measuring my real age

I remember being a little kid in the living room watching TV or playing with Silly Sally listening to my mom while she talked on the phone for what seemed like hours and even though I can't remember the conversations, I do remember thinking they sounded so adult. And all the way up into my teens, I wondered when I'd really be a grown up. Well here I am, 15, 20, 25 years later and still sometimes feel like I'm waiting for that moment that I feel like a grown up. I used to think that our childrens ages define our own age. I came to this realization the last time me and my girlfriends went to what used to be our favorite bar to dance (& do shooters) and we noticed that everyone else in the bar dancing & doing shooters were closer to our kids ages than our ages. It wasn't pretty let me tell ya. So it seems that older people with younger kids have it pretty good - they've aged, sure, but having wee one's around keeps em young. A 40 year old with a toddler at home for example still looks and sounds young, just like a 26 year old with a 14 year old at home (hey, I've seen it happen) already looks and sounds old(ish). So even though I'm only 30, I'm really almost over the hill because I have a 12 year old. That sucks rocks if you look at it that way. But having hit a milestone this year, maybe I'll have to reconsider what it is that makes a person old more grown up. This is the year I get extra vacation time at work. For the past few years, I've been bitter about the way my company hands out vacation time. Instead of taking into consideration all the years of hard work we put in with the same industry (oil & gas of course up here in Calgary), vacation time is based on the employees age. Wtf? Two years ago, I was none to happy to learn that our department had hired 2 women in their late 40's who were not only virgins to the industry, but had been "homemakers" pretty much their entire adult lives. Now, I'm not saying anything negative about the choice to be a homemaker, but ... BUT ... for anyone to go into any job with no prior experience and have 5 weeks of vacation immediately handed to them when at the same job, someone else (me) has been working their (my) ass of for nearly 10 years only to have earned 3 weeks vacation because they were (I was) under 30 seems like a little bit of bullshit to me. Just my honest opinion. And as a matter of fact, that sounds like a little bit of age descrimination. Anywhoo, this wasn't supposed to be ranting blog ... I swear I started it with a positive intention ... I am thrilled that I get the extra vacation time I've been waiting so many years for. A whopping 3 and a half days more .. that's prorated of course because I turn 31 in May ... they are precise aren't they? I suppose it's better than stewing over my measley 3 weeks, growling at everyone who gets those extra weeks while I pass them in the halls. And in 2011, I'll get that extra day and a half. That's what is going to make me feel old ... being in the 4-week-vacation age bracket at work. It certainly wont have anything to do with having an almost 14 year old .....

My garage has a bad attitude

Dear my very own house,

I love you, I really do. You are beautiful, functional, and have everything I was looking for. But why are so many little things falling apart at such a young age. At 10 years, you should still be smoking hot .... ok, you are smoking hot, but I'm starting to see .. let's call them little wrinkles. Laugh lines if you will. I knew I would have to repaint the stairwell when we realized it was not built to fit a queen sized boxspring up ... apparently they fit coming down because we could see the bed marks on the carpet when we moved it ... definitely queen sized, yet no scuff marks even from getting the former owners bed down. Odd wouldn't you say? But no worries, that's easy-peasey when my faux-husband is a painter. But why did you let your towel rack droop in the bathroom soon after I moved in? My towels surely couldn't be heavier than the others ... in fact, I can guarantee they are more worn out than most therefore weigh less. Sup with that? And even though you got me with the back door knob - really pretty funny when I look back to the day I went to shut the door and the door stayed where it was while the knob ended up in my hand .... 2 feet away - but so not cool at the same time because those knobs are the most expensive to replace of all doorknobs. Blessing in disguise I suppose because I really don't know how much longer I'd be able to handle looking at those brass knobs. Apparantly, you didn't like them either. I understand that, really I do. Brassy, gold, whatever the colour is, I'm fed up just after 6 months ... 10 years you must have been pulling your hair out ... or dropping your towel racks, so I forgive you for that. I paid a visit to Home Depot last night and have a deal for you. If you quit messin around with your laundry room light so I don't have to sort laundry in the dark or hold a lighter up to the soap dispenser while I pour, then I promise to replace all the brassy gold in you. Cross my heart .... look on the kitchen table if you don't believe me ... brand-spankin new 'satin nickle' door knobs! All for you. And because you have been so good to me aside from the stuff mentioned here, as a wee treat, I decided to throw in some matching cabinet handles. I mean, you have to admit, along with the brassy gold, there is entirely too much oak in the place. Not trying to make you feel bad ... just sayin. And if you keep behaving, I promise to replace all the brassy-ass gold doorknobs and hinges for the same satin nickle knobs throughout the house. What do ya think about that? I know you like the sound of that ... Now, since we're on the subject, I also have to ask you to talk to your little brother ... aka the garage. Wtf is wrong with him, seriously, WTF!? I didn't do anything wrong to him, with the chip on his shoulder ... and mold on his walls, like hell. Winter in Calgary, snow chunked on the undercarriage that falls off the car and melts and flows where? Yep, right over to the corners where the drywall sits directly on the concrete ... you'd think he could direct it to the corners where the drywall sits an inch above the concrete so the melted snowy shit can flow under it? Noooo .... that's way too much to ask. I figured the garage had it in for me they day I saw the great big crack down the centre that I know was not there when I bought it .. I have pictures, I have proof. Bastard. I'll replace the drywall regardless of his bad behavior when our snow melts, like July or something because mold isn't something you want to mess around with, but he better behave after that. Don't even make me say what I'll do otherwise. Thank you dear house, again, I do heart you very much. You take care of me, I'll take care of you.

