My face is stuffed

Not the same way I stuffed my face with turkey on December 25 ... mmmm turkey ... my face is now stuffed with something a little less appetizing and extremely annoying. My face is stuffed with phlegm. And I can't get it out no matter how hard I hork ... yes, I said hork. I tried a hot steamy shower ... but after 5 minutes was barely warm because I wasn't paying attention to how long T-Bone showered for and he drained the hot water tank before I could build up any steam. But it was an attempt none the less and it didn't work. I have been gargling with salt water and when my hot water tank filled up again, I kneeled for 10 minutes infront of my bathroom sink with a towel over my head and the hot water running. Kneeling on my bathroom floor and trying to hork ... sexy! And the day before New Years Eve .... absolute and utter bullshit. Even more-so because the same damn thing happened last year and I swear to god, it happened the same damn day. I  spent last New Years Eve at T-Bone's condo curled up in a chair in front of his TV with a glass of wine watching hockey games and texting all my friends who were out having a fabulous time ringing in the New Year begging me to chug some meds, ditch the sweat pants, and meet them for a celebratory shooter .. or 5. But I didn't and I was too sick to care ... well, that and the fact that T-Bone made an unbelievable comment that I thought was worth a fight. My bad? I don't think so ...

So what in the world did I do to deserve this again? I was already sick ... sometime in Novemer? Can't remember, but give me a break. It was bad enough that I felt like shit 6 hours after posting my last blog o blues when I learned that T-Bone's family had put their 13 year old and very loved dog down. My Christmas blues seemed like garbage after that. I had a house full of love and happiness and presents galore, and 2 days later, a flu that hit me so hard I didn't know what to do with myself. 48 hours later, I'm left with a slight headache and a face full of snot! And I'm pissed right off. I work full time with only 3 weeks vacation after 10 years in. And I've had a long year ... a great year, but a long year. More things have changed in my life in 2009 than in the 4 years before combined and not only have I earned this 10 days off work as a functioning human being, I earned the right to celebrate tomorrow night. If not at a bar with my good friends dancing, drinking, celebrating, having a good ol time preparing for the following couch and gatorade day, then at least, at the very friggin least, in bed with T-Bone without him avoiding me so not to breathe in my infected air ... hell, we don't even have to face each other, there are ways around that ya know, even a pillow over the face ... his or mine, I'm not picky. Really.

Christmas blues, Stacy style

Well it's been confirmed. I'm just not that into Christmas this year. I was doing well getting ready for Christmas ... I thought. But it just hit me as I sit here at my desk trying to get myself motivated to work, but spending most of my time writing nasty e-mails to a seller on Amazon.com who said T-Bone's gift would be here on the 17th as I still wait ... I'm really not handling myself very well this season. I put my tree up on December 6, but I can't even take credit for that. I put it together (fake, and not as nice a few years old now that Rusty has been using the base as a scratch post and has crawled a few feet up leaving nice gaps and holes and bent branches)  ... I spiraled every strand of lights that would work around the tree without paying much attention, and did the same with the garland. Sydnerella and her friend put the decorations on and without even batting an eye at it, that's where it's been left. The boxes with extra decorations still sit around the tree, beside and on top of boxes that haven't been unpacked since I moved in (again ... in JULY!). I have a ton of wall hangings, stockings, Christmas stuffies, snow globes, candle arrangements and more still in the storage room in the basement. I have a momma and baby deer in my garage that I bought to put on the front lawn with all the new outdoor lights (which are also still sitting on the kitchen table where they've been since I bought them 3 weeks ago .... ) Seriously, I need help. Not help getting my shit together, it's too late for that, I need mental help. A Christmas intervention. I think I earned my Christmas blues this year though, so maybe screw the intervention and pass the rum and egg nog! I'll start with my company party that has happened the last weekend of November every year for the past 6 years. 5 out of the 6 have been spent at the Banff Springs Hotel, a magical place in the Rocky Mountains where I have been able to experience a fraction of a life of luxury, and hangovers aside, they were 5 of the most special weekends of my life in the past 6 years ... every year except this year. Goddam recession.

And I know how spoiled I sound, I know there are people out there without homes, or family, and all sorts of other sadness ... but this is my sadness and this is my blog after all. Aside from missing out on Banff this year, I also missed my daughters daycare party. Not because I didn't want to go, we missed it because Sydnerella isn't a daycare kid anymore. Hooray for not paying daycare fees, but not so much for my only child growing up so damn fast.

Let me tell ya, there's nothing more festive than squishing into a small daycare centre with 60+ people, getting a small but satisfying taste of basmati rice and spicy beef samosas and watching everyone else go crazy over my usual contribution of KFC fries and gravy while the kids run around spilling juice, crushing short bread into the carpet while anxiously waiting for Santa to hand out presents. I would give anything right now to be sitting in a teeny daycare chair, sweatin like a pig while trying to remain sane listening to my daughter and the rest of the daycare kids sing Christmas carols taught by the new to Canada daycare workers who don't know the tune of Jingle Bells. How precious, really, funny as hell, but special and now so dearly missed. I knew I would miss it, just by the fact that I only had 1 kid, I knew this would all be missed one day. I couldn't have prepared myself for this ... And who would have thought that I'd actually want to arm myself and head into battle against the entire foreign population of Whitehorn for a good seat in the school gym so we can watch our kids sing their hearts out in their fancy little dresses and bow ties. And me, trying to make sure Sydnerella is keeping her dress down, her bangs swept off her face, and a big smile on her face while singing or acting or playing the hand bells.

