off my face-smacking list, I like them again. And, no, I am not just typing this in case someone in our IT department reads our stuff and makes a point of telling somebody that I was brown-nosing to the few people that may read this ... I really am one of those dorks you see that genuinely loves their jobs! Kicked in the head by a horse lady was on my floor for under a year (MY floor because my department was there first!) and she brought a small entourage with her. We call them "Land". Land is a group of people that work in the industry with a much higher tolerance to alcohol. This is built up as land babies as they are invited to (or create) more functions than the rest of us, and they have less hours in a work day than we do which is why it's easier for them to come in the day after a bender. They are funny and personable, and come from all walks of life (well all walks of life in this industry means either Edmonton, down East, Saskatchewan, and on rare occassion, even Calgary). Land departments are full of Chandler Bing type people .... nobody outside of Land knows what they do. They make a lot of money, but we're not quite sure why. From the bottom up, they are united and I have yet to hear of a land person that has ever been fired. This brings me back to kicked in the head by a horse lady. I was in the kitchen minding my own business, just spreading some peanut butter on my toast when she walks in (I may have just been eating spoonfuls out of the jar, but nobody will even know for sure ....), she watches me for a minute, then say OH. PEANUT BUTTER. HAVE YOU EVER TRIED NUTELLA? Who hasn't? That stuff was fantastic. Chocolate sandwhiches? Hellooo. She looked a little miffed, or put out, or confused - ya never can tell with those glazed over eyes, but she almost yelled at me WHY AREN'T YOU EATING THAT THEN? Um, well I just have the peanut butter. HOW COME? Well I don't know, that's what I bought the last time I was at Sobey's. BUT IF YOU LIKE NUTELLA THEN WHY WOULDN'T YOU BE EATING NUTELLA?? I don't know ... make it stop, too many questions ..... I'm possibly not eating Nutella right now for the same reason that I'm not drinking a 6 pack of Strongbow right now. I really like it, just don't have any on hand. Most likely that's really not the reason beause I'm sure the ramifications of eating chocolate sandwhiches in the office would not be the same as if I was drinking wobbly-pops in the office ... I turn into a big flirt when I drink excessive amounts of wobbley-pops and I'm sure a 6-pack of Strongbow would probably be considered excessive at the office after the show I'd surely put on. And kicked in the head by a horse lady just walked out of the kitchen all air-headed like as if she was either completely satisfied with the result of the conversation or completely forgot she had even spoken to anyone. I hung back quite confused, staring at my peanut better toast almost with regret, craving chocolate sandwhiches.

WTF Wednesday

no shitting in the pool

I wasn't going to write anything up today because I 'm pretty busy at work, but then I was given a brilliant idea from Kmama at The Daily Dribbles (thanks a bunch) and decided I have a True Story Tuesday addition after all from 2006 that I can recycle too .... thanks Rachel, for bringing us .....

I had a disgusting day at the wave pool yesterday one day back in 2006. And it wasn't because the pool had to be evacuated for an hour because of a floating turd, which it DID! But because ... well, you have to brace yourself because the following might make you want to hurl ... (especially any man readers) ... the disgusting day that started with a happy mom, an even happier 8 year old, that had already earned a story with the floating turd ended in a most disgusting way (and no, a floating turd isn't disgusting compared to what's coming ....) My daughter was using a shower room while I was changing when she yelled at me to come "get rid of this" .... "This" was on the shower floor and looked like a wad of kleenex with nose bleed on it ....Ok, gross, but nothing that would make me toss my cookies. I shook my head and cringed, grabbed some paper towel to get rid of it .... here it comes, it's really bad and I'm sorry ... It was NOT in fact a wad of kleenex with nose bleed on it (getting my drift yet?) ... I didn't realize until AFTER I picked it up ....that, yes, it was, in fact, a feminine napkin that had been (I'm making it worse) smeared all over the floor. I told you … sick sick sick. I gagged, and gagged, and gagged. We got out of there as quickly as possible and I haven't been able to convince myself to go back.