Love,

Your owner. The one that promises to try to help you stay young and beautiful for many more years to come.

PS: I'm sorry my cat puked on you last night. She got glow stick liquid in her mouth and if she didn't puke, she'd die or something .. I cleaned you up good, but am really sorry. I wont put a glow stick necklace on her and laugh when she runs around trying to get it off even again!

For more letters or to add your own (angry, happy, sad, confused, whatever they may be), head on over to Foursons blog

conversations with my textaholic

My true story today is a little different. It's very short, but made me laugh. Just to set the stage .... Australia is 12 years old. She's had a cell phone for 3 years and has just crossed the 7000 texts per month mark ... Oh yes she did! Two weeks ago while at work, I got a call from Australia. She tells me quickly and quietly that the teacher caught her texting in class and wants to talk to me. 47 texts in less than an hour. I tell the teacher that really explains a lot since there were 7000 texts on her phone bill last month and I was kinda wondering how she was getting all that texting in when she's in class 30 hours a week, playing soccer two and a half hours a week, in the shower about three hours a week, and sleeping about 64 hours a week. It all makes sense to me now. I asked the teacher if she was taking the phone away, she said "No". Her bad. I told her I'd handle it and thanked her for the call. Australia was given a warning - No texting in class! .... or else! Scene set? Ok, so this is the short story from last Friday ....

Text received from Australia: Can we go to Chapters tonight?

Before I even hit reply, I look at the time. It's 11:15am. Hmmm, lunch isn't for another 45 minutes and locker break was at 11 ....

Text sent to Australia: Are you texting in class?

I wait for a quick reply .... nothing.

Finally .... Text received from Australia: Noooo (that was conveniently at 12:05pm)

With all honesty, I didn't really care to do anything about it. How awful of a mother am I?

For more True Stories, head over to Once Upon A Miracle.

stolen saturday blog - All About Me

So it's Saturday night and nothing's going on. Australia's gone for the night and T-Bone's watching his Maple Leafs lose against the Panthers. It wasn't that long ago that I'd be itching to go out ... a saturday kidless night ... hello jager bombs, but lately, I enjoy pretty much any night that I can just laze around the house. And since I scored during 2nd intermission (yeah, we're fast n dirty like that ...) I just don't feel the need to get dressed and send a bunch of frantic texts looking for someone to come celebrate a night without kids. Also, I have a soccer game tomorrow and I learned early in the season that playing soccer with a hangover is not only hard, but down right ballsy. So here I am, quite content sitting here blogging naked in my house coat on a Saturday night. I rarely blog on weekends and I have a small fetish for question and answer surveys because I like talking about myself (hence the blog .... ) so I thought I'd give this a try today. Brought to me by newest follower - Margaret (what a great way to start yesterday .. going to my dashboard and seeing I now have 14 followers .... sweeet, Thanks Margaret).

Saturday Sunday Stealing: The Trivia About Me Meme

Opening…

Do you get regular massages?

I try to go every two months, they make me feel happy, pampered, and a little bit rich (they direct bill my insurance company that my work pays for and most free things are good things)

Do you have an answering machine?

No. I have voice mail though but don't even check those messages. If I don't answer, text my cell. If you don't text, I'll get your message 2 weeks later when it's way too late to meet you for coffee in an hour, sorry.... If you text, I will reply almost immediately ... going a buck twenty down the Deerfoot or not ....

What cuss word do you use the most?

Shit is my favorite swear word (I say "swear" because I'm Canadian ...) but I'm pretty sure that I say fuck more. I like fuck too, probably because it's dirty. Shit's dirty too, but not the good dirty ....

Are you underweight or overweight?

Read some of my past blogs ... definitely overweight. I haven't been underweight since just before I got knocked up. Damn babies ....

Can you see your veins?

Unfortunately, my left leg looks like it's attached to an 80 year old woman. Every year before summer (so sometime in mid-July), I try yo remember to get rid of them, because I'm pretty sure my health spending account will be happy to cover the cost of a new 30 year old leg, but as a proscrastinator-supreme, I never call. I should also use the question as an oppurtunity to tell a little story about the 1st time Australia saw me shirtless and knew what to say .... "Ooooh, mommy, marker" Yes, thats right, my boobs look like they have been coloured on my toddlers. Great.

Favorite…

Fruit?

