where would I be?

Happy Anniversary Louise Dean School,

And thank you for being here. I graduated in 1998 as an 18 year old mother with the help of my family, friends, and this school. I don't know where I would be or what I would have become if it weren't for you. The 18 months I attended was the most important 18 months of my life as I was given the tools, resources, motivation, and encouragement to tackle what was laid out in front of me. You helped me through the last few months of my pregnancy and supported me as I welcomed my little baby daughter into the world. And at her young age of 7 weeks, you welcomed her into your learning centre where you took great care in making sure she was fed, changed, attended to, happy, and safe as I was in class, earning the credits I needed to get out there and make something of myself. Or while I was in the lounge napping during spares trying to recover some much needed sleep that I lost as new mother. It seems like just a few years ago that I walked to the podium in your gym and accepted my diploma. And now as I raise my daughter into junior high school, you are celebrating your 40th year. I can't thank you enough. You will always be in my heart.

Sincerely,

Stacy (with baby-girl Sydney)

There! My tender side. Brought to you today as I think back to a time long ago, that doesn't seem so long ago. Waddling the halls of a school for pregnant & parenting teens, anticipating the birth of my baby, wondering where I'd been in the future. Well, here I am. Kicking ass and taking names .... or something of the sort. And sharing bits of my stories with anyone who will listen ... including those at Julie's place for Letters of Intent.

farkin winter

Winter Storm Warning : City of Calgary

Not a great way to wake up in the morning. Seriously, we've had enough! We're done! Winter is exhausting. And it's April mo-fo! Whoever built that little fort in Calgary way back when sure was a funny little fucker. We were took. I want my money back. I just want to be dry and warm.

Here's some snippets from todays news just to give you an idea of the bullshit that is my reality from September to May ...

"Snow and local blowing snow. Amount 5 to 10 cm. Wind north 60 km/h gusting to 90. High plus 2."

"Old Man Spring? Calgary's storm closes schools, cancels flights"

"Schools in the city are open, but buses have been delayed."

Bullshit contradiction right there ... Calgary's storm has actually closed out of town schools ... but whatever. I didn't mind driving around the idiot that parked IN THE MIDDLE of the street today to take his kids in to the school ... didn't mind risking my little micro-machine getting stuck in the snow at all. Idiot! But again, whatever.

what we were faced with when we left the house this morning:

what my back yard looks like, present tense. Let me reiterate - this is NOT a blog un-published from December, this is today, April 29:

And I'll let you take a guess at what this is:

Are you done yet?  ..... No, it's not just the snow. It's not just the outside of my garage door....

It's where I just fucking fell. Flat on my ass. As I pranced from my house to the garage because I was desperate for another coffee and ran out of cream at home. I can hear the wind blowing shit off my house, I can see the blizzard like conditions, but I just needed that damn coffee. And now, I need an ice pack. My back is getting sorer by the minute. And graceful I am not. I didn't go down lightly or in the fluffy snow that is fun to fall in. I went down like a sack of potatos right on the farkin cement. But I guess it serves me right from prancing in the snow anyway when I should have been holding on for dear life, but come on ... I've lived here my whole life, I should know how to maneuver in this crap. I'm starting to believe that I really am a masochist.

dropping the C bomb ...

