who doesn't love to shop?

Well this couldn't have happened at a better time in a sense ... meaning just in time for True Story Tuesday .... And this is going to be a 2-part series because the story in it's entirety is really something that deserves to be blogged about ...

For more stories, click the pic above ... for MY story, read below ....

Let's start this story at last Wednesday when I called the car repair shop to get my car in for a tune up. It's been running a little rough, and at 11 years old, needs that kind of tender loving care. The day, I swear to jeezus, the day I called the shop, my cars little rough running turned into roughER running right to the point where it was taking a good 30 seconds to pull away from a dead stop. And since most of you have never seen me drive, that's NOT acceptable. I pass any and all on the roads, no matter who or what it is. I have a collection of speeding tickets to prove that I simply can't tolerate that kind of behavior from my vehicle. And I've been around the block several times with bad cars (and I'll get into that in part 2 of my series), so I knew what was going on with the car. I did once own a car that went through a litre of tranny fluid every few days and I actually parked it over a heap of cat litter to soak it up so it wouldn't look trashy in front of my house (aaaa am I ever killing myself laughing at that in my head ...). So as scheduled, I dropped the car off at the repair shop this morning, gave them a quick update and hopped on the bus to work. And I just got the call. THE call. My poor ugly little honda civic has a list of "problems" that need to be "addressed", from the tires, right up to the battery, and a good chunk of everything in between ..... Unbelievably, to the tune of $5000 ladies and gentlemen. Which was really overkill on their part because I wasn't planning on spending even $1000 to fix 'er up. So, my new task (never mind the house repairs or the gym for a while I guess): 

I have some shopping to do. And not the good kind. The time consuming expensive kind, the kind that will test the character and worthiness of my financial institutions.

gettin all edumicated

I graduated high school in 1998. It was a small school of about 60. The graduating class that year was 10% of the school. I can't, for the life of me, remember two of the people I graduated with. If they come to me before I'm done writing this, I'll add them, but for now, there was me, Sasha, Danielle, and a French girl whose name started with a J. I wore a long light purple silky dress with sequins on the chest and black high heels. And there was a limo outside waiting for me. I had a handful of the people that meant the most to me in the crowd. And I had the biggest crowd in the gym than the other five who graduated. I sniffled and subtly wiped my nose, and tried to hold back tears reading my Thank You speech that earned me extra credit in English 33. At that stage in our lives, they gave us extra credits for everything. A year before that, I even got extra credits for taking drivers ed and passing. When the ceremony was done, I waited in the hall for everyone to come see me. I stood there for what seemed like an hour, hugging my family and friends as they walked by. And I cried. And cried. And cried. Sydney was down the hall in the daycare centre when I walked up to the podium to accept my diploma just a few minutes before. I ran into the daycare in my long light purple silky dress, my black high heels, and a cap & gown to scoop up my 1 year old daughter. I held her tight and cried some more. I did it. I graduated high school ... with my baby on my hip. And only one year later than everyone else I went to high school with, except those that also ended up pregnant. And trust me; there was more than a few. Well, like I said earlier, 60 girls in the school at a time was common. I graduated from Louis Dean School, a school for pregnant and parenting teens, and I was 19 years old.

That was 12 years ago. Contrary to what happens with a good number of teens that find themselves knocked up in high school, I didn't just resign myself to a life on welfare and an armful of babies. I have done something with my life, a lot of somethings actually, but not everything that I ever wanted. And for various reasons and depending on my mood, sometimes certain decisions still bother me. Two months after graduating, I enrolled in Viscount Bennet, a continuing education school, to upgrade my math and sciences. I had big plans. I was going to be an Animal Health Technician. To do this, I needed 4 more classes. Math 23, Math 33, Biology 30, and Chemistry 30. Once I had those under my belt, I'd register for college. One semester at SAIT in Calgary, 3 semesters at Olds College. Olds is about an hour from Calgary, but I was willing to leave my family for the small town scene, with my child in tow to make sure we had a better life. 

After the first year on my own (own apartment, own relationship, own child) I was ready to throw in the towel. Life was harder than I had ever imagined. And the next few years didn't get any easier. Needless to say, I didn't make it to college. I completed Math 33, showed up for most of the biology classes, minus the class we wrote our final exam, and exactly two chemistry classes. I couldn't afford the text books anyway, so I returned them to the library, one covered in beautiful art-work done by Sydnerella, and shortly after that, I was flipping burgers. Literally. Fast forward 10 years and past all the gory details, and I did end up with a great job and can support myself and Sydnerella on my own. Of the regrets that I do have, and I try not to regret too much because I think I really have kicked ass as a teen mom and because I try to believe that everything happens for a reason, I still wish I got to go to college.