Hmmm, I'm more of a meat and carb person, but so I don't sound like an unhealthy blob, it's a toss up between fresh pineapple and kiwi ... ooo, I just remembered ... apple pieces with a table spoon of peanut better is pretty damn tastey too ....

Kind of red meat?

Steak! Hands down. Not to brag (ok, absolutely bragging), but I can turn a $2 top sirloin into a little piece of bleeding heaven if you give me steak seasoning and 6 minutes on the bbq ....

Fish?

As pets? Absolutely annoying, although our newest addition to the family is an interactive lil guy ... a red beta fish who jumps for food. I swear, he's pretty cool. To eat? I sure love fish n chips, but really, you throw that batter on pretty much anything and I'd eat it ....

Candy bar?

Have you ever seen a grown woman and a 5 foot tall 10 year old almost come to blows over a Coffee Crisp? Come to my place after Halloween ...

Have You Ever…

Eaten a whole bag of potato chips?

"A" whole bag of potato chips? You're kidding me with this question right? Again ... go back and find some of my blogs about my recent increase in size. I would almost trade my kid for a case of bags of potato chips ....

Eaten lobster?

Yes and loved it. It was another experience that made me feel pampered and rich. I ate the 2lb bastard and loved every inch of him.

Climbed a mountain?

The hill in Erin Woods turned into a mountain once on acid, does that count?

Been water skiing?

Never been any kind of skiing and given that I live less than 2 hours away from a good number of ski hills, I feel a little uncultured and sad that I haven't ... oh, we were talking about water skiing right?

Do You…

Wish you could change something about your life?

Actually, not right now. Well ... I'd always like to have more money, Oprah type money, but besides that I can honestly say I wouldn't change anything right now.

Like your nose?

No. I'm still wondering if I was beaten as a kid and had it broken. If I had Oprah type money, I'd have me a brand new nose ...

Like salt and vinegar chips?

They're chips aren't they? Nuff said ....

Eat salsa?

That's how I get my veggies in, and what a great way to class up a pot of mac n cheese....

Own a boat?

I have a great inflatable boat that brought us some good times the last few summers ...

What Is…

A small thing that people let slide but that actually has dire consequences?

Not making their kids eat vegetables and letting them sleep with them as toddlers ....

Your most macho trait?

Not sure about this one, I'll ask T-Bone ............ Well he was of no help, he said there is nothing macho about me (yes, I'm that much of a lady ...) so I'll just go out on a limb and say my sex drive.

The longest relationship you’ve ever had?

Time Wasted ... met at 14, had MY baby at 18, kicked him to the curb at 25, so about 7 years too long if ya ask me ...

Your most embarrassing thoughts?

As long as nobody knows, they're not embarrassing

Your most shameful moment?

On a serious note, probably when I realized that I yelled at my kid the way mom used to yell at us! Not a great time at all ... Otherwise, I have a handful of shamefully ridiculous moments, probably enough for it's very own blog post. For example, it was pretty shameful when I e-mailed the entire accounting systems group asking why my accounting system wasn't working and they replied back asking if I meant to be in the test environment. Umm nope! Another example is when I was on the soccer field in front of the open net of the opposing team and didn't score.

My greatest weakness is…

my will power (or I guess my lack there of) ... and of course, chips!

I wish I was…

Oprah Rich. That covers everything, I was Oprah rich, I could be anything else I want to be ...

Three things I wouldn’t do for a million dollars are…

There probably isn't even 1 thing I wouldn't do for a million dollars

The oddest thing I’ve ever put in my mouth is…

Oh well that's just a dirty question if you ask me.

I'll leave you with that. T-Bone's game is over, we're out of smokes, and we haven't had dinner yet. Since cooking on a Saturday is generally out of the question, I guess I have to get my ass at least partially dressed to hit some drive-thru close to home.