I don't like the word. But I like the word. It can be offensive, but there are times where it can be absolutely appropriate. Like when I am going to drop it today. Let me start from the beginning. For those of you that know me well, but don't want to know too much, you may want to skip todays blog, I get a tad personal. I'm going to tell you the story about the first time I got my cho-cha waxed. What? Not a good word? Fine ... My vagina. About two weeks ago, I decided that I was going to get waxed .... a brazilian wax I figured. Yes, I was going to let a masochist with poor career choices smear hot wax on my pink woman bits and rip out all my hair. Down to business. The first thing on the agenda was simply to wait. Easy enough. Finally, I was getting a break. For those of you that are interested, I have been shaving for a few years, pretty much bald. Pretty much. And it's exhausting keeping up with T-Bone's schedule, I don't like the stubble or the five o'clock shadow, I don't like the itch that comes on roughly the fourth day, and I don't like the in-grown hairs that come with shaving before the itchy fourth day. So I had two options to choose between when I decided I didn't want to shave anymore. One was to go au natural. Which I am absolutely convinced T-Bone liked more than he'll ever admit because on about the 12th day of hair growth he was so into what was going on, he scored twice ... in 10 minutes! T-Bone liked tha bush. And the second option was to have every last hair ripped out of it's ever-lovin follicles. Because I have low self-esteem or some shit and feel I deserve to be beaten, raped, and pilaged, I went for option number two. The big day was Thursday, April 22. And yes, I am just writing about it now because I have recovered. Physically and mentally from the procedure. I am well enough to talk about it now without the memories sending me into a psychotic rant, rolled up in a ball under my desk holding my pink lady bits screaming to just leave the lil hairs alone ... I am all better. I swear. I decided to steer clear of salons in my end of the city, the Upper Hood and opted to stay close to down town. In a trendy upscale neighbourhood where surely all the services offered were to be top notch, for the creme de la creme of Calgary. I chose the Magic Room in Kensington. I made my way through rush hour traffic, my heart beat getting faster and heavier as the minutes to my appointment ticked on. And finally, I was being led up the stairs to a quiet room ... with a curtain. This really should have been clue number one that I was not in for an enjoyable experience. Picture Steve Carell in 40 Year Old Virgin screaming out AHHHH KELLY CLARKSON! I didn't think anyone needed to be in earshot of what I may spurt out, but at least a door, if not a sound proof chamber. Jeeze. Clue number two was being told to take off my pants without being offered a blanket. Great ... so that when I am laying on the bed with my snatch in the air and you open the curtain, the whole world can see? Ok ... I see where this is going .... So I explain to the lady (see, I'm trying to be nice here) that it's my first time and I'm not exactly sure what I want done. Definitely not a bikini wax because I need all the .. um, down-down there hair gone. But I hadn't decided between what they call a 'brazilian' and the 'playboy' wax. Which leads me to clue number three that this was just a bad idea all around. See, she didn't ask me to take off my panties (maybe why I wasn't offered a blanket?). Ummm ok, well I may not have done this before, but I know that all the hair I want removed is under those panties. And no amount of moving them over from side to side was going to capture all the hair I needed off. But the lady went ahead and did the bikini wax that I said I didn't want. When she asked me to look and see what she had done, I was confused. Still hairy bush? Just not on the sides at my leg creases? Wtf!? A wee bit retarded should we say? I explained to her again what I wanted my beave to look like ... and off come the panties. There we go .... Round two. I had decided to go with the brazilian, which contrary to what you read or hear, is actually completely bald from top to bottom WITH the landing strip. Full-brazilian, playboy, or exotic, is completely bald. When the evil whore is done round two, she asks me to look and see what I think ... (the C bomb's coming people) ..... Well, I'm left with a bald beaver and a landing strip alright .... that is way off the fucking runway. 

(my best attempt to illustrate what she left me with without getting too graphic)

She looked me in the eye and asked me how it looked. I glared at her with as much anger as I could muster after having gone through what I just went through, which I am assuming was A LOT because when I turned the question back on her, she suggested we take it all off. Ummm, ya fucking think you cunt! Round Three. I didn't think I could endure anymore. I have wax smeared on me again, hair ripped from it's follicles, skin pulled off my body (or so I was assuming at that point ... with the blood n all!) and not just any skin. My special skin. The skin on my most precious part of my body, the part that is to be treated nicely, with love and care. What you are assuming if you made it this far is that it hurt. Let me tell ya, it was a pain like no other. I birthed my child 12 years ago so I have had all this time to recover. And forget. What I don't forget now is the pain that was inflicted on my ever-so-special pink parts and how bad I wanted to punch that fucking twat in the fucking head. So, um, yes, it did hurt. Just a little. Having to go over area's more than once didn't help, using the same thickness of wax on all area's didn't help, and not having a good grip on the strips when pulling them off did not help with my near death experience. After 30 minutes of the ordeal, I was praying that I would just pass out so she could finish butchering me while I remained in a coma. The only relief was when she'd stop to apply more wax .. ahhh the soothing hot wax being rubbed on my beaten skin .... (seriously considering adding some wax play into sexy-time with T-Bone .... ) And when all was said and done, she still left some hairs that grow more from the inside (see illustration to see hair in the middle) ... She said it was too bad to go on ... uh yeah, cuz you're a cunt! I had to put my clothes back on without being able to wipe my hands off because there wasn't so much as a kleenex box in the room of this upscale Salon/Spa in this fancy-ass neighbourhood, I wasn't offered any type of soothing lotion, but I was offered to purchase a $30 bottle of some shit that is supposed to help with in-grown hairs. Like FUCK, that was not my concern at that goddam moment. I sneered at the bitch behind the desk as I paid and tipped against my better judgment because I was delirious and out of sorts at that point, and she gave me a free sample that she told me to apply when I got home. I was in a daze the rest of the evening, waddling, shifting uncomfortably, swollen, broken, and when I finally got around to applying whatever that free sample was, I was again praying for death as it burnt like a mutherfucker and I almost dropped to my knees before I could grab some water or anything to rinse it off. I wouldn't wish last Thursday on anyone and the memory will be with me forever. And I'm blaming every fucking man that walks this earth for doing this to me. To woman everywhere. Making us think, or believe, or feel that we aren't as worthy sexual partners if we remain as god intended - with a full bush.