That's Christmas. And just like Santa, is now just a memory. I have tons of pics to prove it was all real (I've added some for your viewing pleasure ...) but it just doesn't seem so real or as magical this year. Santa is coming to my new house this year whether Sydnerella believes or not  ... (not taking credit for the good gifts anymore though ...) and she will help me track him on Norad right until midnight when he's somewhere over Hawaii and we will have family, and food, and laughs, and smiles, and music. But I can feel it in my aching little heart right now that Christmas won’t ever be the same.

the K-Mart story

Bet you were all wondering if I'd ever be back, if I fell off the face of the earth, if I blew my knee out at soccer (well ... that wouldn't prevent me from typing really now would it?) The truth is my home computer has been munched on by a virus .... nom non nom ..... and my work computer, although in perfect condition with my 2 screens has been busy .... working. I'm telling ya, lovin your job and wanting to impress for year end is exhausting. And I figured since I was knocked out of poker on the 3rd hand today at lunch (seriously, with my 2 pair I thought the large balding gambling addict was bluffing when he called me all-in .... he was not bluffing with his flopped straight) so I came back to my office with my tail between my legs and that's when I remembered you all and my blog .... so here I am, back on True Story Tuesday with a follow up to a comment left last time wondering about the K-Mart story. So here it is ... the K-Mart story (don't forget to click on the pic with the 4 ladies gossiping below and read more stories) .....

I was 8. Wacky was 8. Silly Sally was 6. Wacky lived a block from K-Mart, which was located in a little mall across the parking lot of the church. I don't know if it was because times were different back then, or if it was because our parents drank, but it was completely appropriate for 2 8 year olds and a 6 year old to hang out at a mall without supervision ... just setting the stage there, not trying to offend parents who drink because I'm actually a fan of parents who drink and often drink myself .... so we were off to spend a usual afternoon at the mall "looking around". On our way to the mall, I should add, while we passed the church, we thought we should dip our hands in holy water to help accomplish the task we had at hand, to successfully complete the plan we had set in motion earlier that day ... holy water of course being the cold rain water that was dripping off the outside roof as we walked past. And in order for the holy water to work, we had to let it air dry as we walked to the mall ........ laugh all you want, remember ... we were EIGHT! Now, how many of you remember Oodles? These are Oodles and they were quite popular back then ....

The plan we devised that day before we left the house was to 'acquire' some Oodles. Not having any money of our own, I can imagine you know where I'm going with this ... Yes, we decided that we were going to acquire these by way of the 5 finger discount. So, there we were, in the middle of the toy isle in the K-Mart, blessed by God himself with holy water (again this may have been because our parents drank that we thought God helped thieves ...), and we were going in for the kill. We chose the Oodle we wanted the most and headed for the public washroom. Once inside, we tore open the packages, left them in the trash, pocketed the Oodles, and made our exit. We made it through the store and out the doors. Safe. We made it down the mall. Safe. We almost made it to the parking lot. Not safe. We were approached by security and escorted back to the K-Mart, into the office, and were made to empty our pockets. We were devastated, terrified, thought we'd be put to death ... well, I honestly can't recall the details, but knowing Silly Sally and Wacky, it probably went a little like this .... me crying silently in the corner with my head down, Wacky screaming in hysterics for security to get their hands off her and her Oodles, and Silly Sally running around a table laughing her 6 year old little ass off at everyone in the room. Our parents arrived after what seemed like hours, rescuing us from the wrath of the K-Mart rent-a-cops, making us do the walk of shame down the mall and all the way home. As vaguely as I remember the details, one thing I remember distinctly, is Wacky whispering to me as we walked past the church that the holy water couldn't have been holy because it didn't help us at all with our mission. 

lonely Black Friday letters

Hello Friday. My, how the months have flew by ... it's the last Friday of November, 29 more days until Christmas, 35 more days until 2010, and another edition of Letters of Intent from Foursons blog. And if I get this typed up fast enough, I'll be the 1st letter since most of you readers are either still sleeping off your turkey hangovers or are getting bailed out of jail for getting into fist fights with other black friday shoppers at the Wal Mart ... (and I'm sorry, but I'm in a potty mouth kinda mood today ... you'll see ....)

Dear T-Bone ....

Thanks for the fun last night. It's been a long time since I was ever so desired ... was very very happy to learn that schnoo schnoo was not a thing of our past (I win!) Good thing I shaved (You win!) And how proud are you of me that I only hit snooze 3 times this morning and not 8? I told you I was capable of change! Actually, I think my exact words were "fuck off!" But I told you ... don't mess with me in the mornings, I'll change when I'm good n ready.

Dear lady with the platinum blonde mullet with the black roots ....

FAIL!

Dear man in elevator carrying a murse (?) ....

FAIL!

Dear Sydnerella ....

You rock! Not only are you a great kid (minus the 3 days that you spew pure evil because of your monthly visitor), you are showing so much happiness since we moved, you are a beautiful girl, and now are on the honour roll? I win!

Dear High Heels .....

Are you fucking kidding me? What corner of hell did you crawl out of? You do not expect me to wear you around the party tomorrow do you? Not gonna happen. I win!

Dear body shaper (aka girdle) ....

I love you.

Dear growing body ....

You thought you'd get me down this time didn't ya? Nice try. And I wont even have to squish you into that pair of shiny pants that fit back in August to prove it. I bought a dress. That's right ... a dress. That covers your rolly ass belly without the scarves that I've been wearing almost daily. I win!

Dear Silly Sally ....

I am wearing those flats to my party, as much as it's probably killing you ... when you have this much weight to carry on tiny little pegs, you'll know ... and I tend to over-drink at my Christmas parties ... why I would I just make it that much easier on myself to fall down? Or look drunker? I win!

Silly Sally and her big sister

Welcome back readers. It's time for True Story Tuesday, brought to us by Rachel and Mr Daddy over at Once Upon a Miracle.

