Oops I Did it Again

I did it. I went to Vegas. Again.

Sometimes I wonder how I survive each and every time. I don't gamble, so that's a relief to my bank account, but I do however like to drink and dance and stay up way passed my bedtime.

And Vegas is a perfect place to do that for a few days.

Remember the time I locked myself out of my hotel room in only a housecoat and a towel? That didn't happen this time.

Remember when I nearly died in New York? That DID happen again this time. When will I learn? I did however make the decision to sit in the very front. Because I'm smart and shit.

And remember my picture montage? I may do another. I have some good ones. We'll see.

And last, but certainly not least, remember the horse at Caesar's Palace? It's 15 months later, and the eyes are still green. EPIC folks, EPIC.

Sadly I don't have any stories like peeing on a homeless man, which is pretty awesome actually, maybe I am growing up?, but the trip was fantastic any ways. I may not remember everything, but that's really the whole point isn't it? To have memories you don't actually remember.

Unloading

Every so often when I have very little to do, I'll start to think about where my life is, how I got here, and how the fuck I get up in the morning and do the same things, day in and day out.

Heavy shit huh?

Don't get me wrong: This lady isn't 'depressed' in the clinical sense, I just have these moments of depression, then I pick myself up, dust off my jeans, and carry on. Sort of what we're expected to do, right?

I have been somewhat quiet here at A Life Less Ordinary about my daily struggles; partly because I haven't really been able to put it down into works (trust me, I've tried) but mostly because I didn't want your sympathy.

I hate sympathy. Call me stubborn, but we all have our own 'baggage' and a smart person once told me: "Everyone has a story. It's when you lay yours out there, then listen to theirs, that you quietly pull yours back and realize it's better than the alternative".

Sure, I sometimes think it can't be any worse... but those are my moments. Truthfully, I know it can.

I know that I haven't, once again, explained what the fuck I am talking about. But I find myself, once again, unable to put it all down into words. It's a curse, really. I have so many other things that roll off my keyboard with ease, but when it comes to real life my mind clouds over and my emotions refuse to unleash them.

It isn't easy being me lately. But the truth of the matter is, it isn't easy being my husband even more. That alone is why I do what I do. Day in and day out. Without question as to whether I am doing the right thing. It isn't about me.

So I carry on. And I make sacrifices. But those sacrifices mean nothing in the bigger picture. Because someone else's sacrifices are deeper, more painful, and worth more to me than a little bit of freedom.

Sorry for being vague. But THIS WAS FUCKING THERAPEUTIC. *Sigh*

An open letter to my hot neighbour.

Dear Hot Pants, Sexy Man, Young Stud,  Neighbour,

You forgot to take your shirt off when you mowed your lawn this weekend. The imaginary conversation we had in my head was very clear on this.

However, I have decided to forgive you. But only this once. You see, now that the weather has changed for the better (and if I've jinxed myself here, well FUCK), and you will most likely be regularly mowing your lawn, I am assuming that there will be ample opportunity for you to take your shirt off regularly as well. So for that, and the fact that I just can't stay mad at someone as hot as you, I shall forgive this misstep in your judgement.

I hesitate even mentioning this, but since I am sure I am not the only housewife who noticed, I felt it was my duty to inform you that we were all disappointed. AND ON MOTHER'S DAY! Very thoughtless. But again, I have forgiven you. I cannot speak for the others, but I am sure that as long as you make it up to us all this coming weekend, forgiveness will be granted there as well.

We're a forgiving bunch, us housewives on Westbury Ave.

Love, Kisses, in gratitude,

The hot lady in the Duplex. You know who I am.

Fat Chicks: How one CEO got Himself Fired.

She's totally average. 

Allegedly. Maybe. But most likely.

I think most of you have probably read the article already (Social media is more viral than chlamydia) but if not... here you go: Abercrombie & Fitch CEO Explains Why He Hates Fat Chicks

Awesome, no?

As a former 'fat chick' I could rant and rave here about what a close-minded piece of shit this douche-canoe is, but I've decided to take another approach to this post: Let's celebrate his idiocy.

"What. The. Fuck. Carmen" you ask?

Thanks to social media and also to the fact that 'fat chicks' make up way more than 50% of the population (because this moron's definition of a fat chick is even smaller than the average-sized woman *GASP*) Abercrombie & Fitch is going to be CEO-less and perhaps even start carrying clothes that fit us all.

I am a size 9, and I can't wear anything in that store. Seriously.

Everyone looks like this. 

The negative attention this ass-twats comments has garnered has done one of two things: Changed how Abercrombie & Fitch produces and markets it clothes, OR reduced it's profits by a significant amount barring those women who DO fit their clothes boycotts because they too believe "fat chicks" deserve that respect, and validation.

I for one, think it will be the former. It's 2013; boobs, curves, and a bodacious butt are being embraced once again. And I can't see A & F financially surviving without buckling under the pressure of the media-storm.

As much as this article raised my blood pressure, I DO like the clothing. I've often wished I could wear it. Now, maybe soon, I can.

Good luck Mike Jeffries, I think your retirement plan needs all the luck it can get.

Just so we're clear: E-CARDS ARE GETTING OUT OF HAND.

Seriously people. Haven't we seen enough?

Every.single.day. I see a new one. And every.single.day. it's hillllarrrrrrious. Amiright?