(like how I threw god in there in an attempt to add more guilt, I don't even know if there is a god, or if he really cares what we do with our hair ....?)

2 and a half reasons to blog today

 have two reasons for writing today. 

Reason 1a is to announce that I rode a bike yesterday! Not a bike that sits in front of the  TV. A real fucking bike with two wheels. A bike that when you pedal, you go places. Places like the 7/11 four blocks away where the cashiers eye you funny when you ask for the air hose but don't have collateral to leave because hot air hoses must be high demand in your neighbourhood. Then you wonder how dumb they feel when you bring the hose back and tell them the last person that used it must have pocketed the connector piece that hooks the damn hose up to the machine (collateral fail?) and the hose is now a useless piece of shit. The kinda bike that takes you a further two blocks to another gas station that doesn't tell you you need to pay for air until after you connect it to your tire thus letting all pre-existing air out. Charging for air?! Really? At that point, you realize you're 6 blocks away from home, have a flat tire, haven't been on a bike in 15 years and are left wondering how the fuck you got yourself into that situation. That kind of bike I mean. So I let the pakistani man working the gas station eye me up with an attmepted seduction for a second so I could get some free air. Then I felt like a whore. But I left with tires that weren't being smooshed into the pavement and rode another 30 minutes. I felt great, that hassle was worth it. Until this morning when I woke up with sore arms. Wtf?

Reason 1b is to talk about Date Night. I've been dating the T-Bone for almost 3 years. Don't even start with the questions on when we are moving into together, or getting married .. NEVAH. If it ain't broke, don't fix it. And in 3 years, I have begged asked him to come to the comedy club with me more than a few times. It's one of my favorite things to do and "coincidentally" when occasions come up where I end up there, he ends up somewhere else. Well Saturday night, I trapped him. Big time. We had the night to ourselves and I had spent about an hour on the couch earlier in the day watching a hilarious guy on some stand-up show ... I got the itch. I wined and dined tha T-Bone then sprung the idea on him ... then I whined some more suggested we go to the comedy club. Just the two of us. It was either that or Bingo and I swear he was leaning towards Bingo. Really!? (I have a soft-spot for Bingo but he's a man dammit). But he caved and we drove all the way across the city with our bellies full of fabulous vietnamese food to watch some stand up comedy and laugh our asses off. I shit you NOT, we walk into the room that holds over 200 people, that has always been sold out every single fucking time I've been and there are literally 18 people in the club. 8 couples and 2 drunk girls in the front that ended up being half the entertainment for the night. The comedians were great, as always (see below for headliner), but I wanted him to see the act at it's best. But whatever. We were long overdue for a date night and I got laid and spooned when we got home, so it was pretty much win win for me. And that's really all that matters. 

Part 2 of today's writings is to join Ian and others over at The Daily Dose of Reality for ......

Read me, then click on the button to go read him and others. Tis very good reading ....

1 - Ever take a shit in the woods?

Hell no!

2 - If you won $1,000, what's the first thing you would do with it besides give me a cut?

Take it to the lucky lucky table to triple it, then to Vegas to triple it again. Then I'd buy a new car!

3 - What's your favorite phrase?

Are you fucking kidding me? (life and people tend to kid with me a lot and I like the F word)

4 - Fill in the blank - the world would be a better place if ______ left the planet.

Parvati! Oh, you said world? Well the world of Survivor would be a better place if her tribe voted her ass out. I want to stuff burning candles in my ears when I hear her talk.

5 - How do you take your coffee or tea?

(still lmao at Ian's answer ... )

double double or with lots of french vanilla cream ... what? me? trying to lose tons o weight?

google search til you're satisfied

If I want to find out about virtually anything, I pop on to google. If I don't like what I find, I simply hit the back button and search again ... and again and again, until I find the answer I want. Works everytime.

Take last night for instance. I wanted to find out appoximately how many calories I am burning while doing my new fave cardio routine ... the mini-tramp. The first few links I came across stated that the mini-tramp is actually a less effective work out because of the springs. The bouncing motion absorbs most of the "work out" so to speak so less calories are burned. I disagree. I believe that after a 28 minute work out that took 3 additional minutes of laying near death with burning skin and sweat pouring off my head and in between my boobs, breathing like T-Bone does after a long session for another ten minutes that I burnt off a lot of fucking calories. Granted, I don't just bounce up and down on the mini-tramp, or slow-dance, I give 'er. Fast and Hard. With a 5lb weight in each hand. And thank god for the springs, really, my bladder and my hips appreciate them (wtf is up with my weak urethra since I gave birth anyway .. sheesh .. that's a whole other blog though). So I continued my google search until I found what I was looking for.