Way back ... way way back, my friend and I were about 7 years old, and my sister, Silly Sally hadn't yet turned 5. We had been playing outside on the opposite side of the street all day. Down several blocks to the park, in forts of friends in the alleys, in yards and houses ... again, all on the "other" side of the street. It was summer and back in those days, you're kids could take off the entire day only to be called in for dinner and the worst you worried about was tending to a scrapped knee or a popped blister from the monkey bars. This particular day, we headed home early. Upon getting to the house though, we faced a dilemma. Not a dilemma like ... ‘we're late, what will we say?’ Or ‘my new shoes have scuff marks, who will we blame it on?’ Not even a dilemma like: we had raided the wrong neighbors’ tulip bed and they'll definitely rat us out (of course we never did that ... cough cough) No, our real and frightening dilemma was that the pavers have been to our street. There was a fresh sheet of asphalt laid out, and we'd be stuck on the wrong side of the street for all of eternity. We're 7 in this story remember .... Given that this was 23 years ago, I don't know if we contemplated our situation for hours or minutes, but we finally reached a solution. WE meaning ME… I yelled at my lil sis Silly Sally, "Why don't you run across first and see what happens!" (lots of emphasis on YOU) Always quick to please at that age, but still a little apprehensive (understandably), she replies "What if my shoes melt?" Now all three of us can see this fresh sheet of asphalt is hot ... steaming hot. Sill Sally was right, her shoes might melt. My solution to that (to spare her new shoes?) ..... "Take them off!!"….. And oh yes she did. Silly Sally, not wanting to disappoint her big sister, did as she was told suggested and took her shoes off to run across the fresh sheet of asphalt standing between us and the house. That evening, my friends mom (a loyal follower to my blog ... Lady Dee) had more to worry about than bandaging a popped monkey bar blister. She spent the better part of the evening consoling my little sister with the burnt feet, in the bath tub trying to get the asphalt off her soles. Silly Sally has since forgiven me, but at times, I'm not so sure .....

more itty bitty letters

I was just about to let this Friday go unblogged, but I've been 'accidentally' coming in to work earlier than I ever thought I could and I have some time to kill ... and I guess, a few things to get off my chest ... all good stuff though. Kinda. I love Fridays. Fridays mark the end of the week, Fridays mark the day I get to wear jeans to the office (although I will admit I liked wearing jeans a who lot more 20lbs ago ... ), and Fridays mark Letters of Intent day. Head on over to Foursons blog to read more letters, or to add your own (I say that as if there are so many more reading my letter that didn't find it through Julie to begin with ..... I can imagine can't I?)

Dear Calgary Weather,

I heart you! I got to wear capris the other day. Sure it was freezing and those without garages had to scrape the frost off their windshields the very next day, but it's capri weather again today! Sweeet. I know you had to throw that frosty day in the week to remind us how bad we could have it right now. Thanks for keeping us on our toes. And thanks for the sunny days and the warm chinooks in November. This will not go unappreciated.

Dear Girl that cleans my house,

I'm sure happy that you're the anal neat freak of the family. I don't know how I ended up being the slob, but it obviously worked out for the best. My house smells so nice, my bathrooms are sparkly, and my stove looks as if T-Bone never cooked on it before.

Dear Sydnerella,

I heart you! And your hair does look fabulous when you leave it to dry curly. It looked fur-izzy yesterday, that flat iron will kill it. And also, stop leaving your eye-liner shavings on the bathroom counter, Girl that cleans my house had a hard time getting it off.

Dear lady that came in to work drunk today,

You might not want to leave your desk or answer your phone or do much else. Umm, yeah don't know what else to say about that ....

Dear noon hour poker players,

I think I heart you the most. 4 hours to go ... shuffle up n' deal ....

Dear Bell,

In yo face bitches!

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Tgif Pictures

WTF Wednesday

So I spent the last 15 minutes or so gathering pics for WTF Wednesday when I came across one that hits close to home, so I thought I'd share my little story

First, the pic:

Now, the story:

T-Bone and I were spending a low key Saturday night together. We planned to stop at Pizza Hut, place our order for take out, hit the video store to grab our DVD's, then back to Pizza Hut to pick up our order. Unfortunately, the closest Pizza Hut has been known to have THE worst service of any other place in the NE. Literally, I've had people at our table get doused with chocolate milk, complete orders forgot, uncooked pizza brought to our table, and have even been left seated once without ever having anyone come back to take our order. But, I was craving the Pizza Hut and you know how it is when you get a craving .... We decided to take our chance, and hey, take out surely couldn't be as bad as eating in. Well Pizza Hut proved that to be wrong and hit a new low that night ..... I stood in line with T-Bone for close to 5 minutes before we got to the counter. Dine-in guests paid, delivery guys picked up their orders, and the stupid people in the back scratched their asses. I'm guessing. Finally, after the place cleared out, we got to the counter to place our order. The woman taking the order (we’ll call her Empty Between the Ears) listens to us rattle off our whole order before informing us of something so-very-important. Now remember, we're at Pizza Hut, so we ordered - along with salad & wings - pizza! The so-very-important information Empty Between the Ears forgot to tell us when we walked in the door was that Pizza Hut was out of dough!!! How do you even respond to that? I believe our reaction was just to stare at her for a moment, then ask "Are you kidding?", then look at each other, then back at her to ask again, "Really?”. Empty Between the Ears confirmed that we heard her right, they were out of dough, but assures us they will have more dough tomorrow! Not in an hour, or later than evening, but tomorrow. Great lady, thanks. This wasn't like when I waited for way too long at A&W after ordering poutine only to be informed that they were out of gravy, which didn’t leave me too happy either, but at least it's something you can understand. I can understand a place running out of condiments or garnishes, hell even the syrup for their pop machines. But Pizza Hut running out of dough?! That's like McDonalds running out of french fries, Subway running out of buns, or Outback running out of steak. You close the damn doors for the night because no further service is worth it. Or at the very, very least, you put a sign at the damn doors so your customers aren't waiting in line for 5 minutes knowing what they are going to order and knowing they aren't getting it. And to make Empty Between the Ears confirm to us that she was supremely empty between the ears, she asked if we would still like our salad and wings! I shit you not. That was a total WTF moment and finding this pic made me laugh out loud remembering it.

