moose jaw is in the middle

I'm going on a road trip. I haven't decided when, but I have decided where. Mapquests suggested route tells me it will take 6 hours and 35 minutes to get there. That's 426 miles. Well since I'm Canadian, that's actually 686.39 kilometers. And also because I'm Canadian, I'll be making regular stops at Tim Hortons along the way. Then obviously, a bunch of bathroom stops. That will add another hour on to my drive. But I probably do drive faster than mapquest suggests, so let's just take that hour back. So six and a half hours for me to get to Moose Jaw. Seven hours for him to get to Moose Jaw. That's pretty even. And from what I just discovered this past week, well worth the drive even if it is to just turn around and come home almost right away. What's in Moose Jaw you ask?

This! Obviously!

....... aaand lets not forget Mac the Moose

I'm leaving you with that because I have to go deal with this text I just got from Sydnerella:

"Mom, okaay so, the schools gunna be calling after school to confirm a doctors app. Pleease tell then i have one, this will be the last dt i skipp, i promise"

oh. shit.

Playing with Rachel and Mr Daddy today ... I have an older story I forgot to add the past few Tuesdays, but this story came up last night at soccer (don't ask) that reminded me to link up today ... So here it is ...



When I study for exams at home, I tend to just hold my binder and pen on my lap while sitting on the couch watching TV. With my midterm being tomorrow, I'm at the office late today so I can get some hard core studying done. At my desk. Without distractions. That's part A of today's story. Part B takes a little longer to explain and has to do with my routine for pooping at work. For the full story, click HERE. If you don't have time, I'll put it simple. I am anal when it comes to doing the deed. Pun absolutely intended. I am superwoman and am able to hold it until I can manage my way to a comfortable time and place. Often, this time is about 5pm before I leave the office for class or when I am staying late. Like today. I waited until 5pm as usual to head into the washroom because of the 60 people that work on this floor, a majority are women and up until 5pm, there are sometimes line ups to get into one of the four stalls. If someone is in there, I'll leave, walk around the floor, then head back in. Serious. Today, the floor was exceptionally quiet, so when I walked passed the counter and grabbed the air freshener on my way to the end stall, I figured I'd be comfortably alone while I played Klondike on my blackberry and performed my duties. And if not, it doesn't matter anymore. I am still comfortable with my routine. Poop. Flush. Spray. After today however, I will be reconsidering that order of events. Another part of importance to my story is that I spray under the door as opposed to upwards because the freshener just settles back into my stall, all over my legs and blackberry, which I do not enjoy. Also, I am a considerate pooper and want the entire washroom to stink pretty. My sequence of events failed me today as I sprayed. A second after I flushed. Right at the loudest moment of the flushing water. Compromising my ability to hear someone enter the washroom .... everything happened so fast. What I distinctly remember is seeing the legs of the person walk right through my misting stream of air freshener. And what they would have seen was a hand sticking out from under the stall holding and spraying a can of air freshener. There was a pause and a misstep, then some breathing very distinctly with a plugged nose. She peed, wiped, and washed faster than any other woman I've known as I sat in the stall mortified, laughing in my head, hurrying to my blackberry messenger to tell Silly Sally the story. When the bathroom was empty, I let 'er rip ... Laughing. Not the other. And I stayed in the washroom a lot longer than I normally do and exited through the opposite door that poor soul had used. At least she will smell nice during her commute home I suppose. And now, I have to add another 30 minutes on to my studying since I asbolutely had to take a break to tell this story.

T.G.I (love Edward Cullen).F.

I was listening to the radio today when a Tom Cochrane song came on. I don't care who you are, you tap your feet and crave a cold beer when Tom Cochrane comes on. Life is a Highway?? Then, I thought of Jim Brown, my blog crush from Red Shoes Chronicles. So I e-mailed him yesterday to say Hello. In telling him that I was up to so little lately that I couldn't even type up a crappy blog, I figured that there must be something I can pull out of all this nothing. And there is. Which is a really good thing since I'm sure I'm pretty close to losing my followers. Especially my newer followers who I tricked. I reeled them in with some post or another they thought was worth reading, then I vanished. I'm magic like that.

So I got my crotch hair ripped out two nights ago. This has become a fairly regular event. I don't know if it has to do with needing at least someone down there paying such close attention or what, but I honestly can't figure out why I am still paying so much money for this brutality to be inflicted on my lady-bits when I'm not even showing it off. I mean ... I want to show it off, I just can't really think of anyone that wants to reap the rewards of my hairless cooch off the top of my head (contrary to what my previous blog post said, I'm not like a real whore, just kinda act like one sometimes ....)

Next on my agenda, I fucking hate being sick. Shakes, fever, snot, the shits, all of it. As much as I love my couch, my real happy place in life, there's not much worse than being that goddam sick for that goddam long - even considering my crotch waxing. I would have gladly traded my couch for my office. It ruined my chubby busting, pushed me even further behind in procrastinating all the stuff I need to do around the house (like take my Christmas boxes down to the basement), and made me miss a night of roller skating and drinking with my friends (not at the same time). I did, however, get through the rest of the Twilight Saga, which was literally the best friggin thing I've done in a really long time and made me happier than my fat-ass cat drinking tuna juice soaked ham. Don't feel sorry for me, I LOVED IT. I'd wear this all the time if it fit a little better (fucking failed chubby busting) >>>>

(please excuse the spots on the mirror ... I've even procrastinated calling my cleaners)

But judging by the way my Pirates of the Caribbean shirt was received a few years ago in the office on a day that wasn't casual Friday, it's probably not appropriate for a 31 year old woman wearing a teeny t-shirt with a teenage heart throb vampire on it. And my kid would literally gouge my eyes out in my sleep if I wore it out in public around her (mental note: Wear teeny-tiny Edward shirt in public with daughter next time she's being an asshole ... then lock my bedroom door)

Speaking of assholes ... my baby-daddy hasn't drunk dialed me in a long time. And only due to the lack of action in my life right now, I'm a little offended.

Over and out!