"Oh you want to know how many calories that is exactly? Okay a 150 pound woman working out on a rebounder stands to burn 410 calories. Were she to spend the same amount of time jogging shse'd burn through only 355 calories." (http://www.meltofftheinches.com/)

Yes, I can always count on google searches. For anything. Sometimes what I find doesn't make much sense .. like this for example:

Which I found by doing in image search on 'mini-tramp', but whatever.

And sometimes, I really hit the jackpot while google searching. I took the mini out of mini-tramp and found this, seriously? How fitting for this blog .... damn I'm good:

junior high: hell on earth

7:30 this morning. I'd just logged into my work PC, haven't even grabbed my first coffee, and my cell phone rings. I know who it is and I know what it's about ....

Me: sigh sigh sighhhhhh Hello ....

Sydnerella: uuummm, Muu-um? .....

Me: (under my breath, teeth showing) ... What!

Sydnerella: Um, I'm, like, not feeling good

(Like I said, I knew this call was coming, she was dropping hints last night that she might not be feeling well today)

Me: What's wrong?! (short and without pity)

Sydnerella: I'm just not feeling good, but I'm not, like, sick

(pause ....)

Sydnerella: I'm like, sad and stuff

(Ok, this is a brand new one, but I'm curious ....)

Me: wtf do you mean?

My 12 year old hormonal normally wonderful, but sometimes straight fucking evil daughter Sydnerella then goes into the speech. All I really hear is "my bff", "fight", "like", "I didn't say it", "so & so's lying", "like", "my bff", "don't feel good", "like", "I didn't say it" and then ... there it is ... 

"I'm, like, taking a personal day!"

Wtf? Did I miss something? A personal day? Damn my life would have been a hell of a lot different if I'd known about personal days back when I was in junior high, I would have been saved from my personal hell. I'd be a completely different person.

Grade 7 and 8 were the worst years of my life. Even if I had been a crackwhore for a few years, or locked up in mexican jail for some shit, I'd have been happier than the years I spent in junior high. I had food thrown at me, was teased because I was "flat as a board', and was even surrounded by a big group of girls who were pumping their fists ready to kick my ass and an even bigger group waiting for the show. The girl whose lies caused me almost shit my pants in the hallway that day by the gym was shot & killed before she made it to grade 10. I went to her funeral and cried for her though, I wish she would have apologized after we became "friends". I also wish she didn't sleep with my boyfriend. But that was 16 years ago, and she's dead, so .... Anyway .... I remember all the names of all the bastards to this day and will have no issue breaking their knee caps with the front bumper of my car of I ever saw them on the street.

Even when the sun came out a little ... (as Steve Reeves was getting ready to throw his sandwich at me, my grade 9 savior took the sandwich, tackled the ugly boy with the ugly jeans, squished the sandwich up in the baggy and stuffed it in Steve Reeves mouth while holding his face to the ground.) ... even after that day that put a stop to that mean group of boys, I was still faced with The Drama. The stupid little bitches. Like the one who got her boyfriend to ask me out only to laugh with all her friends when I said YES because it was a fucking joke ..... They say 'that which doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger'. Which is very true now as an adult. But not when you're a shy, under-developed, poor little girl from the broken home who is longing for sunny days. Those years broke me. When I started dating my baby-daddy in grade 9 and all the bitches were jealous because he was making out with me at the smoking doors and not them, I had already turned. Bad choice after bad choice for the next few years until I gave birth to my very own little daughter who would one day be caught up in some form of the same goddam farkin junior high school hell on earth. Sydnerella and I are as different as night and day. She is strong, and beautiful, and outgoing. And the boys look at her because they like her, not because they want to throw food at her. The girls wouldn't say much against her because she is bigger than all of them, and solid. I imagine not too many would take her on, even if surrounded by a bigger group. I've seen her dad take down about four grown boys before an ever bigger group jumped him. And he still got up and walked away ... with the shoe print on his face and bloody nose. Sydnerella has more of her dad in her than me and I'd wish any girl luck that tried to take her down. But her problem today isn't about fist fighting, or bitch slapping. It sounds as if she's been caught talkin shit. She was offended when I apparently sounded as if I believed the other girl, but to hear this twice in one week? .... if the shoe fits, dammit. So Sydnerella is at home. While whatever junior high school drama waits for her in the halls.