I do have a plan to try to make up for it. Something that I really should have done sooner. April 20, I'm challenging the exam for the Introduction to the Oil Patch. I don't need to be introduced, I've been doing this for coming on 10 years, but I'd like to have it official and on paper, that I am S-M-R-T. As soon as I pass that exam with flying colours, I can enroll in the courses that will lead to a certificate that pertains to what I have been doing, self-taught, all these years. And with a 12 year old who prefers to pretend that I don't exist anyway, it wont be so hard to spend an evening a week sitting in a desk at Mount Royal University, with my binder and text book, and a cutesy little pencil case with a favorite pen. And who knows, maybe there will be cute boys in the class that I can pass notes to (just kidding T-Bone ...).

As procrastinator-extraordinaire however, my plan might never come to fruition. In the mean time though, I feel good that I at least came up with the idea to begin with. And I felt pretty important when my registration paper came in the mail that said "Welcome to Mount Royal University".

personal space

Dear people on the elevator that do not have a clue about personal space,

If I can stick out my tongue and lick the back of your head, you are standing too close me. If my boobs are smooshed into your back pack, you are too close. If you fart and I feel it rumble in my crotch, you are too close. If you are getting goosebumps because I am breathing on your neck, you are too close. If our feet, hips, arms, or hands are touching, you are too close. If you are so close that when you turn to get off the elevator and are face to face with me, then you deserve the whiff of coffee / smokers breath I will blow in your face.

Signed,

Irritated and almost ready to start taking the stairs all 40 floors up

Click above to read more letters and to add your own. Happy Friday peeps.

chubby busting

Well now I've gone and done it! I am 4 pounds away from the weight I was at the end of my pregnancy. Yikes doesn't even begin to emphasize how I feel about this. And so begins the mission. The choice has been taken out of my hands. I'm outta control. I blogged twice about this, or maybe more, but it was back in September when I realized that I was on a bumpy road straight to fatness, see here if you want, and maybe even here if you're really bored, and just to let you know how bad it's gotten, the fat pants I'm talking about there hurt my belly now. So I start today (Tuesday really because that's when I started this blog post). Already a visit to the gym behind me and my chips are all in the garbage. Let me repeat that ... MY CHIPS ARE ALL IN THE GARBAGE!

I was going to start an entire new blog for this because I figured not everyone who reads me will be interested in these blog posts, and because I will be posting my real weight, and possibly real pics of my big fat gut, which I'm still not sure I want on here. But ya know what? Too bad. I chose the URL for a reason ... stacyinprogress, and dammit, this will be my progress. I'll also add the label "chubby busting" to all weight loss related blogs and format them a little different. So for anyone that isn't interested can just skip it. Also, I'm not looking for negative comments from those who are heavier than me, either by a little or a lot who think I'm not overweight just because I'm not 300lbs. Or even 175. This is my battle and my blog. And I'm sitting at a weight that I am not comfortable with. With a belly that is bigger than all the pregnant womens bellies in my office - even the ones that are close to popping. And to be fair, I'm also not looking for comments for anyone 90lbs soaking wet who's never ripped the ass out of a pair of jeans just by putting them on telling me that I should do this, and shouldn't do that. I know exactly what I have to do, exactly what I should do, exactly what I wont do. Which I guarantee is going to cause some eye rolling or head shakes at the very least (because I haven't yet decided to cut too many calories out of my diet). So I suppose, in saying that, please comment all you want, when I am grumpy & bitter over my lack of potato chips, I will need someone to get pissy at

Todays weight: A lot. Goal weight: um, I really don't give a shit what the scales say, I'd just like to get to a weight where maternity clothes don't seem like such a fantastic idea. See my chub is not distributed evenly at all this time ... not my first rodeo ladies and gentlemen ... only this time, for some odd reason, all 3000lbs of fat is sitting in my fucking belly .... and No, there are no babies in it. I already checked.

Here's a little funny reading for ya that I was e-mailed yesterday, nice & fitting:

WARNING TO ALL WOMEN!

You've heard about people who have been abducted and had
their kidneys removed by black-market organ thieves.

My thighs were stolen from me during the night a few years
ago. I went to sleep and woke up with someone else's thighs.
It was just that quick. The replacements had the texture of
cooked oatmeal. Whose thighs were these and what happened to
mine? I spent the entire summer looking for my thighs.
Finally, hurt and angry, I resigned myself to living out my
life in jeans. And then the thieves struck again.

My butt was next. I knew it was the same gang, because they
took pains to match my new rear-end to the thighs they had
stuck me with earlier. But my new butt was attached at least
three inches lower than my original! I realized I'd have to
give up my jeans in favor of long skirts.