my face smackin list

I am adding t-bone to face smackin list ... I don't want to blog much about him because, well I just don't ... but I'm adding him today because I am blaming him, and only him, for my computer getting a virus that just caused me to lose 5 years worth of saved e-mails and contacts. I spent 4 hours at my faux-husbands house getting the damn thing fixed & I'm pretty sure that t-bone is on my faux-husbands face smackin list because this is not the 1st thing that t-bone has turned to shit with his touch that I've had to call for my faux-husband to rescue me over. I am blaming t-bone because of the shortcuts that were on my desktop with teeny little vagina and penis pics. I will admit I have been on one of the sites (on rare occasion), but it's pretty safe for me to assume that t-bone's visits are more frequent. And because the computer has never mucked up to that extent before with my sporadic visits to youporn, I'm blaming t-bone and adding him to my face smackin list. Anyway, back to the point of my writings today. It's in reply to a few comments that were left to me on my Letter of Intent about my face smackin list by foursons & Julie. I think this is when it came about (face smackin list) ... it's a longer read, but it's going to have an update in the future I'm sure, so I figured I'd mention it again. And because I added it and nobody read it, and the whole reason I started this blog was so that people other than Silly Sally could read my crap updates sometimes :) 

Dear office cleaners

It's Friday, which means I'm typing up a guick n dirty addition to Foursons




Dear office cleaners,

Thank you. Thank you for leaving all 3 kitchen garbage’s full overnight after a big office move. It was a pleasant way to start the day ... the putrid smell of mold and rot wafting through the air as I tried to get my first cup of coffee of the day. I should also thank the people that just moved out of the building for leaving such filth in fridge to begin with. I'm sorry, but if you think that getting away from your families each and everyday to come work in a fancy schmancy office downtown is cause to turn into a pig because you don't get paid to clean up after your own damn self, then I'd like to add you to my face smackin list. I'd also like to thank (and smack) those that continually leave their dishes in the sink right below the sign that reads: PLEASE PUT YOUR DISHES IN THE DISHWASHER. Now I know you are not blind because I see you gettin around all right. And I know you’re not stupid because you most likely have some post secondary education that landed you your kick ass job. So what the fuck is your problem? Ignant maybe? ... Probably. I don't even know who you are. You are ignant! And sneaky! Well office cleaners, I'm going to check the other kitchen and if there's rotting left over’s still in those garbage’s from yesterday, I'm going to stay late, wait for you ... and if you're doing what I suspect you're doing when you should be cleaning the offices on your shift ... like watching the flat screen or playing cards in the employee lounge (jealous much? well change jobs!) or rummaging through others' belongings and stealing their fruit, I'm gonna kick your ass. Well, ok ... I don't care so much that I'd stay at work any longer than I need to on a Friday just to kick your ass (and really, I've never been in a fist fight in my life and even though I've never seen you, I'd put money on it that you can probably take me donw ... quickly ..) but is it too much to ask you change the garbage’s when they smell? Watch the damn TV, take the banana, hell ...even ignore the garbage’s that are full of paper type stuff ... just please take away the stuff that has the crawlies on it, the furry stuff, the stuff that is oozing black ...

Sincerely,

The girl who just wants to get a cup of coffee in the morning without smelling someone's 2 week ago lunch,

Stacy

Wordless Wednesday

I've been MIA for a few days because it was the long weekend (I had a lot of poker to play, beer to drink, turkey to eat ..), and have been nice & sick since Monday morning. Go figure. I'm still not feeling up to par, so this is an easy blog to write. I found the link on Aunt Crazy's blog and also on Foursons blog, but I don't know the origin and I can't find a mclinky thing anywhere but I wanted to take part. Here are my pics anyway:

TRY A T-BONE

I wasn't quite sure how I was going to tie this one into Letters of Intent, but I wanted to share it because it made me laugh. It's T-Bone's reply to having stumbled upon my blog yesterday (a blog that he didn't know existed) .... Happy Friday.