I have powers of invisibility

Hormonal? Possibly. I do I feel uber-fat (see my Letter of Intent today) and I can feel my ovaries twisting or some shit ... but mostly, I'm insulted. And not just because of this one incident today (I'll get to that later ...), but because in my life, I feel like I've been over-looked. I can't think of any other way to put it. I don't feel ignored, as in "I'm an annoying freak so when I talk or snort people choose to ignore me". I think I'm simply forgotten about. Over all, I think I'm a well-liked person. I think this because of the relationships I do have and am able to make, because I have always received great reviews at work that pretty much say "stacy rocks" "she da bomb" "should receive a 50% raise and bonus this quarter" .. you know, stuff like that ... and because I've never been gossiped about where it has come back to me (besides the time I was standing at my locker when a twat girl came up to me and told me that a rumor was going around the school that I was pregnant ...), but even then, it wasn't malicious. It wasn't rumor, ha. Australia was born 5 months later ... exactly 6 days after school let out for summer break. Good timing hey? Ok, so I was picked on in junior high BIG TIME and I have had people tell me after they get to know me that they used to think I was a snobby bitch, but I've never got the impression from people that I am now close to that they don't like me. Ever. And I'm really not a daft person. So what is it about me that makes me so easy to forget about? It's been suggested to me that maybe I am a low maintenance person. Ok, I can get on board with that. As a people pleaser, I guess I'm low maintenance. Which may also be why I've found myself in situations where I'm literally the doormat. And really, how much attention do you pay to your doormat anyway? I think I've made my own point ... However, with some of these incidences I'm referring to, there's no doormat-affect to them. I am literally RIGHT THERE. And I'm not a hard person to miss. I'm not bone thin there by making it easy to mistake me for a coat rack. I don't wear neutral colours to blend in with the walls. I have a ginormous ass and a belly that jiggles long after I quit walking. Seriously, not hard to miss. So how does this happen? Why was I not included in a birthday celebration at Harvey's (yes, I flipped burgers for 3 months as a young mom) when there were three of us on the same shift with birthdays that landed during May long weekend? We were all working that day. We all knew it was all of our birthdays because we talked about it together a few days before. So why did the other 2 get a card each and have their name written on the cake and not me? And when I was a financial accountant at my first real job and the VP invited ALL the financial accountants out for lunch, why was I not invited? As entertaining as it was to see the looks on all their faces and listen to them stammering and putting their foot in their mouths when they returned to office and realized that I had been left out, it still sucked. Seriously guys, I can go on and on and on ... (remember this blog of mine? See ... forgotten!) As the years go on and I get older and wiser, I try to ignore all that bullshit. In my mind, I tell myself "well fuck them, their loss". But I didn't feel like saying "fuck them" this time, partly because I didn't know who I was saying it to this time, and partly because I was actually hurt today. Again, maybe it's just my hormones, but today really bothered me. I was left out of my bcwf's birthday lunch. And by bcwf (best co-worker friend), I mean BEST co-worker friend. The person who I have been smoking with 3 times a day for 3 years ... minus the handful of times she's tried to quit where I was very supportive and never tried to make her start again. The person who I've been swapping stories with .. about life, sex, work, sex, money, kids, relationships, sex, vacations, family, bitches, and sex for 3 years. The person who's office I stood in with flowers in my hand and tears in my eyes because she had just put her 18 year old cat to sleep. The person who gave me a pat on the back for making out with someone I shouldn't have been in the parkade at work one night while she was up in the office making out with someone she should have been that same night at the same time. And we've made no secret that we're partners in crime, as thick as thieves. Everyone we've been working with for over 3 years knows we're like an old married couple. So yet again, I find myself asking, Why was I not invited? Anyone out there reading this that knows me worth a shit, fill me in ... because one of these days, I'm going to say "bitches" out loud when I'm "forgotten" ... then I'll really be looked down on. Probably more-so than the lady who accused someone in the office of stealing soil from her plant.




***2 hour later update: absolutely hormonal. Am bloaty, fat, sad, tired, hungry, and want to throw Australia through a wall. Hormonal. Good thing T-Bone is in the kitchen cooking dinner as we speak. I'm treating myself to him cooking me crab legs while I am on the computer. Later, I'm going to have a hot bath and let Cosmo teach me 99 new sex moves***


***And I got a text from my bcwf that wouldn't seem so sappy if I wasn't hormonal. She really is my best co-worker friend***

Dear Muffin Top

Sweet Sweet Friday. A cold day again here in Calgary. Waiting for the snow. Great excuse for not getting the pumpkins off my back deck and into the garbage yet again .. sigh. I've been linking up over at Foursons blog on Fridays for Letters of Intent. Head over there to read more letters when you're done here ... or if you are just sick of looking at my muffin top ... ok, that's not really my muffin top, but it could be my muffin top twin

Dear Muffin Top,

Peek a boo, I see you! And so does every other damn person in the world. You can go away anytime now, I shouldn't have to force you to leave (by eating better or doing some sit ups or something equally crazy). Just leave ... bu-bye now.

Dear stretchy jeans,

I heart you. Although you don't cover above mentioned muffin top, at least you are comfortable around the ol spare tire. I have a question though ... Why do you shrink in length as muffin top increases in size? The length of my legs should have nothing to do with the width of my muffin. Just sayin ...

Dear Good Life Fitness,

Look at you! Making all that money off me without having to do any work? I must be your favorite type of member? Actually, you're probably laughing at me too, behind my big arse. Admit it. You released me of my contract and I STILL pay you. You heart me don't you? Don't worry, I'm on my way! Not like ... soon. But eventually. When I'm ready ... I'll be there. As soon as the New Years Resolution crowd gives up and goes home, I'll fill in.

Dear oven baked french fries,

For better or worse. In sickness and in health. Til death do us part. Don't you worry your tastey little self, I'll be there til the end. We're a team and we're in this together.