Monday Minute .... finally, some sex talk .....

Well I already blogged today, and it's pretty rare that I blog twice in one week let alone twice in one day, but I saw S-E-X and meme and I figured I'd give it a go. I've also been on the hunt for some new blog readin material. Not that I don't like reading "mommy blogs" but I started my own blog for me, and I am more than just a mom. I am a foul-mouthed working woman who likes drinking, smoking, gambling, and sex. I'm broadening my blog reading horizons and hearing about today's Daily Dose of Reality meme came literally 15 minutes after I started following a blog about a closet nymphomaniac. Coincidence? I started reading it, but I'm at work and no good can come of gettin all hot n bothered while sitting at my desk, a bus/car commute away from T-Bone, who's probably still sleeping naked in my bed. So I closed the blog and am looking pretty forward to 10pm tonight ... Now back to my meme mission. I'm linking up with Ian over at Daily Dose of Reality for Monday Minute and the questions left to be answered are about sex. I'll be as truthful as I can, or at least try to be. I'm allowed to do what I want with the questions .. Ian said so ....

At what age did you lose your virginity?

Young, very young, but I loved the boy I did it with, I wasn't being slutty .... yet. And it wasn't under someone's pool table after a party or in a park or anything like that. It was our version of romantic, we had a bath together and everything, romantic! And after allllll these years of bumpin uglies, I still believe he is who I was supposed to lose my big V to. He was my very first love and I think it was real. I felt it every time he came back for me ... the last time being when Sydnerella was 5. So yeah .... pretty real. We plan on getting back together in approximately 15 years ... then books will be written and movies produced about how two junior high school sweethearts found their way back to each other after 30 years, or whatever, I didn't do the math. We touch base about once a year to make sure our plan's still on schedule.

Any good sex tips or advice?

Fuck me badly one, shame on you. Fuck me badly twice, shame on me. Okay, so it's not me that said this, it's Samantha from Sex and the City, but it's still great advice. Unfortunately, I've been in the situation where I haven't heeded that advice ... I have my reasons though ... and nobody said I have elaborate.

Lights on or off when you have sex?

With T-Bone it doesn't matter, with the others ... lights off. Okay, well there aren't any others now, but I was pretty shy and lacking in self-confidence before T-Bone. I had a small handful of randoms between my baby daddy and him, and the lights were always off. But the first time I was with T-Bone, I grabbed the sheet to cover up when I got out of bed and he told to fucking drop it ... there'd be none of that! He meant it. I dropped the sheet and haven't been allowed to cover up since. Now, I want him to see what he's getting when I'm bent over he's umm, behind me ... apparently, it's a pretty good view. So I've been told anyway ... after almost three years of doing the nasty, he's kinda obligated to stay stuff like that though isn't he?

Have you ever been caught in the act of having sex?

Does anyone want to hear the full story of when my baby-daddy's mom came stumbling in on us, drunk as a skunk, sat on the bed, and tried to have a full conversation with us? Or is that enough information to get the entire picture and mortification of that night? (yes, mortification's a word .. I dictionary.com-ed it)

Ever catch your parents (or kids) having sex?

Well I'd be locked up in jail right now for ripping a penis off someone if I had ever caught my kid. And No, I've never walked in on my parents. They split when I was 4, but it's tragic enough that I remember a neighbour asking my step-mom what my dad's penis tatoo says ... I was 9. That's just not fair ... I still can't look him straight in the eye at that was 21 years ago.

That was fun, thanks Ian. And thanks Aunt Crazy, for the link.

case of the crabs

I was lucky in that respect when I was an irresponsible teen, I never caught the crabs. But I knew a few who did. It was funny in Sex in the City when Charlotte caught them during a weekend of young sex in the Hamptons, and it was equally funny when the people I knew caught them. Probably not so much to them back then, but I bet they laughed when they saw that episode of SATC all those years later. Anyway, I ended up with my case of the crabs just a few weeks back. Hermit crabs. And I don't mean my snatch crabs grew to hermit crab-sized proportions, I mean that Mr Sister went out of town and I offered to babysit her real live hermit crabs. Superman, Spiderman, and the green one that was really fast and active. They were absolutely useless. Didn't like my cold house, wouldn't eat the food Mr Sister left them so I was forced to cut up veggies for their high maintenance asses, and Sydnerella didn't even care they were there. But after a week, I decided I liked the little suckers. A lot. I even made them a play area where I'd throw them every night for an hour so they could run around. Under the watchful eye of Rusty. And by run, I really mean just hobble a few inches to the corner of the box where they'd try to fall back asleep ... so I'd have to put them back in the middle of the box just to keep them on their toes. Mr Sister wasn't sure she'd get them back. But they were gone on Saturday. And I'm left with this as a memory of the time that I caught a case of the crabs ...