Two years ago I realized my arms had been switched. One
morning I was fixing my hair and was horrified to see the
flesh of my upper arm swing to and fro with the motion of
the hairbrush. This was really getting scary - my body was
being replaced one section at a time. What could they do to
me next?

When my poor neck suddenly disappeared and was replaced with
a turkey neck, I decided to tell my story. Women of the
world wake up and smell the coffee! Those 'plastic' surgeons
are using REAL replacement body parts - stolen from you and
me! The next time someone you know has something 'lifted',
look again - was it lifted from you?


THIS IS NOT A HOAX. This is happening to women everywhere
every night.


WARN YOUR FRIENDS!

P.S.: Last year I thought someone had stolen my Boobs. I was
lying in bed and they were gone! But when I jumped out of
bed, I was relieved to see that they had just been hiding in
my armpits as I slept. Now I keep them hidden in my
waistband.


P.P.S.: Those same thieves come in my closet and shrink my
clothes! How do they do it???

hush puppie pricks

Today's true story is just something quick n dirty ... and painful. I blogged here about my fabulous weekend and my fabulous new pair of shoes ... the Hush Puppies that I spent eleventy billion dollars on. More than I ever spend on shoes, but I loved them and felt that I deserved them. Apparantly I did not! I wore them out that night and this is what the mean little pricks did to my feet:

(yes, that's three band-aids you're seein. and they aren't just normal blisters, they're slices ... with blood and everything ... sheesh)

And now Sydnerella thinks I'm a total weirdo for asking her to take a picture of my heels. Her exact reponse when she saw them was "What the fffff .... " She avoided eye contact as long as she could after I told her not to swear, it's not lady like. (Tehehe) ... She replies, "I wasn't going to say it Mom, geeze ... And you say it all the time!" Trying to put me in my place. Well I showed her by saying "Well I'm an adult. Not a lady!" Burn ... Also, those aren't flood pants. I had them hiked way up for the pose until Sydnerella said, "Wow, you're legs are really white". I pulled them down a little and said "Fuck off, they are not!" (or something just as adult that made her laugh wildly at the denial of my white legs ...)

sofa king happy

Now this is what you call one of those moments where "very happy" or "fiddlesticks happy" just wont cut it. I am SO FA KING happy. I started this particular blog post over a week ago and it was basically about how my house is trying to kill me. Then I realized I've already written about everything I had typed out (sign that a mental breakdown is looming? or alzheimers?) almost two months ago. Seriously, I forgot a whole blog that I wrote. wft?

This is what I've been living with for months, my house being an absolute bitch:

This door knob did fell off before Christmas. And I did buy new knobs almost two months after it fell off. And they had been sitting just like so on the counter beside the door for .. oh ... 49 days! (note the set of blinds standing beside the door knobs ... that's a whole new level of proscrastination right there, I'll get to that another time ...)

I picked up the new cupboard handles at the same time, figured I'd put my own personal touch on my house because the original handles were all of a sudden ugly when I was standing in the middle of Home Depot with all sorts of shiny pretty handles around me. Those also sat in the package until almost two weeks ago. And I had taken the old ones off weeks before that.

Now, in my defense, I couldn't get that one old n ugly handle off because my loonie-store screw driver didn't have the right bit. Or to be more accurate, I thought I needed a drill. I even tried to buy myself a tiny girl drill, but you know what they charge for those tiny girl drills? A lot. Also, as I learnt yesterday, I didn't need a drill. And loonie store screw drivers suck. 



And this is how I've been doing laundry for-evah .... sorting with just a smidge of light that comes from other parts of the basement and a lighter to see how much soap & crap to use

Don't go assuming that the bulb was burnt out (seriously, I'm not that useless) ... at 4-energy-saving-dollars per bulb … it just better not have been burnt out. After a nice little tantrum I had when the light wasn't turning on after repeated attempts and the pull string was cutting through my skin, it was somehow ripped right out of the fixture and wouldn't turn on at all ... even when I got my big ass up on the counter to pull from the chain. Seriously, a pull string? Ins't that straight out of the olden days? 

There was also the towel rack has been hanging for dear life since I moved in ....

And the rest of the brass that I can no longer tolerate looking at. Not meaning to offend anyone who loves their brass, but after discovering Satin Nickle, I couldn't stomach the brass anymore....

Between all this stuff in the house (which also includes this mold problem in my garage because the builder was stoopid and put the drywall directly on the concrete without a split down the middle knowing that litres upon litres of snow would be chunking off the cars in the winter and when melted would need somewhere to go ...