Dear Self,

Always, always remember to sign out of blogger when you leave the house ... especially if there's a chance T-Bone will be stopping by. You know that when he's left alone, he heads straight to the computer to play poker and look at porn. And didn't you learn your lesson that one time when you answered your cell phone in the doctors office and the whole waiting room heard through the phone "How'd ya get a UTI?" ..... Yeeah, it's the little X at the top right hand corner of the screen ... Now quit laughing and/or shaking you head, and set the man up with his own damn blog. And save this as a reminder because it's the second closest thing you've ever gotten to a love letter .... (oh, and add some links in there while you're at it)

dont no quite how start,but am sure something will cum 2 me.cant type very well(took 4 mnts) but trying hard.dont know if this is invasion of privacy,but is o.k because stacy likes me,sometimes.here are some of my  views on life in general.religion,if we didnt have it,the world would be at peace.girlfriends,are happy 75% of time.wives 25%(kidding 35%)men100% when sleeping.otherwise % drops as nagging starts.driving-if u get behind a honda,switch lanes ,otherwise makes for long commute.shoulder checking-its not just a move in hockey.the metis nation-75%crooks,24% petty crooks.sex-i am not a maschine,of course u enjoy it,u don't have 2 do anything.still pretty freaking fun.plaggerism-jeebus,is my word,and i dont remember anybody asking permission to use it.hashbrowns-take it easy on the salt.poker-use a steele desk,wood breaks too easily.making love-boring.women i dont know-i'm not a piece of meat(if i was i would be filet mingon)to be fondled and stared at with obviuos intetions of being eaten slowly and succulently.tactless and uncouthe.stacy dosnt apprecciate it either,but is the price that must be paid.THE TORONTO MAPLE LEAFS!-my team.if they win stacy gets some.by the way the season has started,might be a lonley year in woodsville.CAPS LOCK-just dicoverd it.SPELING-overated.LESBIANS-the 1 i know is really cool,the ones on youporn seem pretty nice too.JON&KATE-2 VERY STUPID PEOPLE.kids dont stand much of a chance,but who the hell knows.SEX TOYS-fun for all concerned.2 be used in moderation.DRUGS-fun for all concerned.2 be used in moderation.COOKING-when something is made out of love for u by someone else,dont complain about what the kitchen looks like,instead say thank-u and start cleaning up the battlefield.MORNINGS-used to not mind them.since i met stacy,am very scared when sun comes up.jeckyll&hyde shit.TERELL OWENS,MIKE VICK,PLAXICO BURRIS-maybe highschools and colleges should actually provide thier athletes with an education ,rather then give a free ride to anyone who can run fast.it must be pretty hard to run in a 8 by 10 jail cell.poor bastards cant even read to pass the time.HANDJOBS-the forgotten art.BLOWJOBS-yes please.THE HUNGER GAMES-best novel i've read in a while.THE "C" BOMB-should be used with caution.applied to those of extreme prejudice or inaminate objects.CATS-only love u when thier hunggee(see plagerism).CHEATING-if u feel the need to check your spouses cell phone,e-mail or whereabouts,all trust has been lost and they probably are cheating.why cheat anyway,just leave,its easyier on all concerned.thier is nothing to understand.OTHER PEOPLES MINOR INJURIES-stubbing toes on coffee tables,walking into doors or walls,tripping on curbs,or my all time favorite falling over stinking drunk  are very funny when they happen to other people.MY WOMEN-1in 100000000000000000.am very blessed man.GOOD-BYE.                

Well Stacy, you can't be that mad at yourself for leaving blogger open, there is some (sweet) genuine T-Bone in there. What you might want to do when helping T-Bone set up a blogger account is show him spell-check and teach him how to use the shift key. Or not. And when blogging from now on, always assume that one day, he'll stumble upon it again and read everything. So you might want not want to write blogs about your faux-husband or your office boyfriend eye candy just in case.