Dear Blog Readers,

If you want to know how this happened to me (because it DID "happen" to me) and if you have a little more time to kill, read the story of how muffin tops start.

promote lesbianism

I was reading Attack of the Redneck Mommy the other day when Tanis blogged about her daughter going to first base (read her, she's funny and great and everything in between). Given the topic, I know what she was going through emotionally and mentally, so I'll let her slide on the short blog. I read all the comments from her readers too, which then made me think of all of my friends and the hours and hours and hours of conversations we've had about our daughters. Most of the women that I've talked to or have read that have daughters also have husbands. Some of these husbands also have guns. I have neither. So what line of defense do I have? I used to discourage bathing, acne control, shaving, brushing of the teeth and hair, and would wait until Australias clothes were really worn out before I'd replace them.  But, as Australia grew up, that strategy backfired for obvious reasons and I was on the hunt again for a new line of defense. When I first learnt that Australia had kissed a boy (and liked it), I couldn't react. I was frozen. Like a deer caught in headlights. I remained calm, kept my composure, stayed sober, didn't go out and buy a gun. What was on my mind at that instant wasn't that she had just kissed her first real boyfriend - and I say real because he wasn't a fictional boy made-up on windows messenger by a group of 11 year old little bitches that I gave Australia full permission to smack the fuck out of if she felt like it and I also say real because I saw them with my very own eyes holding hands in the back yard with all their friends - what was on my mind when I heard the news was how often they would play tonsil hockey in the future and how long it would be until they went to second base. I don't know what second base is anyway but I'm fairly certain I didn't want Australia going there anytime soon. The thought was terrifying and I can safely assume that what appeared to be remaining calm when Silly Sally told me that Australia has been to first base was actually fear so great that I gave myself a mini-stroke and was unable to react. Fortunately for me, Australia's cute and polite little boyfriend lied to her and she kicked him to the curb before their second rendezvous. Sswweeeeet! I mean ... how heartbreaking.  Immediate crisis was averted without the use of weapons or heavy drinking. Averted because Australia has strength and confidence. Something I was lacking as I grew up (obviously, I did get knocked up in high school remember ...). I was one proud mamma the day she kicked that boy to the curb, and without so much as a tear. As a matter of fact, the way she dumped him was down-right cold hearted. Again ... sswweeeeet. Just what I prayed for since the day I felt that the bun growing in my oven was a girl-baby ... that my girl-baby would be strong, confident, and wouldn't take shit from anyone (except me of course ...). And if she falls off track and I feel like I need to call in some troops for back up, my next attack with be Operation Lesbian. Something I think has been far overlooked up to this point. 1st, 2nd, or 3rd base .. who cares. Babies don't come from 2 girls kissing. As much as it's going to kill me to admit this (because I like this song about as much as I like getting pap-smears) but Maybe Katy Perry was on to something ....

poop.flush.spray.

Recycling an older blog for today's True Story. I can laugh about this shit now, but I used to be very modest when it came to the good ol number 2. I'm obviously not the only one. Out of the 11 women that were at my good friends Friday night for yummy food, lots o wine and good conversation, we could see a distinct correlation between what shames us and our ages. Basically, as we age, less seems to mortify us. Now, given that the oldest person in the room just turned 30 and I'm guessing the youngest was a mere 20, we didn't have the broadest range to make this judgement, but at that rate, it will be interesting to hear what conversations this same group of women would have when we're 40 let's say. So I'm linking up with Rachel & Mr Daddy today over at Once Upon a Miracle to prove that not much can embarass me anymore ... this is something that would have shamed me very much just a few years ago and now, is something that I can laugh my ass of at and tell whoever will listen ....