That now looks likes this ...)

combined with the few days leading up to the arrival of my daughters monthly visitor, the time change, my house cleaners off for the week with the flu .. (great time to get sick .. on the week I need you .. how conveeeenient), and so many other things, I was ready to freak the fuck out. I called Time Wasted on Monday and told him that somebody better be willing to meet me half-way to take my kid for the weekend or I'd stop somewhere on highway, kick her in the ass, and wish her luck. But her visitor arrived and the sun came out, the birds sang, and I was left just standing there thinking "what the fuck was that?" So Thursday night came, I sent Sydnerella with her dad, told asked T-Bone to hit the road and I parked my ass on the couch. Then up to the computer. Then back to the couch. Then to bed. I felt so good that when my alarm went off at 5:15 friday morning, I turned it OFF. I didn't hit snooze. Just turned it right the hell off. At 9:30, I woke up, called work to let them know I'd be in soon and hopped in the shower. It was a thought provoking shower really. And as soon as I hopped out, I got back on the phone to work and told them I was taking the day off!!!! And I meant it! I had enough of this week, end of story. I hopped in the car to Tim Hortons for an extra large double-double and so began the best day I've had in a long long time. My cleaners even called and said they'd be here late yesterday afternoon. And my faux-husband was off work too, which meant he had all day to dedicate to me and my bitch of a house. So not only is my house smelling fresh and sparkly clean, this is what now marks the official end of 7 days of pure shite:

And while the cleaners were here and I had to leave, because I am a wee-bit ashamed that I pay someone to clean my house while claiming that I can't afford to fix this ...

And I decided I needed to buy these ...

They're my first pair of Hush Puppies and I spent more on them than I care to admit, but whatever. NOTHING was standing between me & my perfect day. And sometimes, any amount of money it takes to climb ut of a hole you've fallen so deep into is worth it. I had chinese food on my couch just like I had imagined I'd be doing last week at this time when I was ready to throw my kid to a pack of rabid dogs. I got to watch Oprah, some Judge Judy, and some poker. I fell asleep on the couch, woke up after 10, and am thoroughly enjoying the hell out of this weekend. No bra, no make up, no schedule, no kid, no man, no stress. I almost want to cancel my plans tonight just so I don't have to brush my teeth.

I'm claiming my blog awards dammit

I have been given 3 blog awards in the past few months ... all of which I am ever-so greatful for, none of which I have officially claimed. The reasons? I'm such a massive procrastinator that I even proscrastinate getting awards. And I was sucking at paying it forward. And because I read the same blogs as most of the bloggers on my blog lists and they've probably received these awards already. That's right, I just jack blogs of the one's I've just jacked. I even recently found Single Mom Seeking again through Mommy Wants Vodka. What a bloggin small world. I read Single Mom Seeking years ago, before I even cared to read blogs. I wasn't a new mom at the time, but I was back on the market. She was one of the only two blogs that I read ... the secon was a girl name Romi, who I found to be HI-larious, but after just a year of her dating blog, she deciced to call it quits. I miss Romi. But I stuck with Single Mom Seeking until I liked my job enough to actually work when I was at my desk, then I just lost the urge to read blogs. Occasionally, I'd pop over to the Redneck Mommy, who was introduced to me by my very best blogging friend, Aunt Crazy, which also proves what a bloggin small world it is because I met Aunt Crazy in Texas, who told me about Tanis in Alberta. Well I'll be ... I'm from Alberta too. I'm patriotic like that, so I'd read the Redneck Mommy every now & then too, but other than that .. my blog readin days were slow. Until September 2009. Aunt Crazy told me she had started her very own blog. Reeaaalllyyy ... So had I. A few personal blogs here & there on my Windows Live account going back to 2006. And unbeknownst to me (I had to dictionary.com that word btw), I had my privacy settings too high and nobody have ever read them. That whole time nobody was reading my blogs .... I thought I just sucked. Maybe I still do. But with Aunt Crazy's enthusiasm to her blog, I figured I'd give it a try. And I'm hooked. Kinda like when I discovered YouPorn.

Do all you bloggy people remember what it was like to get your 1st follower that wasn't a personal friend or a relative? Or to get your first comment from someone you admired? I was stoked! Like threw my chair back and stood up staring at the screen saying "no fukin way .. SHE read ME!" I thought I was the shit! Not just shit, but THE shit! Most of my blogs are written to link up with True Story Tuesday & Letters of Intent (introduced to me of course by Aunt Crazy) where we link up and read others' blogs, and others are a little obligated to read yours and comment. And I love the idea of forcing people to read what they may otherwise never chose .. myself included, because I have read some fabulous blogs by linking up with Rachel & Mr Daddy and Julie that I would have never known existed. And my free time at work would still be rather dull. Once in a while I write something a little more personal and random, and I am even more excited when I get comments on those by people who aren't exactly obligated to read because they aren't even linked on someone elses blog with a bazillion followers, but have chosen to follow me. I heart you all! I smile big when I log in to my dash board and see I have a new follower. And I smile even bigger when I am given blog awards. 3 by the way if I didn't mention that already. I've written two long blogs this week, neither of which I've published, so I've been feeling a little non-bloggy. And since I've been sitting on these three uber-good reasons to blog for so long, I figured today was the day to accept my awards. Which also means, I have rules to follow and have to pass them on. Because I always tend to do what I want, in a silent, non-threatening way, I am taking all three at once and passing them on to who ever I want to .. and just try to stop me.