yet another reason I love my job

Today is a good day. The best Friday of the entire year ... Daylight savings starts at my company, which means 1/2 Fridays from now until October .. WOOT! That and the fact that I'm wearing jeans, that I swear are a little bit BIGGER makes it a great day actually. It's treat day, which is usually good because it means free breakfast ... not so much today because it's MY treat day. So not free for me. Friday is also great because it's Letters of Intent day over at Foursons blog. I've been a bad participant lately, actually I've been a bad blogger lately, but I'm on my crackberry now more than the PC and I tried to blog on that and it aint happenin. I've also been working out in my spare time and car shopping. So ... there's my excuses. Click on the pic below to read more letters or to add your own, and keep reading for my little letters of today. The best Friday of the entire year ...

Dear company I work for,

It took a long time to like you. After the hostile take over of my last favorite bestest company ever, I hated you. Wanted you to crash n burn. But over time and after pulling my head out of my ass, I grew to love you. And it's a strong love. I don't know if I ever told you, but I was offered a job about 8 months ago making buckets upon buckets of cash, and I turned it down. For you! And what did you do a few weeks back to thank me? Gave me a crazy good bunus! See, you rub my back, I'll rub yours. And 1/2 Fridays is the cream cheese icing on the strawberry chip cake.

With love,

your loyal JV accountant

***************

Dear 4 pounds,

So long sucka! Don't come back ... I win, you lose. I mean I guess I lose too ... score!

Love,

A Canadian that will be in Texas in July not just a crazy bitch, but a skinny bitch

***************

Dear used car salesmen,

You are slimey. You know you are. And I am not stupid. Good luck with me.

Signed,

A girl that will get the fabulous car I deserve for less than you want to sell it for

***************

Dear Calgary & area weather,

WTF!? Seriously, wtf was that last night? You cold bitch. Yes, I've lived here my whole life. Yes, I've seen it snow every month of the year. So No, I'm not surprised really. But an ice storm? Really? And why take the power? You are so lucky it came back on before Survivor or you would have had two very pissed off girls on your hands. One who is just starting to PMS.

Signed,

Fuck you!

***************

Dear Sydnerella,

We went through it bad last month and I wont do it again. You will be grounded if you think your PMS gives you a "treat mom like shit" pass for the next couple of days. I did not appreciate being blamed for the power outtage last night or the attitude because I have a crack addiction that kept me occupied and you just have a regular cell phone that was almost dead (neener neener). I am flattered, though, that you think I am so powerful that I could stop the snow and sleet with my bare hands and pull the sun through the clouds. That says a lot for my parenting really. Thanks.

Signed,

A mother who will not take shit from a 12 yr old who thinks the world should stop right before her monthly visitor

WTF is Easter Monday?

I got an e-mail from Aunt Crazy earlier asking what Easter Monday was anyway? She said it's a Canadian holiday and wondered what kind of holidays we have up here that the US can't celebrate. A bullshit holiday apparantly because I am IN Canada and I'm at work! And I guess that makes me a little bit of ignorant Canadian because I don't know wtf Easter Monday is. So over to Wikipedia I go to find the importance of Easter Monday:

"It's the second day of the octave of Easter Week" (um, hello, did they say Easter Week? It seems to me that someone's been pulling the wool over our eyes ....)

" ... involved a week of secular celebration, but this was reduced to one day in the 19th century" (fuck!)

"Events included egg rolling and .... dousing other people with water" (I'm thinking of chinese food and water balloons ... way better than being at work)

And finally ...

"It is customarily a day for visiting family and friends" (There! I'm going home!)

Or I wish I was. I'm completely inconvenienced. This is the first Easter Monday in 10 years that I've worked (damn kids growing out of daycare ... now what will I use for excuses to miss work? I'll have to get creative here ..... ).

To kill some time here though, I'd thought I'd play some tag with Aunt Crazy. The rule is to open my pics folder, grab the tenth pic, post it, and tell the story. Being at work, again (f)yuck, I just have one disc on hand. But the tenth pic is a good one and I swear on every thing worth swearing on, this really is the tenth pic.