True Story Tuesday

Well for a Tuesday, and a work day, so far so good. We're expecting about 10C, I got to work just before 7:30 (which means I can leave before 4pm), I put together a new outfit that I'm liking from clothes I already had, I think my hair looks pretty decent, I think I have my new blackberry bought from Shady Man figured out, and of course, it's time for True Story Tuesday, brought to us by Rachel and Mr Daddy over at Once Upon a Miracle. Head on over there for more true stories, and to add your own.

Today's story isn't funny at all, but I'm sure it's one that all of you can relate to and probably have a few of your own. As parents, we all know what our greatest fear is. And even though most are false alarms, I'm sure we've all had the bejeezus scared out of us by our little angels. This has happened to me more than a few times, but these ones in particular stand out as the worst .... I can remember having such a knot in my gut, my knees going weak, and not being able to concentrate (I'd be horrible in the event of a real disaster).

Sydnerella was maybe 5 years old when Silly Sally's ex boyfriend thought it would be funny to take her to hide in a rack of clothes in Sears and not answer his cell phone when Silly Sally called to ask him if he had my daughter. It didn't take long for the fear to kick in, we were standing at the entrance to the biggest mall in Calgary from the Sears doors and I almost flipped right out. My legs turned to jello and I barely made it over to the perfume counter to sputter out to the nice lady working it that I couldn't find my child. I was holding myself up on the counter at that point because I think my legs had buckled. Just as she was reaching for the phone, I spotted a reflection in the mirror behind nice Sears lady of Sydnerella and the ex hiding in a rack of clothes laughing. I was too light headed to do much else but grab Sydnerella, but nice Sears lady gave the ex an earful and he's lucky she didn't drop kick him in the face, which we learnt much later on that he deserved for so many other reasons.

When Sydnerella was just old enough to play in the bath without me sitting on the toilet seat talking on the phone or reading a book. We had just got comfortable with me being other places in the house with no music or TV so I could still hear everything upstairs (in my teeny tiny shoe box) while she splashed away for sometimes close to an hour. As long as I could hear the splashing, she was ok. I was ok. One particular day, I couldn't hear the splashing. So I called her name, couldn't hear anything. I only had to try twice before I leaped up the stairs, I swear 3 at a time, and as I rounded the corner on the landing where I normally would have been able to see Sydnerella in the tub, I couldn't see anything but what looked like an empty bathroom. This time, I didn't take the steps 3 at a time, I literally leaped from the landing to the tub and was just about to throw myself in to pick little Sydnerella up when I came face to face with her - laying in the shallow water that covered her ears, with a big smile, a little doll that bouncing on her belly, singing softly .. so content. I fell on the toilet and sat there recovering my stroke for the rest of her bath. And for every bath after that ... actually I still do and it pisses her off. Well, ok, I don't but still ....

Now that the scene has been set, I can share with you my story for today. Yesterday, I was working away when I got a call from Sydnerella. It was about 8am. She said she wasn't feeling well again, and wasn't sure she could make it to school. She was already on the couch for 6 days before Halloween but really hasn't seemed 100% since then, so I told her to go back to bed and call me when she woke up. It wasn't until about 11am that I realized she hadn't called yet, so I called home. No answer. I called her cell. No answer. I waited another 10 minutes, then tried each number again. No answer. I decided at that point that she must have went to school, because as heavy of a sleeper as Sydnerella is, she is addicted to her cell phone and doesn't miss calls ... ever. Well noon came, so I called again because being out for lunch, she'd be able to answer. Nothing. After another 15 minutes of repeated unanswered calls, I started to freak out. My bwf (best work friend) offered to drive me to my car so I can speed home. Being this would still take upwards of 20 minutes, I even put a call into a good friend who lives a block from my house to go bang on the doors, and start bustin out windows if there's no answer. She was on it! But before I even got to my car, and I'm still repeatedly making calls like a mad woman, she finally, finally answered the phone. A very groggy and quiet Hello! Well sumbitch! Her phone had dropped off her bed down the wall and she couldn't hear it. She'll never know the fear that she put in me, and it's not even her fault. I'm blaming the media, Health Canada, the person that was making out with the pigs in Mexico, whatever. I was very honestly scared of this damn H1N1. All I could think of while all this was happening was the 13 year old hockey player that died 2 weeks ago in Ontario. I thought horrible things while I was trying to reach Sydnerella. After I picked us up some Burger King for lunch, I grounded her ass for doing what she did to me. No, I didn't really, but I wanted to. And now I have to price out medicalert, or lifeline, or try to get a GPS implanted under her skin so I can always find her ....