This was my first blog award, given to me by Aunt Crazy, who already knows that I heart her very much, but probably likes hearing it over & over because everyone likes it when people drop the L bomb on them ... well for the most part ...

And now I am supposed to post 5 things that I love to do ... piece of cake ... I love to play poker and/or blackjack. I love to lay on my couch wrapped in a blanky with the remote in my hand. I love to travel ... as far as I can possibly go ... Texas is the furthest so far, and by far my favorite place to go with my favorite women. I love to eat ... sorry, but I do, I love eating my favorite foods. And I love to have sexy time, also known as schnoo schnoo ... alone, or with T-Bone. I'm not picky. (unless T-Bone's reading this, then yes, am very very picky ...)

The 5 bloggers that I would love to pass The Cirlce of Friends award on to are followers of mine whose blogs I do not follow ... not because I don't read them, but because I don't read them regularly (slap my blogging hand) and I'm a lazy-ass and haven't added their links to my page. I'm not sure what you prefer, awards or new followers, but you aren't getting both at once (said with love of course ... hey, it's almost midnight and I have to work tomorrow). Patience is a virtue ... or some crap. And ... if you've gotten this award before from some else, just remember that this one was given to you from a small-time blogger from Cowtown!

1. Mud Pies for Mommy

2. A Southern Belle Trying Not to Rust

3. Life By the Creek

4. Momma's Pixie Dreams

5. Pretty Pink Momma

On to my second blog award ... given to me, again, by Aunt Crazy. See why I heart her so much. I am so sleeping with you in Texas Y!

Beautiful?! Moi! Aww shucks ...

7 random things about myself that I am supposed to spill ... Well, again, I am a huge procrastinator. I love crab legs. I hate cilantro. I drive to work before 7am with my music blarring to wake myself up. I have to fall asleep with the TV on. I don't like most coffee besides Tim Hortons unless it has French Vanilla cream in it. I pay for a gym membership monthly but haven't been since almost one year ago (but still bitch about how much weight I've gained in the last year ...)

It says I'm to pass this on to 15 bloggers ... well they really make you work for this award now don't they?And really, who are "they"? Because I tend to not follow rules to a T, I'm chopping the list. Sorry to break the rules, but again, it's pushing midnight. This Beautiful Blogger Award is going to those blogs I was initially attracted to by seeing the F bomb dropped, other swear words (or what you Americans call 'cuss' words), or anything about SEX. That is beautiful, I'm telling ya ... Acknowledging that there are times when "Gosh!" or "Fiddlesticks" just wont cut it. When a good Fuck now & then is needed, in more ways than I intended that to come out ... Score!

1. Just Another Perfect Day

2. Boobs, Ballgames and Beer

3. Chaos Uncontained

4. Mommy Wants Vodka

5. Why Mom Drinks Rum

And now for my latest award, the Sunshine Award, given to me by GunDiva over at Just Another Perfect Day. This award meant something a little different than Aunt Crazy's. Not better in any way, just that I personally know Aunt Crazy and awards from her are exactly what makes her so great, because she's always always doing things and saying things to make me smile .. for 10 years! But GunDiva doesn't know me apart from what's in the my blog ... which is me, just less of me than Aunt Crazy knows and I was still thought of for the award, so Thank You, a million times over Gun Diva, for thinking of me.

I didn't have to jump through any hoops to get this one, like thinking of more things to write about myself, but like the others, I'm going to have to pay it forward. I'm giving this award to 12 blogs that mean something to me. They are either my good friends, bloggers I've been reading for years (even in my stage of no blog reading), even the bloggers who have more commenters in the first five minutes after posting than I do followers and most likely don't know who the hell I am, first followers, first commentors, and everyone in between who I think is the shit. Again, not shit, but THE shit!