Now I know this isn't the most ideal blog to write, I am a lady after all (or am I?) but I hit a milestone yesterday at work ... I did a #2 in my new building for the first time. We moved here in October. Yes, I go to work every week day. And yes, I'm a fairly regular person. I'm not an overly shy person, but when it comes to spending more than 1 minute on the toilet, or passing gas in front of anyone besides my kid or my cat (probably just my cat), I'm a little more private than most. Or maybe the term's anal? .... I've been holding it my hole life and I've never had any complications or near misses. Ok, that's an out n out lie, I've had near misses and if you want to keep reading, I'll tell you about one. I'm going back a few years now, around the time I learnt how to play blackjack. It was a Friday and sometime in between April and October. My company closes at 1pm on Fridays between those months and we were off to celebrate. My bcwf (best co-worker friend) and I headed from our office to the casino just outside of downtown. We hit the bank machine, grabbed a drink, and headed for a lucky lookin lucky lucky table where we had planned on spending the remainder of the day. Unless of course, we hit 6-7-8 suited, then were off to Vegas. Realistically speaking though, our plans were to spend the rest of the day playing. We were a little over an hour into playing when it hit me. The pain. And for those of you who don't know me and Silly Sally very well (and you will all know us a little better in a sec ...), the pain is the exact second that your insides start turning. The tummy is gurlging. And you have as little as 1 minute to make it to a toilet, a bush, whatever or you are going to shit your pants explode. And I don't care who you are, you've all got The Pain at some point in your life. I've tested my limits a few times, and if I had more time and wasn't a lady, I'd share my other stories. Now this Friday in particular, I tested my limits beyond anything I've ever been willing to risk in all my life. Even when I was in labour and the nurse was yelling at me to push and I refused because I was scared I would poop in the floor, I wasn't as scared that I was going to have an accident as I was this particular Friday. And it wouldn't be so bad if I were to tell you that I had ran around the casino to find a washroom, did my doodie duty, then headed back to my table where my bcwf, pack of smokes, Coors lite, and stack of chips were waiting. But that wasn't the case. I decided in about 10 seconds flat that I could not, and would not use the public casino washroom in that manner. Had I been in the hood end of the city, maybe ... but downtown? I don't think so. It took me about 5 minutes to get to my car after yelling some stuff at my bcwf, grabbing my chips, running to the cashiers cage, grabbing my money without counting it, and bolting out to the parking lot. I'm surprised security didn't mistake me for someone who just knocked over the casino and take me down. But I had made it to my car, I was safe. Almost. I just needed to make it home, and all would be well. Yes, you are reading this right, I decided in my painful haste that I was driving home to use the washroom. Wouldn't be so bad if I lived across the street, or even a few blocks away, but again, this wasn't the case. My house was over 10 miles away. And as I'm pulling out of the parking lot, it really hits me ... I have to shit my brains out, I'm on the wrong side of downtown, and it's rush hour. So an expected 15 minute drive turns into the scariest 45 minute ordeal in my entire life. I pull into the back alley at my house and all I was thinking was that it's going to gross and messy, but at least my car will be in my garage so I can clean it in privacy and nobody will have to know. Thankfully, even as a person that doesn't really know what to make of God, I had a higher power looking after me. I made it out of the car, into the house, and up the stairs to my own private washroom. I was relieved, in more ways that I can describe ... and safe, and clean. And ready to get back to my lucky lucky table. And that I did. I made it back to the casino before my bcwf could pound too many more beers than I, and we finished off our day and evening playing blackjack. Every so often, she'd look at me and laugh. Couldn't believe I just did what I did. So this sets the scene for what an accomplishment yesterday was for me. And it was my choice to do it, I could have waited, it wasn't one of the near-miss kinda pains, a less panicked kind ... but for no reason that I can remember, I thought to myself "Fuck that! I have to go and nobody's going to stop me!". Wow have I grown .... Nearing the end of my stay in the stall, a longer stay than I ever thought I'd be able to manage, people started coming in for their afternoon coffee pees, and I wasn't even uncomfortable. Well, maybe a little because I did wait for everyone to leave so I could make a graceful exit, and put the air freshner back on the counter without anyone knowing what I was up to. What a great discovery, the good ol' poop/flush/spray .. all at once, no time for a break, get er done and then get back to work.

Pants on the Ground

Happy Friday boys and girls. My favorite thing about Friday is that we can dress casually at the office. Ok, thats my second favorite thing. My favorite being treat day,  because who doesn't love a free breakfast? But on casual fridays, the men sometimes wear hoodies. Runners, jeans, hoodies. And I'm a sucker for a man in a hoodie. My faux-husband almost scored me last night for sure when he picked me up wearing a hoodie (well he's from Saskatchewan so it's a bunnyhug to him). But it's seriously like an aphrodisiac to me, doesn't really matter what the dude wearing it looks like ... hell, it could be a woman that just looks like a dude wearing a hoodie and I'm checkin that out. Another great part abou Friday is it's time for Letters of Intent over at Foursons blog. Mine is simple and quick today, don't want to miss that free breakfast ....

Dear Larry Platt,

Good on ya. You funny, man



Dear American Idol,

Thanks for the laughs.

How to make a million dollars when your 6

2nd day back at work and it's really not that bad ... I mean, really. I'm sitting at my desk drinking a fabulous cup of coffee typing this up. Oh how hard my life is. I haven't typed anything up for Rachel & Mr Daddy's True Story Tuesday in awhile, so here's one. It's another silly one from when I was a kid, me and my friend Wacky.