Sincerely,
Stacy                                                                                                                                         

happy hump day

Speaking of humping ..... I was just clicking away all over blogger when I came across something that always gets my attention: SEX on Janie Woods blog. To read that I'm not the only sex maniac that begs her man for the lovins, well that just made me feel so much .... well I can't entirely say better because I'm still not reaching my quota of triples each & every day. Ok, I may be over-doing it here, I'm really not that much of an animal. What fears me after pondering this issue, is that I am younger than some women who I hear have this high drive. What will become of me as I grow up? Will it get worse for me? What will become of T-Bone? I was so damn grateful when I realized that I needed the schnoo schnoo as much as I needed air to breath and I had met T-Bone, who was always "up" for it (ok, lame I got it ...) He's not so much anymore and I have found myself picking fights and actually pouting, I swear to jeebus, I've been pouting. Not to worry though, I now have a drawer full of goodies, and even though T-Bone's a pretty generous guy (not too long ago, as a matter of fact, I scored 4 times, yes FOUR times, in roughly 2 hours ...), we're not together every waking minute, and when we are, I understand that he's not a machine (even though not too long ago I scored FOUR times in 2 hours ... wait, did I mention that already?). But those nights he's "tired" or what-the-hell-ever, well he best be sleeping on the couch because my new pal that I picked up at the megaplexxx in San Antonio (thanks again my beloved M&P friends) is never too tired ... never! And as time goes on, if his drive (heaven forbid) hits rock bottom while mine continues to sky rocket, he already told me I can find a hot young boy toy (that was my interpretation anyway), just as long as I quit pouting ....

my new 'down-there' doctor

It wasn't bad enough that I had to get my privates inspected today, I had to let some woman I've met twice play with my rack yo. I gotta admit though, it was a whole different experience than when my usual doctor (Mr. Doctor) does the exam. Not that I'm uncomfortable with male doctors, especially this one ... he has seen me at my worst - bloody gooey baby coming out of one end and some very colourful words coming out of the other end - and I thought I was quite comfortable with him putting his face a mere few inches away from my special place then lifting and pushing and pulling my ta-ta's, but let me tell ya ... when I had Mrs. Doctor down there today, touching me in places I never thought I'd let a stranger touch, I was pretty damn relaxed. I could have had a whole conversation with her about shoes, or movies, or what our families were doing this coming Thanksgiving weekend. It felt normal, well as normal as it can  feel when you have your hoo-ha held open with a plastic apparatice and your cervix scrapped with a wire brush ... have I said too much? Moving on then .... and when I curled up into the fetal position and repeated 'I gained 17 pounds in 3 months' over and over and over, she understood the blow I had just received, and even offered a bunch of blood work to rule out any other problems that could be causing weight gain. Now this is my kinda doctor, not suggesting even once that perhaps I've eaten one too many bags of chips, or that maybe I'm not getting enough exercise - well to be honest, at one point it did sound as if she was trying insinuate that the "reduced activity" may be a factor, but I promptly stared her down and repeated 17 POUNDS ... and she just went ahead and added a few more tests to my blood work requisition form. Mr. Doctor probably would have said "alrighty then, get your fat ass off the couch, put down the big mac, and I'll see you next year" (nah, he's a pretty nice guy ... but still ... a guy!) Anyway, once I was feeling nicely invaded, and in need of a shower, I had to hop on over the optometrist to find the mystery behind the floaters in my eye. Well, they're still a mystery, but appearantly nothing to worry about, yet. I have a beautiful retina, but hey ... let's freeze my eyes anyway, put drops in them that somehow run down the back of my throat (wtf?), let them sit until I can no longer make out the words on my incoming text messages, flash odd lights in my eyes, then send my on my way ... dialated pupils an' all. Oh jeebus, when I opened that door .... yes, they were nice enough to remind me that I would need my sunglasses, but I thought they were just being polite because it is oddly sunny for a cold October day ..but nope, they reminded me because I needed the sunglasses. It was as if I had opened a door and stepped on to the sun. I giggled because I couldn't believe they were letting me drive, but I figured it could be fun & challenging. It was nothing special, I've been regaining my up close vision while typing this out, now I'm just waiting for my pupils to shrink so I can open my curtains and probaby get dinner on. No carbs for me I guess, a fist sized piece of chicken and a handful of lettuce it is ...