Single Mom Seeking

Attack of the Redneck Mommy

Crazy Texas Mommy

Aunty Crazy's Here Ya'll

Once Upon a Miracle

Foursons

Adventures of WannaBe SupahMommy

A Day in the Life of a Girl Named Kimber

Margaret

My 30's

The Daily Dribbles

Switch 2 Plan B: Misadventures of a Firefighter

There! Mission accomplished. Thank you again for the awards, and thank you to all the blogs I listed up here just for being you! Happy Friday

**Note: I starting this about 11pm last night, but couldn't finish because I was T-IRED ... and omg, I just realized that I have to let all you wonderful peeps know that I gave you an award ... ooohhh you might be waiting awhile .... **

soccer bums

Well, I never thought I would come to work with a hangover again ... but here I am! Happy birthday to my good friend. Even though I intended on leaving after one drink and that one drink turned into many and I had to take Keys Please home, I'm glad I went. At least I made it home in time for Survivor. I gotta admit though, I'm a wee-bit off today ... tired if you will. But I sucked it up ... and sucked back some gatorade with Advil and came to work anyway ... and it's Friday, so it wont be too bad. I'm comfy in jeans and got free breakfast. My mind isn't yet in work mode, so I've spent the last half-hour typing up this letter to link up with Foursons, Happy Friday all ...

Dear Soccer parents,

Before I get into why I am writing to you today, I'd like to explain a little something about me. I didn't choose to be the manager our team. My name had been given to the coach by a fellow parent who has seen me on the bench for 4 indoor seasons now. What that means is I am the "bench mom". As our all girls teams are coached by men, a woman is required on the bench and in the change rooms at all times. Thats what I do. I chose this so I can get to know the kids, so I can spend more quality time with my own, so I have a better seat watching the games, and so I don't have to deal with you! You heard me ... most of you suck! The few times that I have requested a sub-bench mom so I can enjoy a game here n' there in the bleachers with friends & family, I have been almost disgusted with what I have seen and heard. I think it said a lot that one season I over heard a coach suggest "we" get a swear jar! And although I am an admitted-potty mouth momma, there's a time and a place, and I was most certainly not "we" when I was in the bleachers. I also wonder why only a handful of you say Hello when you see me at random. I'm talking to a few of the moms here because the soccer dads ALWAYS say Hello ..... just sayin. So, I prefer being on the bench. I'll get to know your kids, and your husbands, but it doesn't break my heart that I wont get to know you! Now ... to reiterate, I did not choose to be the manager of this team. Coach G named me manager because his wife obviously wanted no part of the team, and because he felt he needed a woman to do the shit work. Like coordinate the pizza fundraiser. Which by the way, I spent most of the time doing that on company hours ... I'm sure my oil and gas company is ok paying me to manage my daughters soccer team. Coach G has loaded me up with a few tasks, none of which I've been too happy handling. Not because I'm a sour puss that doesn't give a shit about her kid, but because I am a single parent. And I work full time. One of the few single parents I see at the games. I do what I can, Coach G unfortunately can kiss my ass if he's been left disappointed by anything I haven't done right, or complete. Sorry. But I am left a tad disgruntled now today because I just checked my e-mail and I only received one reply from my request yesterday to you all for volunteers at this weekends Inter-cities. ONE! Given that our girls lost most of their games this season but managed to pull through at the end to make it to the Inter-city championship tournament, we should be proud, and happy as pigs in shit that we get to play this weekend! And I'm sure you are ... but I'm still really disappointed that you have all watched me do all this work with your kids, spend all this time "managing" yours kids' team, and even spend my own money on Dipping Dots for your kids after hard games and good wins that only one of you can show your appreciation, or your team spirit by replying to my e-mail. And I might as well take this opportunity to thank the 7 parents that made sure their kids were at the game the day of the big snow fall! Yes, it was a HORRENDOUS amount of snow, but if I can dig through the two-foot high snow bank to my garage then manage my little Honda civic through the roads to the soccer centre without the help of El Husband, then I wonder why the 8 of you couldn't. Not judging, just wondering ... Back to my point .... I made sure that I put in BOLD that the teams will be charged a $100 fee if we do not provide volunteers ... and still .... only one reply. You know what that means hey? That myself and the other volunteer will end up splitting the four hour requirement. Really, two hours out of my already busy life isn't going to kill me .. it actually adds something to my life that yours is probably missing, but I was really expecting that more of you would have stepped up to the plate. Don't you worry though ... myself & Boot Camp lady have it covered. You enjoy the extra hour of your Saturday at home ... my kid will be just fine running around the soccer centre for two hours while I meet n' greet out of towners, direct teams to their fields, and collect game sheets from refs ... and hey, some refs are little hotties anyway, it just might be fun.