I know I've posted a lot of pics of my house, but this one is good. It was July 8, 2009 and I had just took possession. I drove up the street, Sydnerella beside me, my wonderful aunt / realtor close behind, and my mom and Mr Sister en route. I arrived first to find a massive purple bow on the front door. It was a beautiful summer day, I was just getting the keys to our very own house, and Sydnerella was grouchy. She had been at the same elementary school since kindergarten, but because we were out of district, she couldn't go to the junior high where all her friends were going. I bought a house in the same neighbourhood we'd been living in for three years, just closer to the junior high that just accepted her. Again, she was grouchy. She assumed that being the Queen n all, could tell me to buy a house closer to the other junior high so she could go to school there. Well, I'm sorry, but just having learnt a kid had stabbed another with scissors at that school and knowing that school feeds into one of the worst high schools in the city, I was a little iffy about sending my kid there. Call me crazy. So I did it, I ripped her away from everything she had known since she was little and she was fucking angry. I felt for her, I really did, but as the mom, made the choice that I thought was best for her going forward. This will actually spin off a whole other blog as I've been thinking about writing about my 2009 for awhile. It was a big-un. So here's the pic ....

My daughter, Mrs Crabbypants herself, Sydnerella. Later that day, she was able to walk 2 blocks to her newest friends house (the friend whose hip she's been attached to since), and that made her happy. I swear I saw a half-smile. And the day after the pic was taken, when my faux-husband was finished painting her bedroom the colours I let her choose, she all-out smiled. I have the pic to prove it, just not with me.

Aunt Crazy's rules say that I have to tag 5 people play this with today. Let's see who will play with me:

Marty at Chaos Uncontained?

Janie at Boobs, Ballgames, and Beer?

Kimber?

Margaret?

Or Miss Mandy at Red M&M's? (Miss Mandy is brand new to blogging so this should get her going again ...)

immediate satisfaction

Word of the day: malversation

That has absolutely nothing to do with what I'm writing, but I had to use dictionary.com once while typing this up and decided I'd share the word of the day .. And no, I don't have time to tell you what it means.

So, I'm trying to work this ass off ... well, not the ass itself, because honestly, men dig my ass, but I am trying to get rid of this spare tire, or my inner-tube really. A tire actually looks quite hard & solid, even though round. My inner-tube ... well, it's soft & squishy, and even more round. And it needs to go. Since I posted my last blog about Chubby Busting, which btw, was not titled to be dirty in anyway, although after Mr. Daddy's interest in the blog just because of the name, I have to admit that I was a little disappointed in myself for NOT thinking of that first because my mind is always in the gutter. See ... I am now picturing a real chubby getting busted and probably need to booty-call T-Bone over asap to bust his chubby. Have I gone too far? Maybe I should just get back to what I was writing .. where was I? Right, losing my inner-tube. I've been to the gym four times since I started thinking I am gettin pretty fat and I have replaced some bad eating choices with good eating choices. I'm feeling pretty good about it too. However, my gym was not open yesterday, and today it just closed. At 4pm? Wtf? I want to go to the gym NOW. Not tomorrow, NOW! And No, I don't want to go for a long walk or do any exercises at home? NO! This sudden urge for immediate satisfaction is obviously why I am chubby busting (tehehe) and I never realized it before. Okay, I realized it, but never identified it. I am actually having what Oprah would call an "Ah-ha" moment this second as I type.....

When I stop at Winners because I feel like I need a new shirt and I'm in a decent mood, I will find a shirt. Maybe two. But Winners is cheap, so that's ok. But when I go into Winners and I'm in a pissy mood, I will still find that shirt. But I will also find four more. Two pairs of pants. A pair of shoes. And a jacket. I am immediately happy. And I feel the $200 was justified because "I deserved it". "I work hard for my money". And "I don't spend a lot on myself". (You do know that I pay someone to clean my house don't you? ... See ... Immediate Satisfaction!) I usually return at least half of what I bought because I also suffer from severe buyers remorse most of the time. I've done the same thing with drinking in the past ... Been out at a drinking function (like a friends birthday where everyone is getting shit faced), though not having a good time yet, pound back a few shooters, go home and all of a sudden, I had the best night evah! Immediate Satisfaction. Hell, I've done it with sex too. I'm in the mood. T-Bone is not. Really really not. I get mad. Not necessarily that he wont take care of me (seriously, would it kill them to hop on top for the 60 seconds it would take in those dire situations?), but that he wont take care of it, and he wont leave the room so I can. Ok, now even I think I went little far with that comment, but it's kinda like that. A little bit. Ok, not really, but you get the point. I get the point. Immediate Satisfaction. Now, to link this to my chubby busting issue, I obviously do the same with food. French fries, chips, etc. I want what I want NOW, or never really. But I usually get or do what I want NOW because I know the excitement will die right away and then it wont matter. But for that moment, it matters. It matters big time. I have driven to the corner store at midnight to buy chips on more than one occasion. Hmmmm ... very interesting how a blog I had no clue I was going write is all of a sudden written. I really just popped on to complain about the gym being closed. Anyway, I still want to be at the gym NOW and am not happy that it's not open, so to make myself feel better, I'd like to hop on the couch and remain there until Sydnerella comes home from her friends so we can colour eggs. Immediate Satisfaction. But I wont. Not this time. I have two loads of laundry to finish, grocery shopping (which includes shopping for the Easter Bunny .. and that means I am going to be eating tons o lindor chocolate over the next 24 hours), and I do have a mini-tramp in front of my TV ... I really have no probelm jumping on that thing for an hour while watching Sex & the City re-runs. And hey, if I order something nasty on pay-per-view, I can kill two birds with one stone ... just saying .... Immediate Satisfaction!