We were 6 years old, and it was probably the same summer that I saved my sisters shoes. Wacky & I were trying to earn money. At 6 years old, I can't imagine what we thought we needed money for but I don't really know what made us do a lot of things we did. And I can't even begin to imagine where we came up with idea of selling sparkly dust. You read that right, sparkly dust. Let me give you a quick lesson in what sparkly dust is and how it's made. Sparkly dust can be found anywhere if you look hard enough. Just go in to your back alley and search the lane for little sparkly rocks. Also keep your eye out for a big rock. Not too big though, you have to be able to hold it in your 6 year old little hands. When you've gathered all your rocks, you're going to have to scour your house for little perfume vials, tiny bags, and when all else fails, pop bottle tops with plastic wrap. Now that you have everything you need, take it all to the sidewalk. You can't do it in the house because it's too loud and you don't want your parents to send you away, you can't use the lawn because you'll lose the rocks and you can't use the deck because wood is too soft. Pound the hell out of the tiny rocks with the big rock until you have sparkly dust. When you have enough sparkly dust, put it in the perfume vials, little bags, or the pop bottle lids wrapped with plastic. Now you're ready to make a million dollars. Just like Wacky and me were ready to make a million dollars. We got through about half a block when we realized that people weren’t really on the market for sparkly dust – and yes, we were going door to door. Not wanting to admit defeat, not wanting to fail, not wanting to grow up poor, we thought of a gimmick. A fail-proof gimmick and everybody would be excited to buy a vile of our sparkly dust. I was wearing a pair of long shorts, short capri’s, whatever they were although I distinctly remember calling them “knickers” way back then. I went into the house, took off my knickers, stood on my right leg with my left leg bent as far back and up as I could get it, and I put my knickers back on. I was officially One Legged Stacy and I had been hit by a train. That was my story and I was sticking to it. It was genius, the 1st house we got to – me hopping and hobbling – listened to my tragic story and bought our sparkly dust. That person paid so much money for our sparkly dust that we decided we didn’t need to sell anymore. Our $2 windfall was all we needed for our candy, or pop, or whatever it was we were trying to buy. That, or my left leg went numb and I couldn’t continue. At any rate, we didn’t go on. We spent the remainder of the day avoiding the house we sold the sparkly dust to because I had taken my leg out of my knickers so I could run and play and we didn't want to get caught. I don’t know how our 6 year old minds didn’t catch the fact that we sold our sparkly dust to Wacky’s next door neighbor, a neighbor who was friends with our parents. Back then, we just thought he was simple, now we know why he bought the sparkly dust. If a one-legged 6 year old came to your house trying to sell you sparkly dust, you'd do the same thing.

Sunday failed me and now I'm back at work

This picture pretty much sums up my Sunday, but I found it after I wrote all this and I'm not deleting all my hard work now ....

I teetered on the edge of insanity yesterday and by about 3pm, I wished I hadn't even left my house. People who crossed my path don't know how lucky they are that they made it home safely, how close they were to meeting their painful demise. All over stupid little shit, but a handful of stupid little shits and before I knew it, I was treading in a bunch of shit. And when I got home and decided I needed to get good & drunk to erase all the shit, I realized there wasn't enough alcohol in the house to make me feel better about the day ... or the last 10 days really. So I started on a big ass pot of spaghetti. Now, not to brag, but I make a mean pot of spaghetti and I'm always happy when I'm eating it. Anyway, the reason I left the house to begin with was to "get stuff done", stuff that should have been done sooner, stuff that would have been done sooner HAD I NOT BEEN SICK FOR 2 GODDAM MOTHER F-ING WEEKS!!!!!! Normally, I am ok with being sick ... sick means work doesn't want you to go in, sick means you get to sit your ass on your couch all damn day and not feel guilty. You get to order your kids around more than usual and they can see it in your face ... they wouldn't dare say No because they know you'll throw them out the window and lock the doors if they do. You get to trade in laundry, soccer, and cooking, for the comforts of your favorite couch blankey, a pair of sweat pants, the remote control, and Nyquil. When I look at it that way, I see no better way to spend a free day off work. BUT .... but, when I've worked my ass off all 2009 just to reach December 24 and get a whole week off work for free just to come down with a friggin cough, cold, pig flu, pneumonia, whatever I had that just wont go away ... that's where I draw the line. Fuck the couch, I'd rather be at work! So, when yesterday arrived and I knew I only had that day to "get shit done", I wanted that shit done!! I got up just after 9am (which bit me in the ass this morning with the whole 5 hours sleep I was able to get), watched a movie, popped on the computer for a bit, then left the house (wearing probably the same clothes I'd been wearing all weekend). First stop: Walmart. I had an alarm clock (without a radio .. wtf?) and a cheap ugly tree topper to return. The sun is shining, the snow is melting, there's no line up at customer service, tasty Tim Hortons double double in hand .. today will be a good day! Even after leaving Walmart with the alarm clock and ugly tree topper still in hand because my time to exchange both had passed, I assumed there was still hope (notice how I used the word 'assumed' and you know what happens when you assume something don't you?), and hey, it was only a $20 return. And if you saw the increasing size of my gut, you'd know that I'm not starving for that $20. At any rate - FAIL. Back in the car for stop #2 ...Winners, my favorite of all favorite stores (to make another $20 worth of returns because I have a bad of habit of buying things that I don't need or want). These returns were successful, but because the line up at customer service was so long, I decided to kill some time shopping ... another $120 worth of purchases. Normally, I'd have had buyers remorse ... but not this time. I figured with being cooped up in my house for so long not spending much money that I don't really have anyway because it was just Christmas, I deserved some new clothes. And since I'm not losing weight like I'd hoped, I better buy some pants that I can actually button up. And the sun is still out, the snow is still melting, it's still a great day. Back in the car, over to stop #3 ... The mall to exchange a pair of shoes for Australia (this is my daughters new nickname and we prefer it over Sydnerella ... actually, she never liked Sydnerella to begin with, so her name's now Australia). They didn't have her size, but whatever, I'd get the cash back and go buy them somewhere else (because I made 100% sure I could get cash back when I bought them if they needed to be returned). However, I was ONE day late and they couldn't (wouldn't?) do cash back ... exchange only! Then they proceeded to show me other shoes and colours that I could get instead. Umm yeah, that will go over well ... me picking out a pair of shoes for a 12 year old that is so particular about her fashion that she wont wear socks unless they don't match ... they had to be the NAVY Converse ... not the BLUE Converse ... NAVY! Fine ... I put a pair on order and will exchange them when they come in. Whatever, FAIL. Up the mall to stop #4. La Senza. Now I don't really like La Senza, but I have a gift card and better use it before it expires. I refuse to spend $36 on a bra (gift card or not), but I find 2 pretty nighties on clearance. I'm not normally a fan of nighties, but I'm not really paying for them and I figure I better spice at least something up since T-Bone is having a hard time even touching me lately ... sigh ... and I stand in line for close to five minutes only to be told that the gift card wasn't activated properly and I'd have to call customer service ... I'D have to call customer service. So I walked away while the sales lady tried to ask if I still wanted the nighties ... HELL NO! Like I said, I don't really like La Senza, I'm not paying out of my own pocket for a meager attempt at regaining T-Bone's lust for me .... FAIL. At this point, I'm losing steam. Defeat is closing in. One more gift card in hand, so I head over to stop #5. The only shoe store that I've found a pair of decent all-purpose work shoes at in months. My current pair of shoes broke ... did not wear out ... broke. I can hear and feel the clicking of whatever it is that broke under my right foot and I need a new pair of shoes big time. My day seemed like it was getting brighter when I noticed that the shoes I fell in love with were on sale for half price. I repeat, my day SEEMED like it was getting brighter ... but in keeping with the theme of the day, the store didn't have my size. And trust me, it look all of my self restraint to keep me from putting my fist through the sales girls face when she told me she had them in size 11 after I asked her for a 7 in a tone that made me wonder if she wanted me to at least think about getting the 11's. So, for the fourth damn time ... FAIL. Sunday won, I lost. I sulked back to my car, and even though I had planned to take my car to Auto Value so they can hook it up to some diagnostics machine that would tell me why my check engine light is on, I decided I probably end up beating that poor worker to a bloody pulp if he came back with some bad news, so I lit a cigarette and drove back to my end of town where I still had to do weeks worth of grocery shopping. My day did turn around when my fabulous spaghetti was done, and I actually found the motivation to take the Christmas tree down, finish some laundry, and watch a movie with Australia .. and lucky for her, I didn't even feel the need to throw her out the window when she told me at 9pm that she had homework ....

**Post blog update: Ironically, as today wears on, and as much as yesterday sucked, waking up at 6 this morning, putting a bra and make up on, battling the north east drivers through rush hour, paying $25 for parking, and not getting to poop in the comfort of my own bathroom kinda seems like a bad trade off now. I miss Rusty, I miss Bailey's in my coffee, I miss Facebook and PokerStars, I miss my big comfy pants and slippers, and I miss my movie stations .... Is it 4 o'clock yet?

I heart Aunt Crazy

I typed this up Monday and have been waiting all week to publish it. I decided to wait for Julies Letters of Intent so that everyone knows just how great my friend is. Click on the button to read more letters.

Dear Aunt Crazy,

I'm pretty sure I told you this before but I am soooo happy that I was reading whatever articles you were on MSN Womens Central way back then in 2000-ish. You have been a bigger part of my life than most people I know in person and I consider myself the luckiest lil Canadian girl in the world to have crossed paths with you (and all of m&p really .... even those who I don't see eye to eye with ... but this is about you, not them .....) I can't imagine parts of my life had I not met you, hell I almost think I'd be sitting in my low income townhouse waiting for Time Wasted to come home with his pay cheque complaining to my internet friends about what an ass he is if it wasn't for you all. I give you a lot of credit for where I am today, and so does my family (Mr Sister in particular has given you a shout out) ... ever since the Texas Easter Bunny visited, I felt that I deserved more out of life than that bullshit I always struggled with. And I'm still thrilled that Sydney got to meet you, she hearts you too and always says "Ya'll" when I talk about going to Texas.

You are the most sincere, kind, real, and funny as hell Crazy Bitch south of the border and if I ever hit this damn lotto, I'm retiring to Texas (as a matter of fact, I'd probably just buy the house in Seguin and maybe shack up with Jimmy ... was that his name??) Thanks for screaming for help when I just about bit it in the Comal River and everything else you've done for me as my Friend - including turning me on to Blogger ... I have 11 followers in a few short months and have now been awarded a Circle of Friends Award. Get those speakers workin, I'll be there in about 7 months... (and as long you keep me away from the Petrone and off Youporn, I promise to let you sleep with me ....)