Sincerely,
Sydnerellas Mom
Team Manager
U14 Girls

my first crush is dead

Corey Haim died of a drug overdose in the wee hours this morning and thirtysomethings everywhere will be mourning the loss of their first teen crush, the first boy that made them swoon, the first boy they called a "hunk" or a "major babe". From the minute I saw his cute baby-face in License to Drive, I had to see him more. I also decided at that time that my name should be Jordan and I should start wearing acid wash jean skirts ... but that's another story and as a child of the 80's, early 90's, I'll get to that one day.....

I spent every cent I could scrounge up to buy as many issues of BOP, Teen Beat, and Tiger Beat for the 8x10 pics of Corey Haim to cover my walls with. And what a treat it was when he was the centerfold, or even better ... the 16x20 poster all folded up in-side. I loved him, and I was convinced that if we ever met, he would love me back. Being from Canada and all, this was entirely possible. My best friend at the time set her sights on Corey Feldman, which made her a great buddy to have during my Haim phase. She'd give me all the Corey Haim pics from her magazines, I'd give her all the Corey Feldman pics from mine. And she didn't judge when I spent hours staring into the eyes of the boy on the pics on my walls because she was doing the same thing. We were in love. And as for finding movies to rent, there was no argument ... anything and everything we could find with the two Corey's.

Falling for Corey Haim was life-changing in my pre-teen years. He convinced me to pack up the Barbies and start focusing my attention on what was really important ... other totally rad dudes in the teen magazines. As time passed and because all good things must come to an end, my relationship with Corey Haim faded and I moved on. But I will never forget my first crush, on a boy who was a major babe ....

How I met my baby-daddy's new woman

Have you ever had a dream where you're running to get somewhere in time, but you just can't run. You're trying with all your might, not only going as fast as a slow walk? I have dreams where this is happening often. I'm usually trying to get to Sydnerella, but they are never really nightmares ... just bad dreams. I had another sometime this past week that made me think of this story, although I can't recall the details. But the story, I figured, was worth a blog. It's about my baby-daddy and how I met his new girlfriend. Those of you that know me, will remember this story, those that don't ... well that's why I decided to link up with Rachel & Mr Daddy over at Once Upon a Miracle for TST ...

So I kicked Time Wasted to the curb sometime in 2005. Not totally though. He was still on the side of the road, pretty much just in the gutter waiting for me to put him out of his misery. The break-up was long & ridiculous, just like our relationship. It took almost a year from the minute I knew we were done until it was actually done. I literally had to put him on a plane from Calgary and send him to Arizona to be sure that it was actually over. I had my rebound immediately. And a few weeks later, he had his. *Breathe a sigh of relief*. Five months later, he was homesick and made his round-a-bout way back home ... with his rebound in tow! I was already done with my rebound, and was probably already on #3 when Time Wasted came back to Calgary with his (good thing for me that nobody ever told him rebounds have expiration dates). He stayed with his mom for a while until he got on his feet (like he had ever been on his feet), then he rented a basement suite with his rebound close to my neighbourhood to be close to Sydnerella, which lasted all of 1 months rent. His rebound, lets call her Lightnin Rod for the purpose of this story (and again, those who know me probably know where this is going ...), had come to our country with the new love of her life with very little knowledge of what he was just getting out of ... a 12 year relationship with a fabulous, full-bottomed girl name ME, and even less knowledge of the feelings he still had for me. Time Wasted called me often, late hours of the night, whispering drunken & hopefull sweet nothings into the phone while he hid in a closet with Lightning Rod pounding on the door. I always did him the favour of hanging up first. One day, when Time Wasted was settled into his little basement suite, I got a call from him that was surprisingly civil, not his usual drunken booty-call attempt. He was asking if I would like to see his new place before Sydnerella spent a weekend with him. I agreed, and after work, I went to pick him up. He jumped in the car and I drove away. 20 minutes later in rush hour traffic, he was showing me around his place. We sat in the kitchen to have a quick visit before I left for home. No funny business, I swear it on my oven-baked french fries. All of sudden, there was a banging from upstairs, then a crashing down the stairs, growling, grunting, whatever the awful noises were, then a wooshing sound as I was then face to face with a tall Navajo girl who I could only imagine was my baby-daddy's new girl friend! It all came to me so quickly ... when Time Wasted jumped in my car, he was literally running away from Ol' Lightning Rod ... and boy did she run. 4 miles! In 20 minutes! In a city that was unfamiliar to her! She even crossed 1 highway and major overpass! That woman could only have been hurdling cars and busting through fences, leaping up on light posts and swinging across major intersections. And the scary part of the situation was that she didn't even look sweaty or out of breath. I was almost in awe. I broke first, looked away, towards Time Wasted ... who was on the run again ... And I decided that was my chance to make my exit.