Mr. Sisters ex-girlfriend

Well I am still having a hard time getting the "True Story Tuesday" linky pic thingy in the middle of my post here, all sorts of weird stuff happened when I went to Edit HTML, and pasted, now I could be way off, but that's what I'm assuming needs to happen ... if anyone can lend assistance, I'd feel a wee bit stupid but would appreciate it. I do, however, know how to add a link, so I'll just it this way for now ... here's my true story this chilly Tuesday ....

Back when my oldest sister (we'll call her Mr. Sister because she's gay) was dating her second girlfriend, my kid was about 4 years old. We gathered at my moms house one morning, there was about 5 of us sitting around the kitchen table having coffee. My kid hopped up on the lap of Mr. Sisters girlfriend to say Hello. All convseration had come to a stop (because that's always what happens when someone is about to say something loudy that will either embarass themselves, the person they are talking to, or the person they are talking about) and my 4 year old, still excited with all the people gushing over her, but now at a loss for what to say next (I guess ...), in her too-cute-for-words little void asked "Are you a boy?" My head was in the fridge looking for the coffee cream, a noose, whatever ... and I just froze. As did everyone else in the kitchen by the sounds of it. All awaiting for Mr. Sisters girlfriend to answer the sweet little girl on her lap. She quietly confirmed that Yes, she was a girl. This seemed to satisfy my kid and I breathed a sigh of relief, then heard some muffled chatter outside the fridge, so I knew the discomfort had been averted. Until my daughter decided she was not, in fact, satisfied with the answer she had just received. She loudly boomed in her too-cute-for-words voice ... "then why do you have a moustache?" Well hell ... Mr. Sister's girlfriend did indeed have a moustache, not like a full set of handle bars with a goatie or anything like that, but also not like the little blond peach fuzz I have above my upper lip that my eye brow ladies always seem to notice when I go in to get threaded ... anyway, I don't remember must else of that converstation because I kepy my head in the fridge as long as I could, just searching for that coffee cream ...

10+ things I didn't know ...

 .... when I found out I was having a baby. Way back, way way back in November 1996, I peed on that little scary stick and 2 pink lines appeared. I knew I was pregnant before that, I think I knew a few months before and just pretended not too. JBE cried and I comforted him (yes, he's still the bitch and I'm the rock) and we decided, together, that we were having a baby. I thought at the time, that's all it meant ... WE WERE HAVING A BABY. Little did I know, very very little did I know that when you find out you are having a baby, you're really not just having a baby ... they grow up! Into terrible toddlers that you wish you never taught to walk or talk, to little children that you wish would sleep in their own damn bed and not cry when you left the house, to older children that you wish would just quit growing so damn fast (partly because you miss your baby to death, but also because you can't afford to clothe them anymore), then to pre-teens. OMG THE PRE-TEENS!!! The hormonal hateful evil pre-teens. Seriously, there is much more to it than simply 'having a baby'. I remember when Mr. Sister took me to the grocery store a few months before my little sweetheart was due to pick up some laundry soap. Not regular soap, the kind you use on baby clothes, the soft pretty smelling stuff ... the expensive stuff. I commented that it might be pretty expensive to have a baby ... I can't remember what her reply was, but it was probably something along the lines of 'you dumb little hussy'. And dumb I was. But what 17 year old isn't dumb. 17 years old and pregnant for chrissakes. And not even close to graduating high school. Not close to graduating because I spent all of grade 10 and 11 ... well ... not at school. I guess when I hit grade 12 and decided to better my life - ya know.... like when I quit binge drinking on school days, quit smoking the wacky tabaccy, and quit sucking on paper with drops of rat poison on it I really should have added 'use condoms when doin the nasty with JBE' to my list. But I didn't and here I am ... (and hell I had just discovered the orgasm, so I had a few years of catching up to do). Anyway, just like I didn't know that laundry soap for baby clothes was more expensive than the crap I used on my clothes, there was and is LOTS I didn't know way back, on that cold Saturday night in November 1996 when I found out that I was having a baby, I had no clue what I was getting myself into.