I punched myself in the face

I came into work today limping .... on both legs! My upper right thigh has a bruise ... an inside bruise I guess because I can't see it, but it hurts like a bitch. And the arch of my left foot feels like my foot was bent upwards while someone banged an itty bitty hammer on it. This was the work of the roughest soccer game I've played in. My thigh started throbbing after I was knocked to the ground, right onto the ground, by some little gorilla with a leg brace who proceeded to shove me in the back everytime she got behind me. Wtf is that? If the ball came my way while she was behaving like a little child waiting for the candy store doors to open I would have been knocked down again, and I know this was her intent, but why? We aren't training for the olympics out there. I had to come off the field a little later on in the game because I took a ball in the face, yep, right in my mouth. I made sure all my teeth were still in my head and went back out to play. Hesitantly. Minutes later, I punched myself in the face, which actually hurt a lot more than when I took the ball in the mouth. You read that right, I punched myself in the face! Not because I was trying a new strategy on the field by showing the other team they better give me the damn ball or I'll go mental, I punched myself in the face because I was slammed against the boards while my hands were up and my face was in the way. This left a mark on my lip where my teeth almost went through. After the birds stopping circling my head , I left the field  again to make sure I still had all my teeth. I can't even tell you how I hurt the arch of my foot though, probably from running for my life away from the little gorilla in the leg brace. I don't know if anyone else noticed, but she had horns hidden under her head band and steam coming out of her nostrils. She took out a few more of our players, and she wasn't just going after the women, she took out some of the guys too. That little gorilla needs anger management, or a hug, haven't decided. She acted like they haven't won a game this season ... oh right, they haven't won a game yet, and as if we were about to award them with that privledge after the way they were barelling over us, and through us. Bitches. So we took them down. Not down in the same way I was taken down, even though I did go up against a little fruitcake in a bandana with tattoos up his arms and ran off with the ball while he picked himself up off the field and asked if I was ok ... (that's right! I did it!), we took them down by winning 5-4. Later last night I talked a bit to Sydnerella about getting shoved around or knocked down and she looked at my like I was nuts (it's soccer, mom, duh), which I guess I was nuts for asking. I do watch her on the field from the bench, pretty intently too, and I've never seen her shoved down (tripped maybe, but never shoved). But I guess it's because, unlike me, she's solid. About 5'4" and probably 125lbs. Not fat, solid. The little midgets on the field bounce off her when they come in contact. If she was playing football with these same kids, she'd be the one carrying the ball into her end zone for a touch down while the entire opposing team is hanging off her trying with all their might to take her down. Solid. Sydnerella laughed at me while I limped away, again checking to make sure none of my teeth were loose. So I spent last night babying my shin, arch, and thigh, and plotting my revenge. I have to get more aggressive out there appearantly, and it was suggested to me that I not punch myeslf in the face next game. Got that, thanks!

little letters

Happy Friday, it's time for

brought to us by Foursons.

Dear crazy lady who sent an e-mail out accusing someone in the office of stealing the soil from you plant,

You're weird and the cleaners probably knocked your plant over and vacuumed up the mess. My guess is that nobody stole your soil. Because really, why would anyone do that?

Dear shady man that sold me a red blackberry out of your backpack with the cops standing behind us,

I hope you get this browswer enabled & the phone registered like you said you would. And if not, I hope you're a nice shady man that agrees to give my money back. I know this sounds unlikely, but I don't have buckets of money laying around the house and I feel dumb enough for going ahead and buying the phone when I decided you looked shady, but it doesn't mean I deserve to be ripped off.

Dear Bell mobility,

I hate you and all you stand for.

Dear Sydnerella

I saw what you did to clean you're room and I don't feel sorry for you that you can't find your iPod. Maybe, just maybe it's in the 2 foot high pile of crap in your closest that used to be all over your bedroom. Sorry, can't & wont help you out. Love you.

Dear time wasted (aka Sydnerella's dad),

I actually kinda hope that Sydnerella did lose her iPod because you are a real POS for buying it for her. Sure she may have loved you for it at the time, but she's on to you, don't kid yourself. I appreciated though that after I told you I had just spent over five billion dollars on school fees, school clothes, and soccer fees & equip, not to mention everything I paid for all summer, including oh, I don't know ...buying my house that you decided an iPod was so necessary, even though there are 3 mp3 players kickin around that Sydneralla was more than happy using. I'm glad that you have finally learnt to prioritize. She still likes me better btw. Oh and I did not appreciate the drunken call I got from you the other day asking if we can "hook up for a session" ... yuck!

Dear Friday, coffee, and free breakfast,

How I love you so.

Class, Las Vegas style

Ahhh Tuesday ... not really much I want to say about this particular Tuesday, except that it's True Story Tuesday here on blogger and that means if you're reading this, there are several more stories over at Once Upon A Miracle that will probably make you smile. I'm not writing a new True Story ... I am yet again recycling an old blog (thanks again Kmama). My mind is at full capacity right now with 2 "issues" and I'm being lazy. I was up until 1am in deep relationship talk with T-Bone, and by deep I mean me trying to express some concerns I have and him responding with #1. "I wish everyone would just bottle things up the way I do". and #2. "You have to entice me by dancing at the foot of the bed!" .... And the second issue is internet people related which has, yet again, left me wondering if I was in the wrong for speaking my mind ... maybe I should take T-Bone's advice and just keep things bottled up. I can shake my head and flip the bird to the computer screen all I want and nobody needs to know. Except maybe those who can see me at work, but I can talk my way out of that I'm sure .... So not to get myself more irritated with the thoughts of last night's conversation that didn't go as planned and crap I've read from grown ass women today that I no longer want in my life (or on my facebook I should say), I'm taking you to one of my favorite times, the weekend that I turned 28, when my ass hit the pavement on the Las Vegas Strip ...

May 2007

I‘m coming out of one of the hotels on the strip (didn‘t remember which hotel until I saw the pics when we got home .... it was the Excalibur and I'm only assuming this because there's a pic of me groping an armour clad statue). It’s late, it's hot and I see a sprinkler. Running off margaritas, jello shooters, and pizza pretzels, I make a mad dash for the water (to cool off??) First flip-flopped foot down on the wet pavement and it's out from under me. First thing to hit the ground? My left hip .. and I got some weight on these hips, it wasn't a delicate fall I can assure you. I went down! My pride was bruised (until I pounded back another margarita) and 2 days later, so was my body. My entire (and did I mention before - BIG) hip and my arm (the arm that was, no doubt, holding up my cigarette because heaven forbid I sacrifice a Marlboro menthol to break this fall) is sore. My kidney area is sore too, but I'm thinking that's not a result of the fall, but indeed an after-effect of what caused the fall, which I also have an explanation for.

soccer blog (or just a blog while drinking wine!)