We all have those friends. They sit on facebook sharing these dumb little e-cards, snickering to themselves as they do so, tagging every single person on their friends list becasue somehow it relates to some private joke, and then...and THEN...wash. rinse. repeat.

So in the spirit of stabbing, I have decided to share with you some of my 'favorites'. Mostly because it's Friday and I noticed I haven't posted in a while and I really don't have anything else to share with you because again, it's Friday and that's usually the day my brain shuts down for at least 48 hours. Some times, 72.

You're all very welcome.

I don't iron. Ever. That's the irony.

Red wine is also relevant here. 

See? Red Wine. True story. 

And probably even a stretch at that. 

I know, right? Thing like: "I have a large penis" and "Money can't buy happiness".

it said " I stood up for myself". Yeah,. that's it. Stickers are expensive so it was basically a white
mailing label written win Sharpee. 

General rule of ladies night. It's a given. 

So um, maybe I'll have something better for you next week. But don't hold your breath. 

Also? If anyone shares these and tags me, I think it's a law that I can stab you. Happy Friday!

Hey look! An elephant in the room!

He's so cute, I hate to kick him out. 

You know the one. He's large, grey, pretty awkward, and never seems to leave whenever I walk into it.

I have a tendency to fly by the seat of my pants. No shit, huh? And just kinda spew whatever comes to mind (or type) and prepare for the consequences later. Or deny, deny deny. Whichever appears to be the easiest thing to do at the time of course. Except when I type. Shit stays online forever, yo.

Case in point: My Biker Chicks post last week. I certainly don't regret it mind you, because it's a free country (it still is, right? I didn't miss anything?) but perhaps I could have been a little less... oh, I don't know... hurtful about it?

I actually took a few minutes (read: 35 seconds) to break it down into a good reasons and bad reasons kinda list for your reading pleasure. Keep in mind that once again I am putting zero thought into the repercussions of posting such list, make no apologies for it, and stand on my soap box once again because that's how I roll.

GOOD REASONS to posting my own opinion publicly about people I don't know:

1. I have the right to say or do whatever I want on A Life Less Ordinary because I pay for this page. Oh wait, it's free. Scratch # 1 
2. I think I am funny. Generally. Ok, sometimes. Fuck it, ok rarely...but when I am judgemental I am hilarious. Ask anyone. 
3. I do believe I am the goddess of all things knowing, and I feel the need to make you all aware of my opinions in order to save yourselves. Even I don't buy that shit. 
4. Usually, I am a good judge of character. Except on the first meeting. That doesn't count. I hate everyone equally.
5. When I drink, I am an even better judge of character. Except men. Somewhere those beer goggles plant themselves firmly on my face and everyone is good looking. 
6. Because I said so. 

Those are compelling arguments, no? Who could argue them? (Please don't, my blog comments are lighting up my phone and I am tired of the fucking beep.) 

BAD REASONS to posting my own opinion publicly about people I don't know:

1. Someone will find it, tell all their friends, and post really mean comments back to me.

Yup, that's about it. 

I only blog between 8:30 am and 5:30 pm in
order to protect my rights. 

So as awkward as I felt yesterday (the grey elephant I can't seem to get off my back), I don't regret what I posted. Sure, they may be great ladies, hard-working, strong, and whatever else their BFFFF (am I missing an F?) felt the need to share with me in CAPS LOCK, my impression of them that night at the bar hasn't changed. People do and say stupid shit when they have a camera in their face and the opportunity to be on TV.

I like chicks on bikes. I LOVE tattoos. In fact, I have a half-sleeve myself. My judgements were strictly based on what I saw and heard that one particular night. And I am free to do so. Just as you are free to comment. Which is why I left those comments up. We can be mean together. 

After all, it's a free country (Still? Nothing changed while I was writing this did it?) 

Vancity Biker Chicks: Official Castmember

"Official" might be too official of a word. Guest star? Special appearance by? Drunk girl in the background? That last one is probably the more accurate.

SIL and I decided to frequent our favorite local pub on Saturday night and we were greated by signs on the door stating that they were filming a reality show that night and by us entering we were agreeing to be 'featured' on the show.

Featured? WTF? We entered any ways. 

Somewhere around 930pm we started to figure it out. The black leather, silicone and body art work was in full swing, and cameras started rolling when Little-Miss-Orange-top-sans-double-sided-tape made her way to the dance floor.

Side note: For 50, she had the nicest rack I've ever seen.

Vancity Biker Chicks is actually a reality show being filmed. This kind of trash actually has fans and it hasn't even aired an episode yet. These women actually exist. I was, am, and will continually be floored that people actually pay money to watch this sh!t.

Every.single.one. of them was completely trashed (and if they weren't, WOW). And after several visits to the ladies room where many of them were sharing a stall, pretty sure they were all high as kites, too. They were however, entertaining as fuck. Little-Miss-Orange-top-sans-double-sided-tape was the most entertaining of them all. She could barely stand (or keep her left boob securely in her top), with Miss-I-am-51-years-old-today-and-my-shoes-have-a-bigger-stilletto-than-the-full-length-of-my-torso came in a close second. Miss-strong-perfume-that-likes-to-share was an insanely close 3rd.

She likes to share because she showered my SIL in her musk. In the bathroom. For fun. 

I am pretty sure we avoided the cameras, but you never really know. And despite wanting, with my whole entire being, never ever to watch an episode, I am going to be PVR'ing the pilot.

If only to make sure I am not in a background shot of course.