1. I didn't know that trading in my A-cups for C-cups would hurt so, or that I'd get hickey's on them from my hungry little sweetheart when I was too far into a game of Rage Racer to realize she was suckling about an inch off target ...

2. I didn't know that after 10 days of constipation (baby, not me), a supository, and a bath would result in me getting shit on in the tub ... 10 days worth, nice & runny ...

3. I didn't know that as I stared down at my little sweetheart while she slept just after appearantly over-eating I would get puke in my mouth, nose, and eyes ....

4. I didn't know that my little sweetheart would stick her finger up my nose causing it to bleed when I was sitting on the bus minding my own business when I was supposed to be looking at her ...

5. I didn't know that I was supposed to pack an extra set of clothes during our first trip to the zoo so that when my little sweetheart puked all over them, she'd have something fresh to change into

6. I didn't know that I would never be 108lbs again and even though I was blessed with keeping my bigger rack, I didn't know they'd end up covered in stretch marks and saggy to my belly ....

7. I didn't know that I would cry like a bitch baby on the 1st day of kindergarten, last day of kindergarten, last day of daycare .. well pretty much the 1st and the last day of absolutely everything that has to do with my little sweetheart

8. I didn't know my little sweetheart was going to develope early causing me much stress over the fact that it's not just other 12 year olds that find my little sweetheart "cute", grown ass pervert men find my little sweetheart "attractive" (and you can believe that if I am ever present when one decides to make it known, he will be dragging his sorry ass home without his knee caps, eyes, and balls .....)

9. I didn't know my little sweetheart was going to dislike me one day .... now I haven't heard the "I hate you" yet, but I can see it on her face, hear it in her voice, she thinks I am a complete and utter dork, or something even worse that I am chosing not to believe ....

and #10 ... well's there a lot more than 10 things definitely, but I have to get dinner on ....what really bothers me sometimes, and what is making me downright sad right this moment, is that way back on that cold Saturday in November 1996, I didn't know that I would be raising my little sweetheart alone.

Now I know I have Mr. Sister, and Silly Sally, and my mom (well not really, but she's always good for conversation ... say once a month), and extended family, and T-Bone, and friends, and I even have a faux-husband ... blah blah blah ... but I'm missing a very crucial part to this set. And my little sweetheart is too. I'm not here to belly ache over the fact that I picked a fucking loser to have a baby with 12 years ago, or was so goddam stupid for not kicking his scrawny ass to the curb much much sooner than I did, nor am I even going to belly ache that all of my little sweethearts grandparents are pretty much useless too and that I feel so utterly alone sometimes. What I really need right now is some back up. Some muscle. Someone to smack my little sweetheart upside the head when she thinks she can run her mouth until I have to snap and scream. Maybe someone to just tell me that what I'm doing is right, or even what I'm doing is wrong ... well telling someone they're parenting wrong is never a good idea, but wtf-ever. Someone to be here when I get home from work, or here when I leave in the morning. Someone else that my little sweetheart can direct her anger at. Someone that she will fear perhaps. Fear. That's it! Maybe I just need to take some karate or jujitsu classes, or something that will teach me to put her in a sleeper when she just wont shut up. Hmmm, duck tape?

What a difference 7 years makes ...