Yes, that's me .. seriously. Look at that ass ... daaaamn!

my name's Stacy and I'm a crackhead

My flip phone donked out on me back in October. I loved my little flip phone, even tried to find it on kijiji because it had been discontinued at Fido. Around the same time, my computer came down with a virus ... actually, 29 viruses to be exact. We can argue about this for the rest of our lives as to who infected the computer, but between T-Bone and his bad judgment in adult sites (yes, youporn is safe), me and my desire to switch poker sites to try to strike it rich in the Caribbean, and Sydnerella's addiction to downloading music, we will probably never know the exact cause, but it would appear that maybe we all need some education in computer maintenance. Anyway, it didn't matter whose fault it was. I was left without the internet at home for a few days, hell weeks ... and I was choked. Enter the idea that blackberry would solve all my problems. I used to hate the crackberry. Maybe it was just jealousy when I watched the business people running around downtown with their faces down towards the little screen smiling. They all looked so happy. Them and their crackberries. But I started to weigh the pros. Never again would I have to call around begging people to look up soccer schedules, never again would I have to ... gasp ... do my banking at the bank ... So began my mission to get my hot little hands on some crack(berry). I had two options ... use my Fido dollars towards the full price of a bb pearl, which from the reviews I had read, was not a great choice, or I could hit up kijiji. And that's what I did. Within days, I found a red bb curve ... RED. Red is my signature colour people. It had wifi, was almost new and only $220. But I was took ... left in the cold with a bad hit and a craving so intense for internet in my palm that I could barely stand it. I should have known better .... I mean the guy was selling phones out of a back pack. I chalked the $220 loss up to experience and moved forward. I resigned myself to keeping the fake blackberry as a regular phone / texting device and decided to wait until May 2011 to get a free phone upgrade from my provider. And I figured that when that happened, they'd have a better selection of blackberries and really, good things do come to those who wait. Well Merry early Christmas Stacy because when I took Sydnerella's phone in for repairs last week, I saw it from across the mall ... a brand spankin new blackberry curve sitting on display at Fido. The sun was shining down on it and sparkled like Edward Cullin. I left Sydnerella in my dust and made a run for it. Not only was the phone beautiful, I was also told that they have a promotion that would get me that phone for $0 for March only even before my contract was up. I know "promotion" really means they need YOU to do something for THEM, like get their sales up because they are losing somwhere else, I know it doesn't mean THEY are doing YOU the favour, but at any rate, I was all like, you mean today? You really mean it? You'll do that ... for me? Now? He was all like, Yes, but no. I was like, WTF? He told me to call customer service and ask them to change my contract date by ONE day, or I wouldn't get the phone for free, something that I don't understand, but whatever. I can do this ... Fido loves me. I love Fido. So I made the call the very next day, they changed my contract date for me, and threw my new blackberry in the mail. It arrived Monday and it's everything that I ever imagined it would be. I love to download, I never knew this about my self. I have a facebook app. A weather app. And even a dictionary app. I figured this would come in handy when playing scrabble with T-Bone and sometimes, you just need to know the meaning of a word someone just said so you don't look stoopid. Oh and today's Word of the Day is hugger-mugger if anyone's interested in that information. I have every type of messaging option, which is probably going to be the death of my relationship with T-Bone because he hates texting and facebook and everything related. But life is all about sacrifices. And the best part about my beautiful blackberry is I have texas hold em for free. Free! I wasn't sure if I was going to share this, but that's a great way to kill time when you're sitting on the can ... I got carried away the other night and sat there for half an hour, talk about sore ass. My legs were even sleeping ... but I was up $1000 chips. I've killed the battery once and it never leaves my hands. I don't know how I lived before my blackberry. I don't know how people live without them now. Even the day I found out I had a million dollars worth of work to do on my car, I didn't care. I had my blackberry. What more do you really need. It has filled a void, I am finally complete.