my grass is greener

The grass is always greener on the other side?

I spent the weekend at a cabin on a lake with T-Bone and three couples. Silly Sally and her probably soon to be fiance, my bff and her husband, another close friend and her husband. Both husbands who will not allow their wives, MY FRIENDS since before they were their wives, spend weekends away with me alone. Why? Because Single Stacy makes them uncomfortable. Because Single Stacy can coerce their wives into three-ways and orgies and all sorts of lying and cheating. Even though ... even though one of the couples has 4 affairs under their belts between the two of them, NONE if which I arranged, took part in, condoned, encouraged, or anything of the sort. Ahem. The Couples Retreat was arranged after a casual comment that we should have a girls night at this cabin that was quickly shot down by the two married women, while the two single women secretly prayed that we'd be going solo. No such luck. Good thing I like the two husbands, my probably soon to be brother in law, and T-Bone. So the four of us ditched all the children we have between us, loaded our vehicles with Albertan beer because BC charges PST, and drove out to a cabin that sits a block from a lake and has baby deer living under the wrap around deck. Ahhh summer. There was some obvious differences between the marrieds and the singles, but all put together in one house for 60 hours, the eight of us had a fantastic, sunburned, exhausting, well fed weekend. And I walked away secretly wishing that I was one of the marrieds, at the same time though, grateful I'm not. {Side note, I already refrained from inviting the spouse from one friend because his anti-Stacy bullshit was taken too far awhile back and he's on my shit list ... the rest of them should beware!} If any of you are reading this, you know I'm joking. If you're not reading this, then I'm totally not. Ha. I'm really not out to build an army of single people for me to hang with just because I don't have a husband. I've made shitty decisions that have landed me in shitty relationships that have led me to bouts of singledom. What-the-fuck-ever. Yes, being single has its advantages (1. This is MY remote, bitch. 2. Make your own damn sandwich. And 3. I technically can date/kiss/boink whoever I want), but it has its disadvantages too, and one of them is not being trusted by your married friends spouses. And because I don't have a husband or a full time boyfriend, but I do have a lawn full of goddam weeds, I was swindled by a door to door sales person into allowing them to spray weed killer on my lawn in exchange for $200. So yes, in more ways than one, my grass is pretty fucking green. But I pay for it. Out of my own damn pocket. 

 Bambi #1 and Bambi #2

Son of a bitch, where's the aloe?

What the Stampede taught me this year

My body is failing me. I've been watching it grow and shrivel and sag and do all sorts of weird shit since I turned 30. I'm wearing padded bras, sometimes when I sleep because I so desperately want to keep the twins away from my gut. I have a mass of spider veins on my calf and apply thick layers of cream to my heels. I choose full booty panties over thongs. I'm growing a second chin. I think I even mentioned on accident awhile back that I found nipple hair. And on Wednesday, I went Stampeding, and my body reached a new low. Stampeding is what party animals do during the 2nd week of July here in Calgary ... or what is called Cowtown this week. The rodeo and the chuck wagons and the carnies and the entertainment come to town. And everyone takes their stetsons, cowboy boots, and plaid shirts out of storage. Corporate offices not only allow, but encourage western wear for the week. The party and  the drinking begins. Married men and women put their wedding rings in the little pocket in their wranglers and they go stampeding. CEO's, VP's and everyone beneath them come to work hungover, maybe even still drunk. Sometimes even sleep (or fuck) in their office if a party was close enough and they can't find a cab. Anything goes during Stampede week. For kids and people with no sense of drunken adventure, the Stampede is about rides and cotton candy. But since turning 18, it's been a shit show. A fun, rowdy, crazy, shit show. Like most, over the years, I've slowed down. When I once was able to go hard for at least half the party, I've just been reduced to one day. And even this one almost killed me. Or did something funky my ass at least. What!? Wednesday, I started drinking at noon with about 200 others from my company, and about 10,000 others around the city. It was late compared to some years when we'd start drinking at some pancake breakfast in a beer tent by the office. It was my company Stampede party and I was in a Go Big or Go Home situation. After a few hours at that party, I joined Silly Sally, some friends, and random co-workers to a rocking outdoor concert. It was a frigging blast. John Fogerty is fantastic, his voice hasn't aged at all. Unlike my hands. We drank, danced, smoked, sang, drank, smoked, drank, then hopped onto school bus shuttles to an after party, where, yes, we drank some more. Nobody we were with puked, fell down, got beat up, took a random dude home, or got lost, so it was a good time. No .... it was a great time. Even though I was on the couch the following 24 hours it was a fun. fun. fun. hammered. hammered. hammered. However .... After 14 years of Stampeding like a grown up, I learned a pretty important lesson and am suffering miserably. Drinking for 12 hours straight can, and in my case did, lead to a case of hemorrhoids. Literally, my second attempt at Stampeding just ended with me standing in the drug store with a drunk dude buying munchies and slutty looking thing buying condoms. Then there was me, hunched over the isle at the back, trying to decide between Preparation H and Anusol.

Happy July-Long ....

The short version of everything since last checking in .... Including pictures because I'm seriously short on stories and words. Last week Sydnerella turned 14. She finished grade eight, soccer ended (miserably after starting undefeated), and I wrote my final exam. Sydneralla was mistaken for a 21 year old on her birthday, so I'm sure I have a few more grey hairs, some of them nipple, I was given an inhaler because I can't breath very well all the time, I tried to quit smoking but decided after 24 hours that wasn't going to work for me. My stomach continues to grow because I am a potato chip and french vanilla coffee cream addict, and I continue to see T-Bone once every two weeks for lazy sex, a movie, and take out food. I really don't care what's going on with us right now because my head is still in a weird place and because he bought me this for my birthday .... 

As little as I care about brands and accessories, I sure do love Coach bags. And I love LOVE this purse.

I've mowed my lawn twice since I took this pic .... The first mow-job took 45 minutes and I almost passed out. It was literally a jungle and I don't think I even have grass in the back anymore, it's think weed type grass. Whatever.

Sydnerella asked what she could do around the house for extra money. I was due for my cleaners to come in anyway, so I gave her a list longer than anything I've ever done myself, and she did at all. Then told me it wasn't so bad and I should just clean the house myself. I told her to zip the lip, get to work, and handed over $40 when she was done.

A bird shit on my living room window.

After spending $915 to get my drivers license and my registration renewed since January 1, I got fucking pulled over 2 weeks ago. I was going 13kms over the speed limit, seriously bullshit. That's like 6mph for you American folk, serious waste of $115 and a demerit.

I sent a Happy Fathers Day text to Aunt Crazy's Uncle Bubba and got this reply: "Thanks. Send naked pics". So I sent this ...

He said he sure hopes that's my arm or else I have a hairy ass. He's a 36 hour drive away and refuses to fly, so I guess he'll never know.

I was out having a smoke before my exam last Thursday, when I saw this ....

This being an elderly east Indian woman sleeping on the vent in my building lobby with both shoes off, holding one leg up behind her back. I have no fucking idea.

And finally, last Friday was Canada Day. Every Canada Day for the last 5 years have been spent at the horse races. A combination of great friends, sunshine, beer gardens, and losing a ton of money because I only bet on the horses whose names I like. I had all intentions of taking a few blackberry pics to do up a good blog of the weekend, but this is all I ended up with. I'm a brunette if you're wondering.