WARNING - THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU USE GOOGLE IMAGE SEACH WHILE DRINKING ....

So I played soccer tonight, my 3rd game EVER (not including pre-adulthood or any game that us parents played against our kids for fun) and I rocked. Not rocked like scored a bunch of goals - or A goal, but I played loads o' shifts and for much longer than I ever have AND I saved a goal. Ok, our goalie may have saved it whether or not I kicked it out of his way, but I still rocked. People told me so! I have a feeling I'll be paying for tonights game for a few days to come. I literally thought I was having a stroke by the time I was almost home, I was seeing stars, or something twinkly in my line of vision that prevented my from reading the labels on the bottles of wine in the liquor store, and because after 45 minutes I was still sniffing and breathing hard. Are those symptoms of a stroke? Anyway, I have the house to myself and decided to pop on the pc to read some soft porn blogger with my glass of wine to add a cool new pic to my page because I am so very officially a soccer mom. If I was another glass or 2 into this bottle, I'd put my new Coach's shirt on and take a racy pic to prove it!

The soccer story condensed: My daughters first soccer game was about 6 years ago. She was on a co-ed team and they played 30 minutes every Sunday for a few months just blocks away from the house. Basically, they just charged us a small fortune fee to watch our kids chase the ball around a 1/2 gym while the goalies hung off the bars of the nets showing off their acrobatic skills. But the fees included the cutest little jerseys, we picked up the teeniest little shin pads and our team, Spiderman, was the start of our soccer lives. **And I just have to mention the day that they had to pause the game because Sydnerella's tooth fell out and she had to come hand it to me to make sure the tooth fairy would come that night** We skipped the following year and tried basketball, because EVERY tall person SHOULD be good a basketball player, but I can't recall if Sydnerella ever actually touched the ball, so basketball was out and the following indoor season, soccer was back in. That was her U8 season. She played indoor only until U12 when we gave outdoor a shot, and right then and there like we had shot our 1st hit of heroin we were hooked. I say WE because as much as Sydnerella bitches and complains each and every year I hit up registration day at the sportsplex, I know she loves it. I KNOW she loves it. I've been the bench mom all her indoor seasons (they don't have benches in outdoor, so I guess they don't need us), which has given me the honour of being included in team pictures, awarded medals when awarded to the team (oh YES, there was a gold medal in there!), and also gave me the opportunity to plan little parties to celebrate the seasons end. With the exception of the time I showed up at Chuck E Cheese, maybe still drunk from an important work party the night before but definately hungover, and had to run the party before retreating the darkest quietest corner praying for death, the parties were a success. I became friends with the soccer parents, lived vicariously through my daughter for years, and finally decided it was time to turn it up a notch. Not only did I take the offer to be this seasons manager, which earned me a gate pass for the soccer centre & the shirt that has COACH stitched right on it, I did the unthinkable (for this out of shape smokin lazy ass .. and not smoking like sexy hot - well, ok yes smokin hot, but smoking as in, need to smoke cigarettes to function like a normal human being...), I joined a soccer team! A freakin co-ed soccer team. Which brings me to why I am sitting here at 10pm on a Sunday night drinking a bottle of wine by myself. Did I say bottle? I mean, glass of wine. I popped on here for the cute new little pic to the right, but as I google searched "soccer mom" for images, this is what I found:

I can assure you, this is NOT what I as a soccer mom looks like, and I can assure you this is not what any soccer mom that I've met looks like. In fact, this isn't even a soccer mom, this is just a ho. Can you imagine? I'd kicked a ball at her head (and I could cuz I'm that good) and cause a stampede somehow that would trample on her popping her ... balls! Not jealous AT ALL, just sayin ... she aint no soccer mom from up here in the Upper Hood. As I got all offended that this is what men probably think of when they hear the term "soccer mom" and are sorely disappointed when I appear ... I found this:

Which made my whole mission of tonight's stop on blogger worth it, however at this point in the bottle of wine is a little questionable. But it made me forget about soccer ho and how offended I was ... Now that's what I call a soccer dad!

Dear blasted shin splints ...

It's Friday (thank freaking god) and it's time for Letters of Intent, brought to us by Julie over at Foursons.

It was either this letter, or a letter to the 17 pound pumpkin I grabbed yesterday and had to leave gutted with just a mouth because I started to develope blisters from carving the big bastard. And because it was pushing 9 o'clock which meant Survivor time! Didn't end up catching most of it anyway because I was competing with my daughter over who could catch the most popcorn in their mouths when throwing it high in the air. She won, which means I get to vacuum all the popcorn that was left all over the living room when I get home tonight. Here's my letter ....