Dear Christmas

I'm very new to blogging and have basically just been following Aunt Crazy around like a lost little puppy. I had no idea there was so many things I can be doing here. I was just getting ready to shut down the computer for 'Girl's Night at Stacy's' when I came across Letters of Intent that took me to Foursons blog. Because I am nosey and like being a part of everything, I read a few then typed up my own. So here's my letter .... (and while I have most of tomorrow to myself, I will be settling at my computer in the morning with my coffee to read the rest of the letters from today).

Dear Christmas

Don't think I didn't see you. I did. I was just minding my own business picking up a few things at the grocery store, trying with all my might to ignore even the Halloween displays when I thought I caught a glimpse of you behind the shelf of pumpkin stencils. I shook my head, kept walking, and thought I must have been seeing things. I had been having little flash backs since then, but was trying to push you out of head. It was confirmed to me the other day though when I was getting a cup of coffee from my office kitchen. A knot formed in my stomach as I approached what only could have been one of your messangers ... a catalogue of gifts all wrapped in red & green & gold. With an order-by date, and a guarantee to be delivered by .... yes, December 24. Although you knew that I knew, and everyone was catching on, I felt it mean spirited to move so quickly. Well, the cat is out of the bag, we know you are coming. But, I am warning you ... stay away from me. Just until next month. Let me enjoy the start of soccer season, Thanksgiving, then Halloween and I promise to pay attention to you when that's all over with ... mid-November at the latest. Until then, I'm sorry, but I have to put my foot down. You do not exist to me yet and you can't make me acknowledge you. If you push me, I will push back. If you try to dig your way in before I am ready, I just may have to cut you out of my life forever. I mean it, back off Christmas.

Please and thank you.

sweet sweet Friday

The work week is over in T minus 70 minutes. Not a whole lot can beat Friday. I'm wearing jeans at the office, I'm getting a free breakfast because I participate in Treat Week (mmm mini-cup cakes with icing … hey, I bet if I took all the icing off all the cup cakes, everyone would just assume that whoever brought treats today was too cheap to get the cup cakes iced), and we're off at noon. Sweeet! I'm chasing T-Bone out of the house when I get home because he's been over entirely too long (and if I have to pick up one more butter knife that's still sitting in smeared and dried peanut butter on the counter, I'm gonna stuff it up his arse), tidying up during Dr Phil or Judge Judy commercial breaks, then getting ready for Girls Night at Stacy's - complete with iced tea or wine, steak or chicken, and whatever else we can agree on while some of us are trying to lose weight and some of us just love food too damn much to care. Let me introduce you to my girls. Girl #1: My sister. She's 2 years younger than me, roughly the size of my ass, is the only full sister I have (within the mess of marriages between my mom & dad, and several step / half siblings), who's been playing the role of my kids dad since JBE blamed her for being kicked to the curb when I woke up that day many years ago and thought WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING?, and who will probably come up a lot on this blog, so we'll call her Silly Sally. Girl #2: My good friend, probably my best friend, who adopted me back in junior high when the school turned against me because they were all mean little bitches (we were thee most teased girls in that school – her for being fat, me for being flat chested, wtf!?), who lashed out with me by throwing stink bombs in the boys locker room and missing school to walk around by the river, and who I can always count on to drink shooter after shooter with me at the nastiest dance bar in the northeast in between smoke breaks and get groped by stinky men on the dance floor. And girl #3. - My dear friend who I've known since grade 4, who I knew I would like immediately when she brought bannock in to share with the class, who started the fad of getting knocked up in high school and shares my knowledge of raising an over-developed pre-teen, who appreciates and understands why I just bought a house a block away from the Sikh temple even though I’m as white as snow and don’t speak Punjabi (because she lives even closer … ha!), and who was just diagnosed with MS at her young age of 29. We're sure that she'll tell us she'll be just fine while we’re all together for our much needed & overdue Girls Night. And if she doesn't feel like saying a thing about it, well … between the 4 of us girls, I'm sure we'll have more than enough to talk about..... weight loss … female ejaculation … and everything in between. Love Girls Night, and love Fridays.