We met not too long after that on better terms, where Time Wasted wasn't running for the nearest exit and her episode, or her amazing flying capabilities was never brought up. Although not too long after that, when I was killing myself laughing about it again to Time Wasted, he said she was a runner ... Oh yes, she was!

Canada Rocks! My story of the 2010 Winter Olympics, from Calgary to Vancouver and back again

The 2010 Winter Olympics ended last night and the past 2 weeks will be with me the rest of my life. I will continue to tell my stories about the Olympics to anyone who'll listen, to Sydnerella, and when she's well into her 30's and has children, I'll tell them too....

Way back in June, maybe July 2009, I came home from work to greet T-Bone at the computer who was sporting a crazy smile, staring at me, waiting for me to ask him what he was looking at me like that for. His smile got crazier and bigger, so I had to bite ...  ME: "What's wrong with you? Ooohhh wait a minute ... Did you just win $1million on PokerStars?" He shakes his head, teeth still showing, smile still huge, eyes wide. I don't like playing the guessing game and I was weeks from moving out of my rental, probably tired and unhappy with all the work that had to be done. So I wasn't being a very good sport. Then he bursts ... "We're going to the Olympics!" A bigger weirder smile, waiting for me to jump up & down with glee. ME: "Umm, what Olympics?" His smile starts to fade, he's looking at me like I'm sniffing glue or licking the walls. He tries to get me pumped with his story. He had got a phone call that day from one of his brothers. His brothers girlfriend was asked at work if she was interested in buying 8 tickets to the February 19, 2010 4:30pm Men's Hockey game. She made one phone call and they scooped up all 8 tickets. $250 each. ME: "Ummm, I just bought a house, not too sure if I care to spend $250 on a hockey game that isn't Canada, or at least the USA". T-Bone: "Well since I just about killed your cat and you spent $1000 making sure I wasn't successful, I bought your ticket." ME: "Sweeet". Then I smiled the same crazy smile T-Bone had on and showed some exuberance. I don't care too much for Vancouverites (or whatever the hell they call themselves) and I've never really been into the Olympics, but I've heard Vancouver's a beautiful city. It pretty much went something like that anyway. So as the months went by we slowly started making plans to drive out to Vancouver to catch some Olympic celebrations. By mid-January, we had all our group together, a 2-story condo rented right beside GM Place (or Canada Hockey Place as they now call it), transportation worked out, and we were going to the Olympics. Wednesday, February 17, 2010 at 9pm, our happy little group of Calgarians piled into a mini-van and a lil honda civic and we hit the road. We were stoked. At around noon on February 18, we pulled up to our condo in Vancouver. And after a 2 hour nap, our Olympic celebrations began. It was a fabulous 4 days, 3 nights. We met people from all over the world, and because of Vancouvers lack of toilets, we had lots of them using ours. We met fellow Flames-fans, high-energy Latvians, drunken Germans, excited Russians, arrogant Fins, Montreal po-po, a wonkey-eyed woman in a wheel chair with a cat, friendly Americans who seemed surprised that we cheered and high fived them walking down the streets, a 1952 Canadian Gold Medal winner, rotten spirited Vancouverites, and even Optimus Prime. We saw all things that make Canada great ... From far and wide, Oh Canada (you didn't think I'd go through this blog without a little patriotic cheese did you .....). Our Olympic celebrations went on til the wee hours of the mornings. Then at noon Sunday, February 21, we piled back into the mini-van and the lil honda civic and headed for home. After a disappointing loss to the US that we witnessed in Kamloops that night, we arrived home at 4:30am and slept for 3 days. In between work and Olympic events on TV. And what an exciting week it was. (Click here for the final medal count). Sunday, February 28, 2010 the same group of people plus some put on our Canada jerseys and gathered yet again to cheer on our country in the gold medal men's hockey game. My palms were sweaty and my heart was beating. We were on our feet the last minute of the game ... Canada 2 - US 1. At 30 seconds to the end of the 3rd, we sat down in shock, mouths dropped open, not a word was spoken. The US had tied the game. Aside from those I thought were weeping, the room was silent. But contrary to the uneasy feeling in the pit of my gut, and in true Canadian-style, a few minutes into over-time, Canada scored. Big time. And not just in that game over all .... Canada won more Gold Medals than any other country in the history of the Olympics. And they will never been the same for me. I wasn't even 10 years old when Calgary hosted the 1988 Winter Olympics. I have a vague memory of being at Olympic Plaza and if I looked hard enough, I could probably find my little torch and '88 Olympic magazine somewhere in my boxes of memories, but the importance and the greatness of the Olympics didn't stick back then. The experiences I've had these past two weeks though were insurmountable. The 2010 Winter Olympics were outstanding. And we were there!

Click here to watch a clip of Canada in all it's glory