Dear Shin Splints:

Go away, you painful little fuckers. I can feel you creeping back into my body but I am serious this time. I was serious the first time too, and if I could kick your ass for what you did back then, I would. You stole something from me that I will never forgive you for. I loved the treadmil. I loved the music, the sweat dripping down my face, the accomplishment I felt when I was able to run a whole minute, then eventually 3, all the way up to 8. It was a real love and you destroyed it. I tried to get as close with the eliptical trainer, I kept the music turned up, I moved fast, I sweated then too, but it wasn't the same. And I gave it an honest try, I swear I did. And sometimes when I tried to get back to my 1st love even just to get through Let it Rock or Piece of Me (yes it's Brittney Spears .. don't judge ...), you crippled me again. And much worse. So I rubbed, and iced, and heated, and stretched, and whatever else I thought would make you go away, and after 4 week, I kicked your ass. But it was too late. I lost my feelings for the treadmil and although I think back to that time with fond memories, and I get a little tingley if ya know what I mean, it's lost. Maybe not forever, but for now, I've moved on. I found a new love. It's harder than the treadmil, but I get to wear ugly shoes and a fancy jersey. And you blasted shin splints, I get to cover you up with hard sweaty plastic guards and thick socks. I get to run around a big piece of green felt chasing a ball while others run around me, faster and with better judgement. Some bigger, some smaller, some gentle, and some just damn mean. I cough and sweat and turn red, but it's a love that is developing and I know you can't stand it. I can feel it. Not all the time, and not even on the field. But when I get home to unwind, I can feel you. I can feel you when I press. And I hate you. I will kick your ass again before you ruin this too. This love I am not willing to give up, I will fight for it. You better believe it. Fuckers.

For your listening pleasure ..... who the hell doesn't want to just jump out their chairs and start dancing hard or running around when they hear this song? Love it ......

the little things that make a big difference ...

I haven't decided yet if it's sad that I sometimes feel like I have nothing of real value going on in my life that makes this little stuff put such a big smile on my face, or if it's a good thing that I can smile so easily because that means that I am a generally happy person. A few minutes ago, I walked into my office kitchen to get a coffee. The coffee would have been a house blend with my low fat french vanilla creame. Low fat not because I have done anything to try to get my newly packed on 17lbs off my body, but because the store in the lobby of the building only sells low fat french vanilla creamer. Wtf? What surprised me when I walked in the kitchen just now was that there was a full array of coffees to choose from, and yes, my FULL O FAT french vanilla cream that the company used to provide before we moved buildings. OOhhhh heaven here I come. Sure they needed time to get us all settled in the building and they figured that making sure we all had desks, computers, networks, etc, that the coffee would come later, but what they didn't realize was that with every cup of coffee I drank that tasted like tha poop, I was slowly dying inside. I was outwardly bitter, and decided that instead of getting right to work when I turned on my office computer, I had to blog, or read blogs, or look at wtf pictures, or look on kijiji for cell phones. How the hell was I supposed to wake up when I didn't have a decent cup of coffee? Decaf breakfast blend? Are you kdding me, isn't that what we could call an oxymoron? I was almost reduced to tears one hormonal morning last week because I literally had to dump out two cups of coffee because the taste of tha poop was too much to bear. I stormed through the maze of our new office to the elevator, rode down 40 floors to the lobby where I hoped on the escalator to take me to the 2nd level where I would gain access into the building across the street using the brilliant +15 system, passing (I kid you not) two Starbucks within spitting distance of each other (oh yes, I passed them, the nastiest of all poop tasting coffee for 7x the price), walking fast & hard into the other building, glaring & growling at anyone and everyone that got in my way. And as I came out of the +15, that's when I spotted it .... the A&W. OOohhhh, the A and the Dub! Helloooo greasy breakfast! How complete I felt at that moment. I didn't order my usual of over-easy eggs with toast, bacon, and hashbrowns, but I walked past slowly, oohhing and awwing, taking it all in, putting that discovery in my back pocket so that one day, when I was craving the grease, I'd run down and get me some breakfast. Completely forgetting the rant I was on, I hopped on the escalator down to the Tim Hortons while I stared back up at the A&W until I couldn't see it any longer. I so happily waited in the line up of about 1/8 of the population of down town to get my fix, then skipped back to work whistling show tunes with my coffee. Aaahhh the little things ........

WTF Wednesday

conversations with kicked in the head by a horse lady

It's time for True Story Tuesday again, found at Once Upon a Miracle. There are some good reads over there, check it out if you have time.




Here's my story for today ...

Not that I have to mention this again, but I love my job, I've been here forever so it seems. And I loved the floor that I used to work on and most of the people on it - when they aint on my face-smacking list. When they're off my face-smacking list, I like them again. And, no, I am not just typing this in case someone in our IT department reads our stuff and makes a point of telling somebody that I was brown-nosing to the few people that may read this ... I really am one of those dorks you see that genuinely loves their jobs! Kicked in the head by a horse lady was on my floor for under a year (MY floor because my department was there first!) and she brought a small entourage with her. We call them "Land". Land is a group of people that work in the industry with a much higher tolerance to alcohol. This is built up as land babies as they are invited to (or create) more functions than the rest of us, and they have less hours in a work day than we do which is why it's easier for them to come in the day after a bender. They are funny and personable, and come from all walks of life (well all walks of life in this industry means either Edmonton, down East, Saskatchewan, and on rare occassion, even Calgary). Land departments are full of Chandler Bing type people .... nobody outside of Land knows what they do. They make a lot of money, but we're not quite sure why. From the bottom up, they are united and I have yet to hear of a land person that has ever been fired. This brings me back to kicked in the head by a horse lady. I was in the kitchen minding my own business, just spreading some peanut butter on my toast when she walks in (I may have just been eating spoonfuls out of the jar, but nobody will even know for sure ....), she watches me for a minute, then say OH. PEANUT BUTTER. HAVE YOU EVER TRIED NUTELLA? Who hasn't? That stuff was fantastic. Chocolate sandwhiches? Hellooo. She looked a little miffed, or put out, or confused - ya never can tell with those glazed over eyes, but she almost yelled at me WHY AREN'T YOU EATING THAT THEN? Um, well I just have the peanut butter. HOW COME? Well I don't know, that's what I bought the last time I was at Sobey's. BUT IF YOU LIKE NUTELLA THEN WHY WOULDN'T YOU BE EATING NUTELLA?? I don't know ... make it stop, too many questions ..... I'm possibly not eating Nutella right now for the same reason that I'm not drinking a 6 pack of Strongbow right now. I really like it, just don't have any on hand. Most likely that's really not the reason beause I'm sure the ramifications of eating chocolate sandwhiches in the office would not be the same as if I was drinking wobbly-pops in the office ... I turn into a big flirt when I drink excessive amounts of wobbley-pops and I'm sure a 6-pack of Strongbow would probably be considered excessive at the office after the show I'd surely put on. And kicked in the head by a horse lady just walked out of the kitchen all air-headed like as if she was either completely satisfied with the result of the conversation or completely forgot she had even spoken to anyone. I hung back quite confused, staring at my peanut better toast almost with regret, craving chocolate sandwhiches.

WTF Wednesday

no shitting in the pool

I wasn't going to write anything up today because I 'm pretty busy at work, but then I was given a brilliant idea from Kmama at The Daily Dribbles (thanks a bunch) and decided I have a True Story Tuesday addition after all from 2006 that I can recycle too .... thanks Rachel, for bringing us .....

I had a disgusting day at the wave pool yesterday one day back in 2006. And it wasn't because the pool had to be evacuated for an hour because of a floating turd, which it DID! But because ... well, you have to brace yourself because the following might make you want to hurl ... (especially any man readers) ... the disgusting day that started with a happy mom, an even happier 8 year old, that had already earned a story with the floating turd ended in a most disgusting way (and no, a floating turd isn't disgusting compared to what's coming ....) My daughter was using a shower room while I was changing when she yelled at me to come "get rid of this" .... "This" was on the shower floor and looked like a wad of kleenex with nose bleed on it ....Ok, gross, but nothing that would make me toss my cookies. I shook my head and cringed, grabbed some paper towel to get rid of it .... here it comes, it's really bad and I'm sorry ... It was NOT in fact a wad of kleenex with nose bleed on it (getting my drift yet?) ... I didn't realize until AFTER I picked it up ....that, yes, it was, in fact, a feminine napkin that had been (I'm making it worse) smeared all over the floor. I told you … sick sick sick. I gagged, and gagged, and gagged. We got out of there as quickly as possible and I haven't been able to convince myself to go back.

my face smackin list

I am adding t-bone to face smackin list ... I don't want to blog much about him because, well I just don't ... but I'm adding him today because I am blaming him, and only him, for my computer getting a virus that just caused me to lose 5 years worth of saved e-mails and contacts. I spent 4 hours at my faux-husbands house getting the damn thing fixed & I'm pretty sure that t-bone is on my faux-husbands face smackin list because this is not the 1st thing that t-bone has turned to shit with his touch that I've had to call for my faux-husband to rescue me over. I am blaming t-bone because of the shortcuts that were on my desktop with teeny little vagina and penis pics. I will admit I have been on one of the sites (on rare occasion), but it's pretty safe for me to assume that t-bone's visits are more frequent. And because the computer has never mucked up to that extent before with my sporadic visits to youporn, I'm blaming t-bone and adding him to my face smackin list. Anyway, back to the point of my writings today. It's in reply to a few comments that were left to me on my Letter of Intent about my face smackin list by foursons & Julie. I think this is when it came about (face smackin list) ... it's a longer read, but it's going to have an update in the future I'm sure, so I figured I'd mention it again. And because I added it and nobody read it, and the whole reason I started this blog was so that people other than Silly Sally could read my crap updates sometimes :) 

Dear office cleaners

It's Friday, which means I'm typing up a guick n dirty addition to Foursons




Dear office cleaners,

Thank you. Thank you for leaving all 3 kitchen garbage’s full overnight after a big office move. It was a pleasant way to start the day ... the putrid smell of mold and rot wafting through the air as I tried to get my first cup of coffee of the day. I should also thank the people that just moved out of the building for leaving such filth in fridge to begin with. I'm sorry, but if you think that getting away from your families each and everyday to come work in a fancy schmancy office downtown is cause to turn into a pig because you don't get paid to clean up after your own damn self, then I'd like to add you to my face smackin list. I'd also like to thank (and smack) those that continually leave their dishes in the sink right below the sign that reads: PLEASE PUT YOUR DISHES IN THE DISHWASHER. Now I know you are not blind because I see you gettin around all right. And I know you’re not stupid because you most likely have some post secondary education that landed you your kick ass job. So what the fuck is your problem? Ignant maybe? ... Probably. I don't even know who you are. You are ignant! And sneaky! Well office cleaners, I'm going to check the other kitchen and if there's rotting left over’s still in those garbage’s from yesterday, I'm going to stay late, wait for you ... and if you're doing what I suspect you're doing when you should be cleaning the offices on your shift ... like watching the flat screen or playing cards in the employee lounge (jealous much? well change jobs!) or rummaging through others' belongings and stealing their fruit, I'm gonna kick your ass. Well, ok ... I don't care so much that I'd stay at work any longer than I need to on a Friday just to kick your ass (and really, I've never been in a fist fight in my life and even though I've never seen you, I'd put money on it that you can probably take me donw ... quickly ..) but is it too much to ask you change the garbage’s when they smell? Watch the damn TV, take the banana, hell ...even ignore the garbage’s that are full of paper type stuff ... just please take away the stuff that has the crawlies on it, the furry stuff, the stuff that is oozing black ...

Sincerely,

The girl who just wants to get a cup of coffee in the morning without smelling someone's 2 week ago lunch,

Stacy

Wordless Wednesday

I've been MIA for a few days because it was the long weekend (I had a lot of poker to play, beer to drink, turkey to eat ..), and have been nice & sick since Monday morning. Go figure. I'm still not feeling up to par, so this is an easy blog to write. I found the link on Aunt Crazy's blog and also on Foursons blog, but I don't know the origin and I can't find a mclinky thing anywhere but I wanted to take part. Here are my pics anyway: