A Life Less Ordinary

Where does the time go? Also? IT'S FRIDAY PICS FOR THE WIN!

2012-02-17T13:52:00.000-08:00

I realized this morning that it was already Friday and I had this whole new weekly regular thingy I wanted to start and then "oh shit, Friday afternoon is here already" (Quotations cause I said it) and I haven't written a thing, but I have about 87 different projects on the go at the office and it's totally effin with my social life so I said 'fuck you projects"...and here I am.

Was that a decent enough intro? You bet it is.

Friday Funny pics for the win y'all. Enjoy. And you are welcome.

Mommy's Little Helper.

My Husband wants this for our guest bathroom. I don't think so husband.

I am guessing she's a bit traumatized by Elephants?

Husband's birthday cake this year. Just cause I like to keep him on his toes.

Have a great weekend!

I am awesome. But for this ONE TIME I kinda had to beg to be recognized as awesome.

2012-02-15T12:16:00.000-08:00

Basically.

I tweeted that I was feeling a little left out of the meme I was reading on EVERYONE's blog. Strangely I got missed. I know, right? So weird.

But then shit got real. It was threatened by numerous tweeps that they were going to ALL tag me and I would have no more free time to breath, let alone respond to them all.

I am happy to report that my gal Foxy (go read her blog if you don't already) was the only one who followed through with the threat, and since she is some kinda of crazy overachiever, actually responded to SIX (you heard me, SIX!) tags for this meme. AFter reading her post, I am super excited that I only got one and have learned my lesson NEVER to bitch on twitter. Never. Unless it's about people I don't like. Than I retract that statement.

So without further adieu, here are 11 questions I have chosen randomly from her 66 (I told you she's a crazy overachiever) (whom I secretly wanna emulate) and answered to the best of my ability. Or that my time would allow before boredom. Whichever.

1. What is your least favorite word?
This is gonna sound weird 'yo, but it's MURMUR. Seriously. Say it outloud. Now you know why. You're welcome.

2. What makes your blog awesome-sausage?
The fact that you used the word sausage delights me. I adore sausage. And get your mind out of the gutter - ACTUAL SAUSAGE THAT YOU FRY IN A PAN. So yeah, that. My Blog is awesome sausage. No reason.

3. Do you prefer cake or pie?
I think we can all agree this is the dumbest question ever. I mean, let's be honest with each other. If someone put a piece of pie and a piece of cake in front of you and said 'choose one', you would grab both screaming manically while running out of the room then hide in a broom closet eating both as quickly as possible before you got caught. ME TOO.

This is ridiculous. OBVIOUSLY BOTH

4. What kids' show do you detest, and which one do you secretly watch when your kids aren't around?

Anyone else know WTF Foursquare is all about? Me neither. Also? The handsome black guys real name is ROD, so why is his character's name Krankovich? Seriously Treehouse? I am NOT following this thinking.

And Hannah Montana rocks the casbah, stop pretending you don't agree with me. And maybe Wizards of Waverly Place.

5. What is your favorite movie of all time?

It took me all of 0.4 of a second to know the answer to this one. Love Actually. HANDS DOWN.

6. When you're in a bad mood, what will, without fail, cheer you up?

Again, easy. Red wine.

7. There are $3 cupcakes in the supermarket but you have everything to make them at home. What do you do?

Bahahahahahahahahahahahaha. Ok, I am sorry. But this is an other one of those 'let's be honest here...' questions. I would buy a dozen of the $3 cupcakes and freeze half for tomorrow. I don't bake. Ever. And I can also eat a lot of cupcakes.

8. Is there a song with your name in it that everyone sings as if you’ve never heard the song before? Is it sung by Sting? What about Ewan Macgregor? That’s what I thought.

Does Carmen Carmen Carmen Carmen Carmen Camelion count? I think so.

9. Isn’t Handflapper one of the most beautiful women on the Twitter? The orange shirt and martini glass really bring out the red in her lips.

Ms. Flappy is super. I just luuuuurve her.

10. What is one stereotype people usually associate with you? Is it true?

That I am smart cause I wear glasses? That I am athletic? That I am DAMN SEXY? Are these stereotypes. True, for all of the above then.

11. Why do papercuts hurt so damn much?

It's a lesson to be learned, really. You shouldn't be running your damn finger down the side of a piece of paper. DUH.

So I think the rules stipulate that I need to come up with 11 questions of my own and tag 11 people. But C'MON... I am not even sure 11 people know who I am, let alone would take the time to respond to the meme. I am not that important. But I can come up with 11 questions...

1. What's your stripper name?

2. Does your next door neighbour shower with the light on, or light off?

3. What color socks are you wearing right now?

4. Astrology. Awesome or complete bullshit. Discuss why. IN LENGTH.

5. Basketball or Football?

6. What's fake - Dolly Parton's tits or hair? Discuss

7. Would you rather - Sleep in a dumpster or sleep in a dog house?

8. Is my blog awesome-sausage? Discuss.

9. Tell me about a scary dream you had.

10. Monkeys or Donkeys? Discuss.

11. How much ice cream can you eat in one sitting? Round up to the nearest gallon.

and I shall TAG YOU!!!!

Roxy @ Unintentionally Brilliant

Yvonne @ Attracted to Shiny Things

Tracy @ Sellabit Mom

Gina @ More Moscato Please!!!!
Lisa @ Random Thoughts of a plum

Angela @ Begging the Answer

over and out.

Why you should always put your wine glass in the dishwasher. When you are done. Of Course. Not while you are drinking it. That's kind of important to the drinking part. Which I need.

2012-02-09T14:41:00.000-08:00

I lost my funny. Again. Or maybe I never had it, but for argument sake let's say I did mmm'k? 'preciate it assholes. Stop pretending you don't love me.

Grandma dying sucked pretty bad. But I am the strong one so breaking down is beneath me. Apparently. But the actual desire to lose my SHIT has hit me a few times that it's taken the strength of every super hero combined to make me not lose my shit. It's a weird feeling. I can't explain it.

We have family from out of town in town (I have gone back to that sentence like 40 times and it sounds...weird. Right?), and my housework has been neglected for about a week or month. Whichever. But it's definitely time for a vacuum. And dishes. Because last night, while I was out to dinner with the family from out of town, my handsome little man decided to pull a wine glass off the bedside table and cut his leg.

He has three stitches. And I held his lovely little face while the tears spilled down his lovely little cheeks as the asshole Doctor* sewed up his leg.

First, I feel like a total asshole for having an empty wine glass on my bedside table. Secondly, I feel like an even WORSE asshole for not being home to make sure the bedroom door was closed.

BECAUSE EVERY MOTHER KNOWS THAT DADDY ISN'T ALWAYS CAPABLE OF KEEPING BOTH EYES ON THE CHILDREN WHEN SHE ISN'T HOME.

Ok, so that was my vent about Daddy. I had to get it out. Because last night my job was to soothe and console HIM because of how awful HE FELT. Because venting about the kajillion times I have mentioned that the bedroom door needs to be shut would have been inappropriate at that moment. And it's my fault the wine glass was there and I don't think I wanted to have that mentioned.

Remember what I said about being the strong one? Ya that. Super awesome.

So looks like tonight is a bottle-of-wine-to-myself-night. And the glass will be put in the dishwasher.

*He's only an asshole because he had the unlucky job of hurting my handsome little man. Because I am sure he's probably a really nice guy.

Softly, as I leave you

2012-02-06T13:06:00.000-08:00

I miss you today. I missed you yesterday too. I am probably going to miss you every day. When you left us last week I really didn't believe it was happening, even though I was there with you, holding your hand. This day was inevitable; we were told maybe a week at best. But when you smiled at me last Sunday and called me a nut, I thought maybe just maybe they were wrong.

We said "I love you", when I left that night. And while I never knew it would be the last words you spoke to me, I am comforted by the fact that I have that moment.

Grandma, you are an amazing woman. I love you with all my heart. And I will forever think of you as an angel watching over me.

Rest in peace, Grandma.

BattleSHOTS: Not for the weak. or the 32 year old self

2012-01-31T10:36:00.000-08:00

I'm 32. BIG SHOCKER. but you wouldn't know it from my weekends. I tend to overindulge, acting like a college freshman with no responsibilities. It's a fair trade don't you think? Old age for acting immature? I'd like to think so.

Dear 32 year old self, please act irresponsible every weekend so you don't feel old. You're welcome. Love, Me.

See? I just gave myself permission. My 32 old self is very laid back and cool.

This weekend was no exception to me acting like a sorority recruit wannabe. My friend Steph came up with this brilliant plan to make a game called 'BattleSHOTS' and we headed to the big-ol WalMart for poster board and game pieces.

Ever played Battle Ship? Ever played Battle Ship with shots? I didn't think so.

So this was our ghetto board:

I think using the empty box from our chair glider as the blocker was GENIUS. Also? the different sized shot glasses just made it more interesting. At least for the person having to do the larger ones any ways.

And the next time we play? The board game shall resemble this:

Because when you've played once, you are now an expert who is training for the BattleSHOTS Olympics and cannot play on a ghetto board ever again. Phsaw, that's for amateurs 'yo.

I have to be honest here. Playing BattleSHOTS is like waging a war on your liver. Any you really don't stand a chance liver. My apologies.

Saturday night was a little stupid.

Why yes, ma'am I have a hairy lip. Thank you for noticing

2012-01-27T11:40:00.000-08:00

Those lovely ladies at the salon are pretty candid with their comments. Have you ever noticed that? No shame there, no sirreeeee!

I decided that it was about time I did something about the hair on my upper lip. Now, I am blonde, so it's not like I have a 5 o'clock shadow to worry about....but it was beginning to bother me in pictures so like a proper well-groomed lady I went in with full confidence that it would be a snap.

I even let my good friend go first. Cause I am super awesome. And also so I could gauge her reaction. Obviously.

I was amazed. SHE DIDN'T EVEN FLINCH. Seriously, she kept on with our conversation without blinking even. And she's got dark hair 'yo. Like, she really really needed that lip waxing. My confidence level was pretty much soaring through the roof at this point.

I've had 2 kids without a drop of drugs. A lip waxing is nothing. Clearly.

And then it was my turn. Honestly, this is where my confidence started to deflate. Not because I thought it would hurt like hell, but because the sweet asian girl with the popsicle stick just HAD TO mention that I had a nice healthy mustache and 'this gonna hurt a teeny bit".

I didn't really find her sweet after that.

BECAUSE THAT WOMAN CAUSED ME MORE PAIN THAT I HAVE EVER EXPERIENCED IN MY WHOLE LIFE. That might be a slight exaggeration. But only slight.

And now I have random blonde hairs growing back. What am I supposed to do with that huh?

Well played spa, well played. Now I have to go back.

What's my number? WHAT'S YOUR NUMBER?

2012-01-25T11:15:00.000-08:00

OMG, So I watched the most amazing movie EVER the other day. Seriously. Have any of you seen “What’s your Number?” No? Well I suggest you do. SERIOUSLY.

OK I’ll stop lying to you – I want you to watch it because it’s the worst movie ever and you’ll have a fantastic time making fun of it.

First off, Anna Farris should stick to spoof movies. Her acting skills are less than stellar, and GIRL IS GETTING TOO OLD to play a hot young thing. I think she’s my age. I was floored by the amount of wrinkles they left in without airbrushing.

Great tits though. I’ll give her that.

Regardless, I give this movie a D-. The only reason I haven’t given it an F is because you get to see Chris Evans in almost nothing and that man has a body I would lick peanut butter off of, and I don’t like peanut butter. Unless it’s in a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. Odd, I know. But I think it’s because they load the peanut butter with 12 cups of sugar. Probably.

The synopsis is this: Girl has had 19 sexual partners. Girl reads that any woman with 20 or more has missed their chance at love. Girl tracks down her exes with the help of an FBI's son to find out if any of them got any better. Girl falls for FBI's son. Aaaaaand that's about it.

For fun – here’s a teaser. You are welcome.

Husbands are paid by the government to drive us insane. I am sure of it

2012-01-19T15:18:00.000-08:00

So last night was awesome. And by awesome I mean totally not very awesome. But I got some exercise so there's a plus. I guess. I wasn't really looking for exercise though, but since I like to be all 'glass half full' and shit I'll find something positive in it all.

You see, I like to read. In bed preferably, but read regardless. Usually something trashy, and in the case of last night it was Jackie Collins. Don't judge.

Anyways. When my husband announced he was going to take a bath with our little guy (read: sucking up) I was enthused that I would have at least 10 minutes to read my ~~trash~~ novel. 10 minutes can seem like a lifetime when you have two kids - I know you feel me here.

And so without further questionning (in case he changed his mind) I settled in quite nicely and started reading my book.

Then this happened:

The douchebag wanted me to come get our little guy cause he was 'done'.

Ok, that was the shortest bath known to man, but whatever. So I get up, get the bottle ready and little man's jammies, and put his medicine in the syringe... and TRY AND CATCH MY BREATH, and then grab him from my husband whose sitting in the tub enjoying HIS free time soak.

Hey, whatever makes him happy, right?

Like the awesome Mom that I am, I get handsome man's diaper on, jammies, and put on a little Baby Einstein and then try and relax again with my Hollywood Wives (that's the ~~trashy~~ novel I was reading).

And then this happened:

He wanted a FUCKING BATH PILLOW. Yup, that's all. A PILLOW

He's special isn't he? Like all of you are super jealous right now, I just know it.

So I get him the damn pillow, lay back down with my sexy book, and then this happens:

And you know what? By the time I got to the top of the stairs that stupid mutha-fuckin' washing machine had stopped making a lot of noise. WEIRD .

I crawled back into my comfy bed, and then went crazy:

THE END.

Yup, that just happened

2012-01-18T10:36:00.000-08:00

I'm a smoker. I hate even admitting it, but for the sake of this blog post I kinda have to. You know when you are at the Doctor for a physical (or your yearly internal exam, whichever) and they ask you all those mundane health questions and put their pen to their lips and go 'hmmmm' at every.single.answer you give them, then you are asked "Do you smoke?".
I always answer "occasionally" reallllllly long and drawn out, you know so it has a ring of truth to it (read: they know I am lying immediately and continue 'hmmmmmm'ing' into their pen. Douches)

I am such a liar.

Anyways. I mentioned the other day that it snowed here. IT SNOWED A SHIT TON ACTUALLY. And it's still coming down. Regardless, I still need my smokies. So like any other day I go outside with my coworker every few hours, have our little chitty chat and smoke, and come back to my office smelling like ~~roses~~ perfume-covered smoke.

Today however, I was a smart cookie and brought gloves. Wind chill says its -29 and this girl ain't fucking with that shit today.

Do you see where this is going?

No?

Well I'll tell ya! So, in order to smoke, you need a lighter. And in order to smoke, you need to flick that bitch. But did you know that when you are wearing COTTON gloves and flicking a lighter with your other hand curved around the cigarette to block out the wind, that those gloves are most likely going to get caught on fire? Neither did I.

Fortunately, I am quick-like-ninja so no appendages were hurt in the making of this blog post.

The pink fluffy gloves are another story.

**sigh** My 10 year old is going to be very upset Mommy ruined her gloves.

And that just about ends those anonymous shitheads

2012-01-17T10:12:00.000-08:00

GAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I HATE anonymous posters that leave their shitty-ass spam. And here are several reasons:

I don't give a fuck how to unlock an Iphone 4
We both know that the post you're commenting on is NOT the best thing you have read on the internet
Random links to click are not getting clicked. EVER.
I have not won a billion dollars from Guatelama and I am not giving you half of it
The lady down the street DOES NOT have my cell phone and I will not be calling her to retrieve it
My children ARE gorgeous. So thank you. But stop telling me, that's weird
I DON'T GIVE A FUCK HOW TO UNLOCK AN IPHONE 4. I DON'T EVEN OWN ONE.

So was that aggressive enough? My apologies to the rest of you that now have to do word verification. But honestly, that can be fun. I mean, what are the odds you get to type in Lohan's? You know, as in train-wreck-Lindsey-and-Dina?

and then there was snow. a shit ton I might add

2012-01-16T12:26:00.000-08:00

I live in the great white north(west); snow isn't new...BUT, this shit is getting ridiculous. This winter has been pretty mild and I think the most cold slushy stuff we've gotten is a couple inches that have lasted a few measley hours than turned to rain anyways, so when the weather-people called for a snow-storm, I wasn't expecting much.

Truhfully, I was pretty sure it was going to be a few snowflakes, then hail, then the aforementioned rain that we've come to ~~love~~ get used to here in Vancouver.

This is the parking lot of my office RIGHT THIS MINUTE. I had to catch it during the one minute the snow flakes weren't coming down. Pretty sure it's going to start up again in seconds. or minutes. Whenever. BUT IT WILL. Because I think 5 minutes is the longest it's stopped for.

I drove to work in 4WD. I'll probably go home in 4WD.

I should have just stayed home and curled up with a blanket. Or sleep. Sleep sounds more like it.

So I think I'm up to speed with Windows. Maybe. The Jury is still out

2012-01-13T12:01:00.000-08:00

So how awesome is this? I just got my computer here in the good 'ol office upgraded to Windows 7. Apparently I have been surviving on *GASP* Windows 2003 and no one can believe *GASP* how I have been able to do it without going postal.

Say what?

It worked. I could send emails. I could write word docs. And make Excel files. I COULD EVEN DO EMAIL MERGES ' YO. So WTF? For some reason I feel as though I am being ridiculed. Assholes

Anyways.

Now the hard part. I got's nothing. I mean, like no favorites (Bookmarks?), passwords that automatically pop up all nice and shit for me, mapped network drives, all the shit that makes my life just a teeeeny bit easier every day. So now, I have to set it all up again. And well, that shit was done so long ago half of it I can't remember how to do.

Like my email signature.

Thank goddess for IT Tech's who don't disappear when you whine. Because I'd be up shit creek without a paddle and I do mean SHIT. Seriously folks. It took me 12 minutes to figure out how to make Google my home page. So I whined about it. And he helped me.

But there is some good news in all of this! Ya, I know!!! Good news!!! I am sure you were all wondering what that could possibly be!!!! and I like exclamation points!!!!

But here it goes - since Word 2010 is all-kinds-a-fucked-up, I now know that there are such things as keyboard shortcuts! And what are those you ask? it's a really cool way that you can do things using the CTRL key.

Like, for example, CTRL + B actually bolds your type. STFU right?

Ya, I got laughed at for that too. Bastards (and I totally did CTRL + i to Italicize that. You're jealous. Admit it)

(I also went back to do some edits and tried CTRL + u and it UNDERLINED! I am a genius!)

I think it's also imperative I explain what I am doing (I pressed CTRL + b) so YOU TOO ( CTRL + u) can learn these amazing tools. ( CTRL + i)

You're welcome.

My husband wins at texting

2012-01-10T12:05:00.000-08:00

My husband and I sometimes choose to text each other rather than call when we having something to say that we don't think the other will like. Or we're busy. Whichever. But usually because we know it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission. True Story

Actual text convo with the funny man a few weeks ago:

Preface: I initially pretended to be Kelly-elly-yahoooooo because he's usually nicer to my friends than he is with me when the information being sent isn't great. Or means he isn't getting laid.

Me: Hi E, it's Kelly-elly-yahooooo. Would you be ok if I got your wife horribly drunk and made her stay the night?

E: That depends, would it be ok if you got me horribly drunk and made me stay the night?

Husband for the win.

PS. I totally got horribly drunk and stayed in the spare room. Obviously. But it cost me a BJ the following night. E for the win. Again.

No ma'am I would not like to eat that baby food, thankyouverymuch

2012-01-06T15:00:00.000-08:00

Many of you don’t know, but my hubby is a dual citizen with Finland. He has some fascinating stories from the time he lived there and served in the military (they have conscription) as well as played professionally hockey. And I am sure a few stories I haven’t even heard. You know, because I am his wife and I don’t need to hear about his bachelor days. Especially when they were in a country with hot blond babes who don’t speak English.

Some reaaaaaly great movies start out that way. It's called porn.

And I won’t even mention that photograph he still has of one of those aforementioned blondes on a motorcycle. Her name shall forever be unknown because there’s a good chance I’d stalk her on Facebook. Maybe.

Anyways.

When we first started dating, my hubby was really excited for me to be apart of their family dinners. He truly thought that it would be a treat for me to taste traditional Finnish dishes, and I would share his love of the cuisine. To this day, I rarely touch the Finnish dishes and stick, quite happily mind you, to the foods I have grown up with.

You see, Finnish food is bland. Or is it gastronomical? This could be debated. Regardless, it's grown up baby food. I SAID IT.

One of the first dishes I was introduced to was karjalanpiirakka (sounds like: Kardialam pitika with a shit ton of rolled r’s which my tongue isn't very good at). My husband thinks that sun sets and rises over these things, so I had some big expectations.

Does it not look like a Vagina? YA IT DOES. Also? they put 'egg butter' on it...which, well, I shouldn't have to tell you what a mess THAT LOOKS LIKE.

Well my friends, it tastes exactly how it looks.

For years I couldn’t pronounce it. And to be honest, I still can’t. But I was given the look of shame every time I tried and came out with “Kuala Lumpur”. That’s a country, not a Finnish Food.

And then there is Lanttulaatikko. No pronunciations for you on that one - I don't even know where to begin.

This may look yummy, but believe me when I tell you it's rutabaga casserole.

This dish tastes like nothing. You heard me (read me, whatever).

Now that the holidays are over, I am happy to report that I no longer have to pretend that I ‘just finished your wonderful dish!” when in fact there never was any on my plate to begin with.

And for fun:

See? Gordon Ramsay doesn't like Finnish food. Not that I am surprised.

If you forget your panties...wear someone elses.

2012-01-02T12:37:00.000-08:00

This week I have an appointment with my orthopedic surgeon. Six years ago he operated on my left knee and I haven't been back since. But it's probably a good idea to remind myself to wear panties this time.

Let me explain.

8 years ago I tore my ACL. It seriously took almost 2 years for me to have the surgery scheduled. But that's our medical system for you. While it's free (for that I am grateful) the wait time is excruciating. Prior to the surgery however, I had an appointment with the surgeon so he could examine my knee. I wore some stretchy pants thinking that he would roll up the legs to access my knee.

I was wrong.

He came into that small little office where my daughter and I were sitting, dropped of a gown and said "take everything off but your underwear. I'll be back in a few". Imagine my horror, right? Now to the average person this wouldn't be so terrifying. But I have a habit of not wearing panties. And the doctor had no way of knowing this.

I sat there in panic for about a minute and a half trying to figure out what the fuck I was going to do. And then it dawned on me. "Sadie, take off your panties and DON'T SAY A WORD." She was four y'all. I was 25.

Turns out, brilliant move on my part. Sure, I had about 8 inches of muffin-top spilling over the panties, but the good 'ol Doc was spared my hoo-hoo and I was saved from any further embarrassment.

The best part? My four year old smiling brightly because her Mommy was wearing her strawberry shortcake underwear. A secret she shared with me that made her day.

Let's Wrap it up Shall We?

2011-12-30T11:17:00.000-08:00

2011 kinda sucked, let's be honest with each other. But I have high hopes for 2012. Call me optimistic, but when the shits bad, there's no place to go but up, right? That sounds depressing, but in all fairness, my famdam has taken quite a shit-kicking and we're due for some wonderfulness. In fact, Lotto Max is 50 mil tonight. GUESS WHOSE BUYING A TICKET.

So in true year-end blog style, I give you my favorite posts from 2011, mine as well as my fellow funny lady bloggers. 'Fellow funny lady' may be a stretch since I almost always pale in comparison and I have like serious jealousy issues because they're all awesome and shit but since its almost a new year, I'll work on those insecurities mmmm'k? Holy run on sentence batman.

Without further adieu, here we go:

Back in March I wrote a post about a VERY presumptuous massage therapist and it has by far been the most searched post since it went live. I credit this to the fact the words 'large breasts' are in the title. Makes complete sense. You're welcome google.

Mental Poo is a secret addiction of mine. (and not a 'fellow funny LADY' but whatever I am still including him) I may or may not go there daily and hit refresh. Back in April he started a series on completely inappropriate Facebook comments he makes on a daily basis and has posted twice more since then here and here. I am seriously looking forward to more of these. SO IF YOU CAN HEAR ME MIDGET MAN OF STEAL, KEEP 'EM COMING. I figure if I yell it might be more effective.

I think we can all agree that The Bloggess is the funniest, most bat-shit crazy blogger out there. AND WE WORSHIP HER.

I was having an impossible time picking out my favorites from 2011 so I am just going to say start from the beginning and keep on going. You will thank me. Or start popping pills and drinking vodka. At the same time. Whichever.

I love me a meanie. Which is why the real mean girl makes me happier than that time I peed on a homeless man. Did you know she Pole Dances for Jesus? Ok, not really, she just wrote about it...BUT STILL. Funny shit.

My Girl Foxy is a fellow Canuck (and also awesome) and writes so eloquently that I sometimes get all weepy and my heart bursts with love and adoration and I just wanna cyber-hug the shit out of her. I sound creepy, don't I? Whatever.

Anyways, back in July she wrote this extremely accurate list "Things this Canuck would miss if I moved to the land down under". Let's be serious 'yo, Canadians have it goooooood. No moving for this chicka. EVER.

Girlfriend LLA_Princess rocks my world - she's funny, creative, wonky, AND TOTALLY LIKE ME. She sent me a rad friendship bracelet, so there's that too.

Back in August she created the Craptasstic Blogger Award. I am still waiting for mine. Just sayin'.

Flappy is my Siamese twin. Or just totally rad and I wanna be her so I am pretending we're attached by a body part. If you don't follow her on twitter, may I suggest you do? NOW. She won a real cool prize from Lisa Galaviz at The Best Self Help T'Shirt Catalogue Ever (which it is) for being funny on twitter (which she is) and wrote a fucking HILARIOUS post after receiving her Fucking Bells shirt in the mail. Read it. You will definitely be more life-rich for doing so. I promise.

Miss Flappy also guest posted for us here at a Life Less Ordinary and since she is way cooler and awesomer than I am, just announcing it on her blog got me more readers that day and any other day of the ~~year~~ ever.
So read her post: Hey! Look! Handflapper is here! And you'll love her just as much as I do. If you don't already. Which I am sure you do. Or you're crazy.

Marianna Annadanna at Snappy Surprise is some kinda wonderful. And awesome. She even blogged about it. I kinda love that I am not the only one.

She also put a douchebag in his place back in October. Figuratively though. Step 1. She'll do it for reals next year. I am sure of it.

Angela at Begging the Answer is constantly cracking me up. One of my favorite posts of the entire year was her tale of the day her van got stolen at the zoo. Except it didn't really. Which makes it COMIC GOLD.

I hope someday I TOO can lose my van (but not really) at the zoo. Ok, not really.

I decided I would stop here. For several reasons, but the main one being I have about 348 more favorites and I there isn't enough time in my work day to spend pretending to work while I giggle uncontrollably while reading them all and linking to them. Someone might get suspicious. Probably.

So, there ya have it. My last post of 2011. I hope you enjoyed it. And found some new friends to follow.

Happy New Year!

You're welcome

2011-12-29T09:25:00.000-08:00

I just couldn't help myself...

aaaaaand it's over. But high-five for presents!

2011-12-28T08:57:00.001-08:00

Well hey there! Long time no chat! Did you miss me? Seriously though…it’s been one hectic mo-fo around here and I am thrilled to smitherings that Christmas is effin OVER. My house looks like boxes threw up all over the place and I can’t seem to find anything amidst the clutter. I am considering moving just to avoid the clean up and organization. Although, that would be a chore too, so never mind. Whatever.

Christmas was a cluster-fuck of gifts, food, and booze, and not necessarily in that order. I remember none of it. Other than the fantastic diamond earrings I am now sporting of course. My husband got a blow job for that one. Maybe.

But I DID get the best Christmas present that wasn’t really a present 'yo.

The back story: When I was pregnant with my now-ten year old daughter Sadie, I had the very best friend in the whole wide world who supported me through my separation with my then-husband, and was there for me every step of the way through the birth and subsequent move out of state and then back up to Canada. We stayed in touch through the first three years with long distance phone calls but slowly lost each other in the days of our lives. Phone numbers and addresses changed, email addresses went defunct, jobs were lost and won, etc, etc.

Basically, we’re both assholes for not trying harder.

Since the inception of Facebook I have searched relentlessly for her. But there was one problem: Her name is as common as John Smith and it proved to be impossible. Google wouldn’t spit anything out for me either. Douche.

Then yesterday I persevered. I hit that See More Results button so many times my pointer finger hurt, and then… out of the blue… there she was. I was so giddy I almost clicked the wrong button and lost her. I friend requested her, and within minutes she had accepted and we were messaging each other at the same time. She then called me. I may have cried. I will not confirm or deny.

It’s been less than 24 hours and I am already searching plane tickets to bum-fuck-nowhere USA.

Cause I am going. And I may cry again. Whatever. I am sensitive like that. Don’t judge.

EDITED: Life's an asshole, but we can't quit him. Somehow life seems like it's male. No reason

2011-12-22T11:40:00.000-08:00

Reader beware, this post may get a little whiny and could possibly change yours (and even my own) opinion on how fanfuckingtastically strong of a person I am (cause I know you all think that I have super powers). They say that God only gives you what you can handle, but since I don’t really have any belief in Him, I can safely assume that karma is kicking the shit out of me. That’s a fair assumption, no?

OK, with that disclaimer-of-sorts out of the way I can now give you the good news: This isn’t really going to be depressing (mostly), just more of a rant about how life is an asshole. And since most of us bloggers tend to feel that way at least once a ~~day~~ week, I know I've hit a bulls eye with that one. I'm self-assured that I won’t be judged. Probably.

So here it goes.

My son’s health has been a nightmare. I am terrified every day that he’ll suffer another ‘attack’ and we’ll be back at Children’s Hospital. While not life threatening (that we know of), watching your child suffer is one of the hardest things a parent can go through. Still, almost a year later we are without answers and despite trying to be optimistic for 2012, I cant shake the undeniable fear that we’re only at the beginning.

We’ve also struggled for the last 3 years with my Husband’s health. I’ve briefly talked about it here and here but have been pretty quiet in regards to the recent seizures and the toll they are taking on me. Physically, I am ok, but mentally and emotionally I am not. For anyone who hasn’t witnessed a grand mal seizure (and no way in hell will I google to find a video to post) just know that it’s a terrifying experience for everyone involved. Every night I wake up when my husband so much as rolls over. And when he jerks, which he does entirely way too often in his sleep, my heart rate goes through the roof before I have even had a chance to roll over myself to make sure he’s ok.

And my rant? It doesn’t seem to faze him one bit. Maybe it does, and maybe he just tries to be tough by deflecting my concern, but the message I receive is that he doesn’t remember them, so they aren’t that big of a deal.

WELL THEY’RE A BIG FUCKING DEAL TO ME.

And now, we have found a god awful lump on my daughter’s hip bone that is scaring the absolute be-jesus out of me. I don’t know if I should be panicking and running our (sweet) asses to the hospital, or just making a regular Dr’s visit. Last night she screamed out in pain when it was touched, and flatly refused any kind of inspection on my part. When I did push lightly, the tears were so unbearable I couldn’t do it anymore.

So what’s next life? Is it my turn? Since I have considered forwarding my mail to the emergency room at the Hospital, now would be a good time to get it all over with in one shot. You know, save me the pain and suffering later? Oh wait, you’re an asshole so dragging it out is your style. I forgot.

Asshole.

And shit I lied. This post IS depressing. I suck.

Also? Fanfuckingtastically is my new favorite word. It should be yours too.

EDIT: The lump ended up being a boil. How does a 10 year old get a boil you ask? nofuckingclue. But in other news, once it popped, my 19 month old got an identical one on HIS hipbone. Boils suck ass. That is all.

My #$%&^ Ass Hurts

2011-12-20T09:14:00.000-08:00

It should come as no surprise when I say "I can be a total dumb ass". I no longer fear the ridicule that comes along with that either. Why keep pretending I am not me?

I think my problem is that I choose not to think ahead.

On Saturday, my two besties and I (+ a boyfriend thrown in cause he's awesome, but also because he could watch our purses while we danced) went out to celebrate a birthday. Usually we're on our best behavior (read: terribly inappropriate and misbehaved) but all sense of decency and maturity went out the window after the 4th shot of patron.

Let me just jump in here for a second and make mention: doing shots of patron makes you feel really rich and sophisticated.

Anyways...

While the night was fun and filled with copious amounts of booze and dancing and laughter, it was the preparation beforehand that qualifies me for Dumb Ass Of the Year.

I have recently lost some weight. Not a shit ton mind you, but enough that I now have to be even more selective about what I wear since nothing fits me properly anymore. I can get away with a slightly more baggy shirt, but pants have become a pretty big problem. So, there really is only one pair of jeans that gives me some sort of lump resembling an ass instead of a saggy pile of what could only be described as resembling a diaper that's been shit in. Terrible visual, I know.

Unfortunately, these jeans happened to be in the washing machine. I remembered exactly 30 minutes before we were planning on leaving the house. I hurriedly separated them from the other darks and put them in the dryer all by their lonesome. I AM A GENIUS!

With about 45 seconds to spare, I checked the dryer and VOILA they were dry and ready to slide on.

But did you know that when jeans come out of the dryer all the metal pieces are hot?

No?

Neither did I.

Because I burnt the FUCK out of my ass. In fact, I have two perfect red circles in the middle of both my ass cheeks.

Because I am a DUMB ASS.

And apparently funny-as-fuck.

Oh oblivious me. YAY ME.

2011-12-15T13:18:00.000-08:00

Being oblivious is somewhat of a glorious thing isn’t it? I mean, just looking at randoms walking down the street completely unaware that their shoes don’t match or they have ketchup on their cheek, is totally awesome. It truly is. Because they don’t care. They’re just taking their time going from point A to point B without a giving two-shits what anyone around them is thinking about them.

In other news, I hate that adage: Point A to point B. Thanks DAD for ingraining that one in my memory. Do you remember your parents using that one when you were a kid? GOD IT ANNOYED THE FUCK OUT OF ME.

But I digress. I actually have a point. Whatever.

I tend to think the oblivious are cute. So unassuming and when you draw attention to the something they are missing, they blush, stammer, and well… they just make you wanna puke skittles and lollipops because of how damn cute they are.

You feel that way too? No? Well you’re an asshole.

Generally, I like oblivious. But not when it’s me. Cause I am not so cute. Today I can’t tell you how long I went around like this:

If you can't tell, the purple happens to be panties. I am not wearing purple panties today, this is just a visual REPRESENTATION not the actual event. Nor am I wearing blue pants and a maroon shirt. That would just be gross

So as you can see I am waving my arm saying hello to everyone. Obviously. And completely unaware that my fly is all.the.way.down. Not partially. Because really, that would be less embarrassing, and when I do something, ANYTHING, I go big. That's how I roll.


So then enters coworker who shall remain nameless. Sher may or may not have snickered out loud, but I know she was thinking it in her head. I can just tell these things. Biotch.


She didn't really ask me about reports, but I thought I would give her character some lines for shits and giggles. I am sure she was probably thinking in her head to MAYBE ask me about them, so it's fitting. Sorta. Still a Bitch.


Truthfully, I noticed it myself, no one told me. But calling someone out for bad hair, cankles and freakishly thin arms makes me feel slightly better about it. Plus, she totally snickered. In her head, but whatever. Bitch.

I wish I could say that was the only encounter of the day. But unfortunately no one realllllllly knows how long my zipper was down for. It could have been gaping during the meeting I had this morning. Or while I was in the kitchen pouring coffee. Or even maybe when we had an impromptu hallway meeting about some new marketing initiatives (that totally made me sound smart didn't it). In fairness, it could have been down since my first early morning pee before I even left the house.

But now that I think about it, I have gone pee since then. At least that's a small consolation. SMALL ONE. But I'll take it.

Now buy your own present! UPDATED

2011-12-14T13:56:00.000-08:00

My husbands grandfather passed away earlier this year so this will be our first holiday season without him. I am sure there will be some tender stories shared around the christmas dinner table, but most of all I am sure there will be even more funny stories that will be retold.

You see, Alec was hilarious.

And not just in a hey-im-funny-so-listen-to-my-jokes kinda a way...but in a I'm-a-grouchy-old-man-but-really-a-teddy-bear kind of way.

Alec could always make me laugh at the scowl on his face with the smile behind his eyes. I miss him, I am sure my husband does more-so, but I will always remember his gifts at Christmas.

You see, buying gifts was just too difficult for Alec. All of his grandchildren had everything they needed, so he resorted to cards and cheques. On each card he would write:

Happy Christmas, Grandpa
P.S. Buy your own present!

It was expected, graciously received, and always appreciated. Especially the years that pockets were slightly more empty.

One year will remain on our memories for a long time to come. Now, while Grandpa enjoyed the family festivities that year, he felt that there was just something off with his grandchildren. He couldn't explain it, but the thought stayed with him over the New Year. Then one day he was sorting out his papers in his study and under a pile of mail he found a little pile of cheques that he had written for his grandkids. He had completely forgotten to put them in with the Christmas cards.

I remember not being surprised in the least bit by the empty card... you see, the message of "Buy your own present" seemed just SO LIKE ALEC. Grouchy, but meant with love.

We may not have gotten a cheque that year, but it was one more Christmas that he was apart of our lives. We will remember him with love this year too.

___________________________________________________________________________________

UPDATED: So guess whose a douche? Grandpa Alec died last year, not this year. Apparently I was so wrapped up in my son's first Christmas and subsequent year of health issues that I completely let a whole year go by me without realizing it. I feel like a total ass. Grandpa Alec, if you can read this, I AM A DOUCHE.

30 Day Blog Challenge - Day 6 - A picture of a place you have been

2011-12-12T11:29:00.000-08:00

Talk about a vague one huh? I could post a picture of the street where my grocery store is, you know since I've been there, but that would just be a snarky tongue-in-cheek response to the 30 day blog challenge, and we alllll know I am never snarky. Ever.

So here you go - Mexico. Nuevo Vallarta. The Riu Pacifo to be exact. I am now there RIGHT NOW in my head.

Growing up, one day at a time

2011-12-08T11:04:00.000-08:00

Not a day goes by that I don’t think about friendships; gained or lost. Partly because I have some amazing people in my life that I talk to so much throughout my day, but also because I have those that I no longer do and while we have our grieving when they are lost there is almost never any real closure to them. Confusing? Probably. But it’s a fact of life really.

I am a people person; no one can really dispute that. Sometimes I think I have closer relationships with my friends than I do with my own husband and that is mostly attributed to the fact that we are support for each other through our own trials and tribulations. As much as I lean on my husband for the pain and stress we live with everyday because of our child’s health, my friends are the ones I go to when my relationship with my husband isn’t always picture perfect. Funny, but that’s always way more often than I care to admit. I find that time and time again I am more open and honest with them than the very person who is my best friend.

Shame on me.

But that’s not really where I am going with this. Somewhat recently I had a falling out with a close friend. A falling out that even to this day I still can’t really put into words (either written or verbally) what really went wrong, except that I was judged unmercilessly for my character and personality.

But what does that really mean?

I can’t really say. That’s sort of the non-closure part of it all that I am trying so desperately to realize may just have to BE. Trying to understand someone else’s thought process, whether their opinion is warranted or not, isn’t really conducive to moving on. This much I know, but still have to learn to do.

I feel a little bit bullied. Not to my face, because I am one to stand up for myself, but more-so to other people and acquaintances, and without any really knowledge of why. Sure, I hear snippets and stories, but to fully understand the why the back-story is so necessary. I am not fooling myself though; I know I wasn’t always the most dependable and supportive friend. I know that my actions weren’t always the right ones, or the ones a very best friend should do. But to be fair to myself, I did do so much more than was recognized or realized because I was always so careful to protect their feelings.

In hindsight, the truth may of hurt, but the avoidance was what hurt the most. Maybe. I still don’t really know.

Friends are the family we choose for ourselves. It may be cliché, but it rings so true. Whether they are beginning or ending, we have the right and responsibility to treat each one with the care and respect they deserve. Sadly, it isn’t always the case. So for that, I will continue to think about it daily, for my own sanity as well as growth.

Screw you Evening News

2011-12-05T10:10:00.000-08:00

I am a rage-a-holic when driving in traffic. With my windows rolled up of course. You won’t hear me actually telling someone off, that’s for brave people. But a rage-a-holic nonetheless.

When I saw that Cheesy Bloggers’ them this week was commuting nightmares, I felt obliged to share my random story only because it’s funny as hell NOW. Maybe not so much then. But those make the best stories, no?

Several years ago I worked in downtown Vancouver but lived about a 45 minute drive outside the city, which in traffic equates to an 18 hour commute. One way. Maybe a slight over exaggeration. Whatever. Anyways, I pretty much drove home in neutral (stick shifts in traffic are THE DEVIL) speed dialing anyone who would answer their cell phone to listen to me ~~vent~~ scream my bloody head off about the stupid crazy-ass mother fuckers who were on the road. I may or may not have chain smoked. But that’s irrelevant.

One day I had to leave work slightly early because my Dad was in the hospital (long-assed story I’ll dive into one day, but he’s OK!) I quickly learned that traffic was actually worse this time of day. Lucky me. Now, I am usually the person sitting in traffic cursing the douche-canoes who weave in and out, make illegal turns and generally make the commute even more difficult for everyone else on the road while mumbling to myself that I wish I had the balls to do it too…but on this day, I did.

So without giving a shit whom I pissed off, I zipped my little car onto the shoulder of a freeway on-ramp and put the petal to the metal. Some days I think I should have been a race car driver. Maybe in another life.

So that night, while lounging at home on my couch and flipping through the channels I managed to catch a news program on angry drivers in traffic. Coincidence? Apparently not.

Right there, front and center on the TV in front of me, was an air-helicopter video of MY CAR performing its douche-canoe move earlier in the day. My only thought? THANK GOD you can’t see me, or my license plate.

No the actual video footage, just an example of how close the camera WAS to my car.

Funny, but it looked way worse on TV.

Hey you! You're the girl from the 4th floor...

2011-12-02T10:55:00.000-08:00

I am not what you would call ‘classy’ by any stretch. I enjoy coming home from work and slipping on my sweatpants, taking off the bra and lounging. Pretty much every day. If we order in, my husband answers the door because there is no way in hell I am scaring a delivery driver with my 32 year old tits saying hello.

That’s just traumatizing.

But this is not to say I don’t enjoy putting on the pretense of being classy. Truth be told, I can appear classy as fuck if I put some effort into it (that part I don’t enjoy much. EFFORT) and it’s kind of fun to revel in the niceties.

On one such occasion, I was staying at the Westin in Las Vegas for a business trip. If you’ve never been there, it’s like a block off the strip and pretty fucking amazeballs, so stay there. Anyways, I decided to class it up a bit by enveloping myself in the fantastic terry-cloth robe they provided and order room service to eat in my King Size bed overlooking the fantastic lights of Vegas on the 4^th floor. Ok, so not a fantastic view at only 4 floors up, but still awesome.

I showered, shaved, wrapped myself up (towel turban style of course) and spread myself out on the bed and ate my delicious asparagus omelet with truffle essence (a fancy name for truffle flavored cream cheese. Can I just say DELICIOUS MOTHER FUCKING CREAM CHEESE) and pretended I was a millionaire having just a regular day.

Me. But not me. You get it.

See? Classy as fuck.

When I was done (read: getting bored) I opened the door to my room and placed my tray on the ground after observing that apparently this is protocol for room service. And stood there like a complete tool as the door shut behind me.

No big deal. I’ll just turn the handle and walk right back in. You see where this is going.

Now, someone whose used to being all classy as fuck would just walk over to the elevators and use the provided phone to call down to the concierge to send a bellhop up to let me back in. Ya, I didn’t do that. I panicked. And refused to look a single person in the eye as they walked by.

Remember now, I am in a housecoat and TURBAN TOWEL.

Me. But not me. YOU GET IT.

After about 10 minutes of me avoiding eye contact and shaking like a leaf, I finally asked a sweet old lady if I could use the phone in her room. I called down, a bellhop came up (he took his damn sweet time though) and I was finally let into my room.

No one will ever have to know.

Or so I thought.

That night, as my friend and I went to meet up with some coworkers, we were introduced to a few friends of my coworkers niece who drove up from somewhere in California for the night. One of them, a tall dark drink of water, smiles, and says “Hey, you’re the girl on the 4^th floor of the Westin…”

Awesome.

Wordless Wednesday: Hard Truth

2011-11-30T08:36:00.000-08:00

Bah to Bell Ringers!

2011-11-29T10:57:00.001-08:00

It’s that time of year again. The time when I realize financially we’re going to explode into a kajillion pieces and go bankrupt. That could be a slight exaggeration but I tend to panic about things and unfortunately, I am not changing anytime soon.

I WANT to love Christmas. I mean, my kids adore it, and I adore them, so it should just make sense that I cherish and treasure it just as much as they do. But let’s be honest here, Christmas pretty much burns bottomless holes in our pockets that can’t be repaired with a simple sewing kit. I absolutely HATE the stress it puts us under, I ABHOR that we make ourselves feel like we have to buy a gift for every child birthed in our gene pool, and I DETEST the guilt I feel when I pass by a bell ringer and lower my head. So guess what I do? I dig around in my purse and pull out ANY loose change I can possibly find. I don’t have enough extra cash to put fucking chocolate in my kids stocking, but I am sure as hell not going to walk by without donating something ‘yo!

And to make matters worse this year, the bell ringers and the cadets and the food bank and the door-to-door World Vision reps went into full swing THE MINUTE HALLOWEEN WAS OVER. Like maybe even midnight October 31^st. How is this even remotely OK?

It’s not enough to stress the regular folk in December, let’s stick a knife in ‘em in November too!

(This is what I believe those CEO’s say at their staff meetings in August when they determine their fundraising schedules, and then they jump into their Mercedes and/or BMW’s to take a vacation in the Hamptons with their families while drinking Courvousier and smoking real Cubans)

This year, my husband and I have decided to only do stockings for each other. While this alleviates some of the stress, I can’t help but wonder where the disposable income is going to come from to purchase all the gifts for our extended families. And like many of us broke middle class families – it seems like that list of people is endless. I have considered doing something crafty, like bottling wine (the ship has sailed on that one huh) and making fun, creative bags to hold them, or perhaps putting together those do-it-yourself cookie jars, but even then, the cost of the ingredients might set me back more than I really want to spend.

So my RL and Internet friends, please share with me some cost-saving ideas that you have to stay thrifty this holiday season…because I need it, and because I will beg for it.

And my commitment? To stop dumping change into those charity buckets and walk by with my head held up. Because damn it, I need charity too and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.

Flashback. And it was AWESOME

2011-11-28T10:21:00.000-08:00

This weekend a good friend of mine crossed the threshold into her 30's so we celebrated 80's-style. Copious amounts of alcohol was consumed (as were the cheesy appetizers you had to eat with a toothpick). While I KNOW I looked completely ridiculous, as did everyone, I also looked COMPLETELY AWESOME (as did everyone) so I am not ashamed to show pictures. You see, looking ridiculous is what makes you awesome. True story.

You're welcome.

I can be reaaaaalllly reallllly dumb. But in my defense, I was hungover

2011-11-21T13:08:00.000-08:00

Saturday was a pretty shitty day. And I thought it would be nice to explain it all in pictures. Just cause I can, but mostly so I don't have to type it all out. I'm lazy like that. Or Embarassed. Whichever.

First, I woke up to a dead truck battery. My fault, but mostly my GPS's fault. Because the damn bitch didn't shut herself off. Douche.


Here I am pouting in the cold while I determine how to put on the jumper cables.

After reading the directions thoroughly and extensively (same thing. Whatever) my friend Stephanie and I decide that we really don't have a fucking clue what to do. The directions don't just say negative to negative, positive to positive. That would be too easy, right? They have to throw words in there like "ground' and 'dead' and 'live'. Also? They don't explain that the battery doesn't actually SAY battery. No sireeeeee. Apparently you're just supposed to KNOW where that is.


Guess what? Not easy.

This is my engine. WTF? Two boxes with a red and black 'nub'. Is it called a 'nub'? WHO THE FUCK KNOWS.

After numerous failed attempts and some serious sparking going on, we decided that it best be left up to the experts. So we called a tow truck to come save my stupid ass.

After 45 minutes we decided that FUCK THIS SHIT, we aren't some stupid GIRLS, we can do it! So we went outside and attempted One. More. Time.

And you know what we discovered?

We were putting the jumper cables on the FUSE BOX and not the battery. So, in reality, this is what I did to my beautiful SUV:


No literally, it drove. But with non-working windows CD player, seat warmers, etc

This is why GPS's should not misbehave the night-of and the morning-after copious amounts of red wine are being drunk. Also? Woman should be designing vehicles. SO THE BATTERY CAN BE CLEARLY LABELLED!

I take no responsibility whatsoever.

And neither does Stephanie.

Concrete Angel

2011-11-18T14:37:00.000-08:00

I am not in a great place right now. In fact, I have anger, rage, sadness, fear and pain surging though me.

Let me explain.

It started when I read a post, and forgive me but I can't recall the blog as I was all over the place following links from Wanderlust's Speak out Against Domestic Violence link up, referencing a story about a mother who murdered her 13 month old baby boy because HE CRIED.

Because he cried.

And so I cried.

I cried for this baby boy who just wanted his mother to snuggle him and make him feel better. I cried for this baby boy who for hours, minutes, maybe seconds knew the worst fear in the whole wide world while his Mom hit him. I cried for this baby boy who will never breath another breath because he cried.

I am not going to go back looking for the news article because it would just send me over the edge again and to be fair, I don't want to evoke that feeling in any of my readers who happen to follow the link because I posted it. I am even more so affected I think, because he resembles my little man. My angel.

I read that post and news article hours ago and still I can't shake the emotion. Or the anger. I am busy at work but my focus keeps wavering to this life lost. So avoidable and and so unnecessary. My eyes have welled up with tears so many times that I have had to rewrite sentences in work and personal emails.

As a mother, my children are my whole world. Any kind of scratch or bruise is terrifying for me and I try to avoid any kind of hurt with all my being. Sure, we can't prevent it all...but it doesn't mean we don't try. THIS IS OUR JOB. Being a parent doesn't come naturally to most, I get that, but how can you not love your own flesh and blood? The thought of being the person responsible for causing any kind of harm to the child that I birthed from my own body puts knots in my stomach and chills down my spine.

These women, these child killers, deserve to be hurt in the most explicit horrific way possible. No mercy should be given to them, as they have shown no mercy to their own.

I write this emotionally, so my words aren't edited. I write this straight from where my heart is at this exact moment. If I sound harsh or unforgiving it's because that is exactly how I feel and I make no apologies for it.

I just wanna hold that little boy and tell him he is loved. XOXO little angel.

My Open Letter to Ryan Gosling After Watching Crazy Stupid Love

2011-11-17T13:31:00.000-08:00

I think it just got a little warm in here

Dear Ryan,

I can call you that, right? Not Mr. Gosling? That just sounds too professional and not personal enough for our relationship. I suppose that the term ‘relationship’ can be relative, since you don’t know me and all, but just for arguments sake let’s just agree that we have a relationship of sorts and I can call you Ryan.

Ok, now that’s out of the way.

I just recently watched your movie “Crazy Stupid Love” and I have some opinions I would like to share with you. You know, because we have that kind of relationship. I actually loved the movie, so please don’t be worried that I have anything negative to say because I am sure that you were worried before I mentioned that. Because again, we have that kind of relationship that my opinion really matters. Do I say the word because a lot? Just wondering.

Before this movie you were pretty much the sexiest man alive. I mean, People magazine came close with Bradley Cooper, I don’t want to take anything away from him, but in all fairness he doesn’t hold a candle to you and your hotness. But remember when I said “before this movie you were pretty much the sexiest man alive”? It’s sort of been tough for me to call you that because of the character you portrayed in the movie. Sure, you’re hot, I can’t deny that or refute it…it’s just that for a few simple, small things that I noticed, I have to kindly ask you to never do them again.

This is a tough one for me. BUT IT’S YOUR GODDAMN SHOES.

These aren't the actual shoes (probably) but closely resembling, and I clearly notice foot wear

Seriously, Ryan. These are atrocious. And not sexy at all. When I see shoes such as these, I think pretentious asshole who has so much money that they don’t give a rats ass what’s on their feet because no one cares as long as he’s wearing shoes. In fact, I would go as far as to say they make any man look like a leprechaun and we all know leprechauns have some serious fashion issues. I mean, GREEN VELVET COATS? C’mon.

So, in closing I would just like to once again express to you that our relationship is important to me us, so the fact that I am able to tell you this should show you how close we ~~can be~~ are. It may be a touch presumptuous of me to assume that you will in fact stop wearing shoes like this because of my letter and our relationship, but I think that if you can’t tell those close to you what you dislike about them, who can you tell?

XoXo

Carmen

PS: Burn the damn shoes

30 Day Blog Challenge - My Soundtrack

2011-11-15T11:42:00.000-08:00

Day 05- List 15 songs that represent your life’s soundtrack.

I was born in 1979. A good year for music with songs such as “I will Survive” but Gloria Gaynor and “Do you think I’m sexy” by Rod Stewart, but on MY soundtrack, it’s gotta be “Heaven Must Have Sent You”, by Bonnie Pointer. Fitting, no? I mean I am pretty awesome.

I am a child of the eighties, and it shows. I still long for legwarmers and technicolor T’shirts (but wouldn’t be caught dead in them) and sometimes, when I am feeling nostalgic, I look for the way-back-when radio stations and sing my face off while driving down the freeway. My children are still too young to judge. Here are a few that you may remember and that I just HAD to include on my soundtrack:

Never Surrender, Corey Hart. I could have included 'I'm Wearing My Sunglasses at Night" but BAH, so over-played.

I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me), Whitney Houston

Only In My Dreams, Debbie Gibson. She's so wholesome, dontcha think?

I’ll Never Get Over You Getting Over Me, Expose

Hungry Eyes, Eric Carmen. The best thing about this song? My husbands name is Eric. Should have been our wedding song. Seriously.

The 90’s is where I really became obsessed with music. You weren’t cool if you weren’t (and still, I wasn’t cool. Weird) In this era we were introduced to boy bands such as New Kids on the Block and later on, The Backstreet Boys and N’Sync. I won’t lie, I probably wear glasses now because of how close I used to sit to the TV whenever they aired a concert. I also had a closest-love for Vanilla Ice, and to this day can still recite Ice Ice Baby like a rock star…errrr… rap star. For your enjoyment:

Step By Step, New Kids On The Block. I used to think I was going to be a New Kids back up dancer. That dream hasn’t come true. Yet.

Ice Ice Baby, Vanilla Ice

Show Me Love, Robyn. One of the first CD’s I ever bought. I hear she’s making a comeback. Maybe.

All That She Wants, Ace Of Base. Ever notice they translate a bit weird to English? Ya, me neither.

How Do You Talk to an Angel, Heights. I was obsessed with this song, until the lead singer beat Donna on 90210. Not Cool. Cause TV isn’t fake ‘yo.

It was the late 90’s when I started to like country music. You remember when it kinda went all pop-like? Thank you Shania. I never did jump on the hip-hop/rap bandwagon. Well, except for my short-lived Vanilla Ice stage, but whatev.

You're Still the One, Shania Twain

I'll Be, Edwin McCain

...Baby One More Time, Britney Spears. I was OBSESSED. Embarassingly obsessed. As in, I may have copied a few of her looks. I can't confirm or deny.

I couldn’t leave out Ghetto Superstar from my soundtrack. Way back when I was sneaking into bars underage, I mean when I turned 19 (legal age in Canada is 19) this was MY jam. In fact, whenever it was played at a certain bar that should remain nameless, the DJ would announce hat it was going out to their own Ghetto Superstar (ME!) and I’d be dancing up on the stage like I was the hottest shit around (I wasn’t.)

So that’s 15, but I can’t stop there… here are a few songs from 2000 and up and that I wouldn’t be me without.

Fighter, Christina Aguilera

Breakaway, Kelly Clarkson

Wait For You - Elliott Yamin. He's seriously unattractive, but this song gives me chills.

No One, Alicia Keys. This song is a CLASSIC.

Stay, Sugarland. When I discovered youtube, I played this song on repeat. A LOT. I think my husband knows all the words. He isn't happy about that.

Colder Weather, Zac Brown Band. Zac Brown is my secret husband. Secret only to me. I am sure he doesn't know. Or care.

American Honey, Lady Antebellum.

Seriously, I could go on forever…and you're probably happy I'm stopping here. That's a shit-ton of Youtube videos you need to watch. Get on it.

Twitter and me are fighting

2011-11-11T09:57:00.000-08:00

It may be one sided, but we're fighting.

Truthfully, it's just cause I can't seem to find my twitter-esque anymore. I am so up and down with it even though I've had my damn account for over 2 years. I actually didn't really tweet for the first year and a half, I completely forgot about it, but now that I have forced myself (literally. I am so in your face) in this circle of blogger/tweeters I almost feel as though I have a social responsibility to be funny and engaging and have everyone love me.

Sadly, I am not consistently funny, engaging, and not everyone loves me. Well YOU do. You know you do. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!

So you know what I do about it? I stop tweeting. And I blame twitter. Because nothing is ever my fault. Ask anyone. In fact, everything is my husbands fault. Maybe I should be trying to find a way to make this about him. Cause that would probably make me feel better about the whole thing.

I have my twitter feed on my phone, so when I am messaged privately I respond almost instantly. But when I do that I feel an almost immediate sense of remorse because if I can respond that quickly, why the hell am I not tweeting more frequently? Are my twitter-friends thinking I am a douche-canoe because I don't comment on their tweets anymore? Does twitter keep track of us defectors with over 100 followers that tweet irregularly and have us on a list? Do I over think things? Yup.

Is' Twitter and me are fighting" an actual grammatically correct sentence? Who knows.

I have decided that I am going to make a conscious effort to start tweeting again. I may have to start drinking more often though for this. It appears I have a lot more creativity with my funny bone when I do. Weird.

Wordless Wednesday : Tough Cookies

2011-11-09T10:25:00.000-08:00

Monday Listicles / BITB Edition

2011-11-08T08:20:00.000-08:00

Stasha over at The Good Life is letting us all link up for her Monday Listicles (ok, so it's Tuesday...stfu) for a cutesey little bloggy link-up called #BITB (Babes in the Bleachers) cause it's always fun to share photos and stories when we were in high school. The good news is, despite being the Listicle, it doesn't have to be a list, the only rule is it has to be highschool.

So way back when (too many years to openly admit to) I was a teenager with straight A's and an undeniably need to succeed. Or for those of you cool kids, I was a brown-noser. I was cool by association, as in I had some really popular friends that liked to copy off of me.

Thankfully, I also had the pathetic need to please so I didn't LOOK dorky... but I guess you can be the judge for yourselves.


Sheeeeit I was white. Like I think I am glowing.

I was a bit of an overachiever. And even that's an understatement. I HAD to be best at EVERYTHING. One of my closest friends, Rebecca (to my direct left above), used to call me "Super Student" because I could get away with just about everything. I really really could. It was strange actually. But I'll save those little stories in my back pocket for another day.


Here we are acting out MacBeth..."Double double toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble". I can't believe I remember that.

High school may be long gone, but we never truly grow out of it do we? I sometimes still long for those days in the hall ways. Things were simpler then. And now, because there is still part of me that longs to be accepted, as well as my need to please, here is a list of all things Carmen from high school:

Just to follow the true rules of a Listicle 'yo.

1. I wore braces in 9th grade for 12 months. Not because I needed them, but because they were free.
2. In 11th grade I was caught making out with a boy in the bathroom of the cafeteria. First time I ever made out with anyone. And I got caught. Awesome.
3. I got busted smoking pot in 9th grade because I decided that it was a good time to miss a French final exam. Strangely enough, I didn't get in trouble.
4. I went to prom with my girlfriends as Medieval princesses. I.AM.NOT.JOKING.
5. I took an acting class solely to hang out with the 'cool kids'. Also? Because it was rumored that one girl and one boy would get to kiss in one play. Sadly, I was not that girl.
6. I never played spin the bottle. Not once. *insert sad face*
7. I didn't get my driver's license till I was 17, and even then I was the only one of my friends with a car. So I drove. A lot.
8. Despite getting caught making out with a boy, I never had any boyfriends longer than 2 weeks.

Mind Control. I have it.

2011-11-04T09:33:00.000-07:00

I had a really weird dream last night.

Jessica Simpson and I were BFF’s. And she gave me all her pre-pregnancy clothes because she is thoughtful and realized that she’d never wear them again. Ummmm, Jessica’s Simpson’s pre-pregnancy clothes wouldn’t fit my left thigh. Also? She’s like 5’1. Her boyfriend is ugly too. Well, in my dream he was. Like short and skinny with a really bad case of acne all over his neck.

He's not really short and skinny with acne. He's kinda cute.

Dreams are almost always weird, aren’t they? Usually I forget them, unless I relay the dream back to someone almost immediately upon waking, or write it down, but it’s always the strangest ones that I remember most vividly.

Back when I was a kid I had a recurring dream that even to this day I cannot explain without making completely zero sense. It’s terrifying actually, and I can see it so clearly in my head but when I try to describe it I sound like a lunatic. Basically, it looks like a TV on some non-working channel with random straight lines that get all messy and squiggly. AND I AM SCARED OUT OF MY MIND WHEN THIS HAPPENS.

See? Lunatic.

Now, as an adult (sometimes) I have this recurring dream where my husband is someone completely different and unrecognizable (but handsome. I have great taste) and our house is OUR HOUSE, but not MY HOUSE and even though it’s a strange house and I know this in my head I play along like it’s my real life. While I am dreaming this one I feel as though I am controlling how it turns out. Every time I have this dream, I change the ‘plot’ in order to add something entertaining. Like one time, we went to Mexico. We did. This strange man and I. And I wore a bikini. And I was hot. Another time, we went to a party at our very dear friend’s house and we did keg stands in their living room.

That one was odd. I don’t even know how to do a keg stand. But apparently I am pretty awesome at it.

Do you have random recurring dreams you control too? Or am I lunatic? Rhetorical question to those of you that want to answer “lunatic.”

It's annoying, but I can't help it. 30 day blog challenge: Day 4 - A habit you wish you didn't have

2011-11-03T13:18:00.000-07:00

I wasn't going to admit this, but since I am currently doing it RIGHT NOW and am beginning to realize it's become a problem, I have decided to make this my habit that I really wish I didn't have.

For my families sake, I should have posted a bout my smoking habit, but pfffffft, I kinda enjoy that one. It's my little vice. When I am ready to quit, then it will be the habit I wish I didn't have. Fair enough?

So today, my lovely blogger friends, I admit that I have a NASTY habit of playing Smurfs Village on my Ipad. And I mean the nastiest nasty of all nasty habits.

Do you play it? If you do, then you understand. If you don't, then just stop here and don't bother reading the rest of this shameful post because I'll just sound crazy to you. If I didn't already of course. I guess I'll never know. Unless you tell me. And then we couldn't be friends anymore.

*Big Breath*

Basically, I plan my crops around my sleeping schedule. I do. And it makes me cry just a little bit realizing this. I also check my calendar at work to make sure none of my crops will be ready to harvest while I am in a meeting. THAT CAN'T HAPPEN.

Also?

I move around my houses ALL THE TIME as I add more in order to give them prime real estate. You may think I am joking, but if I showed you the screen shots you would see that many of my Smurfs have waterfront property. They also have nice plush bushes strategically placed to give them privacy from their neighbors as well as from the industrial buildings such as Miner Smurf's Mine and Handy Smurf's Wood Shop. I mean, who needs to be listening to wood chopping all day? NOT THIS SMURF!

This is someone else's skookum village I found on Google. Mine is more organized, but I am also a kajillion levels behind this person so my screenshots aren't as cool looking.

At this very exact moment I am planting blackberries because I know I have a meeting in 45 minutes that could run a long time, so planting something that doesn't harvest passed half an hour is probably a good idea.

And friends (if you are still here after this insane revelation) I was never into video games as a child. I promise.

So please, love me even though I am crazy. And if you don't think I am crazy? Let's visit each others villages someday mmmm'k?

30 Day Blogger Challenge. Day 3. A pretty typical one

2011-11-01T15:54:00.000-07:00

Day 3 is supposed to be a picture of something(s) you can't live without. While browsing other Day 3 blog posts from my fellow bloggers I ~~stalk~~ follow, we all pretty much agree on this one. So without further adieu, my children, whom my life would cease to exist without.

Day 4 is going to suck admitting a habit I wish I didn't have... cause I have plenty I absolutely adore.

Day 02- The meaning behind your blog.
Day 03- A picture of something you cannot live without.
Day 04- A habit that you wish you didn’t have.
Day 05- List 15 songs that represent your life’s soundtrack.
Day 06- A picture of somewhere you’ve been to.
Day 07- A hobby you have.
Day 08- A picture of someone/something that has the biggest impact on you.
Day 09- Short term goals for this month and why.
Day 10- Something/someone you’re proud of.
Day 11- A story about a past relationship.
Day 12- A picture of something you dislike.
Day 13- Share a secret.
Day 14- Write a letter telling someone something you could never tell them.
Day 15- A picture of something you ate and 10 confessions.
Day 16- Put your iPod on shuffle & share the first 10 songs that play.
Day 17- Something you could live without.
Day 18- Someone you would want to switch lives with for one day and why.
Day 19- Plans/dreams/goals you have.
Day 20- Nicknames you have & how or why you have them.
Day 21- If you had 3 wishes, what would they be.
Day 22- Share a picture from your day.
Day 23- What makes you different from everyone else.
Day 24- What is something you crave.
Day 25- What I would find in your bag.
Day 26- Places you want to visit before you die.
Day 27- Why are you doing this 30 day challenge?
Day 28- A picture of you last year and now, how have you changed since then?
Day 29- In this past month, what have you learned.
Day 30- A picture of you today & 20 goals you want to accomplish.

Monday Shank - I AM NOT A SMUGGLER!

2011-10-31T08:42:00.001-07:00

I have a pretty serious Monday Shank.

Saturday I was pulled over by the US Border patrol who proceeded to search my vehicle for over an hour and then detain me in their creepy building while doing so.

And all because the internal air compressor in my SUV got all fucked up, or something, and the rear end of my vehicle was sitting low.

Apparently I looked like a smuggler.

So to the lady at the booth who made me turn off my vehicle and took my passport to ensure I didn’t jump the border, and to the scrawny border patrol agent who questioned me for an hour and made me feel like a criminal…

FUCK YOU.

All I wanted was milk, cheese, eggs, and gas. What I got was a heart attack.

Yay me.

My 30 Day Blog Challenge. Day 2. Posted on Day 24 or something ridiculous. Whatever

2011-10-28T08:34:00.000-07:00

So Day of this 30 Day Blog Challenge is supposed to be a blog post about the meaning of your blog. I wish I could say I have some deep, meaningful (see what I did there?) reason behind A Life Less Ordinary, but sadly I cannot report such a thing. So I am just going to be honest.

This blog started out as one of the old-school Hotmail personal blogs where I used to make fun of people without thinking about whether they read it or not, and I got into A LOT of shit for it. Then, after taking the abuse right back for entirely way too long, I moved it to Blogger under the assumption I was going to chronicle my journey through some stupid 101 day challenge of bettering myself one-day-at-a-time (um wait, this is another one those challenges too... eeeeery) and then....I gave up on that one too, I mean who ACTUALLY wants to better themselves one-day-at-a-time, how about one-drink-at-a-time?... and started making fun of people and getting busted AGAIN, and thus having to move the blog AGAIN and make it a little less easy-to-find on Google by using my name. MY REAL NAME.

I am smart like that people. Let's be honest here, only smart people use the word thus.

Ok, it took a few years of me getting into shit on a regular basis, but A Life Less Ordinary is here to stay. For now. Probably.

Day 3 will be a bit I am sure, have some patience. I'll get there. Eventually.

It's been a long three weeks... here's why...

2011-10-27T13:18:00.000-07:00

Hey.
I know I've been distant. Ok, not distant, actually non-existent here on A Life Less Ordinary. Mostly by circumstance, but some by choice too because I wasn't really sure how I was going to post about what we are going through and still manage to stay light-hearted and funny. Remember, I am not really a huge fan of blogging for sympathy, in fact I kind of hate it... but recently I have come to understand it a bit better.

Back in April I did a very brief and non-informative update about my son being admitted to the BC Children’s Hospital in Vancouver, BC Canada. Back then, he was ‘diagnosed’ with Cerebullitis which is more of a description than a diagnosis (much like tonsillitis is an inflammation of the tonsils) and we were sent home with the knowledge that it was post-infectious and not likely to happen again. He was 10 months old and had the motor skills and development age of a newborn. We were reassured that his mobility would return, and with regular physiotherapy would catch up with his milestones.

On October 9^th my son had another ‘attack’, meaning after a small fall seized, went in and out of consciousness and had extreme vomiting. We were rushed to Children’s where we spent 11 days meeting with numerous neurologists and metabolic doctors who were perplexed with how he was presenting, and determined to find the cause.

We are home now without any real answers, but are assured by the excellent team of doctor’s that they WILL find out what my son is suffering from. They have confirmed that he did not have Cerebullitis back in April, but more likely suffers from a rare genetic neurological disorder. They believe it revolves around “Channelopathy”, but which disorder is still unknown. Because of how rare Channelopathy is, testing is done through government grants and is sent out of the country. DNA testing is currently underway, and we hope to have the results within a few months.

To everyone who has thought of us, prayed for us, and sent us words of encouragement, thank you. We love you all.

My 30 Day Blog Challenge. Which I will fail.

2011-10-07T10:36:00.000-07:00

So I’ve been reading about this 30 day blog challenge all over the place… and since no one ever accused me of being original, I’m following in a kajillion of your footsteps and giving it a shot. Just like my good friend Marianna Annadanna, I WILL NOT be completing it in 30 days either, because that’s crazy talk and insane. I mean really, a blog post a day for 30 days? IN A ROW? That would seriously cut into my drinking and socializing time and we can’t have that, no sireeeeee.

Truth be told, I just want to be cool and accepted a, so I’ll do whatever I can to keep up with this damn challenge. I am not one to back down (read: I win. You lose) from any sort of challenge either, as long as it’s something I can win at (read: everything) so here I am, and here it is. So when Day 2 comes around and I actually post it on Day 17, we can all agree that in some way I have won because that’s just how these things work mmm’k?

Day 1 you are supposed to post a recent picture of yourself, an introduction and 15 interesting facts about yourself. 15 huh? That seems a little excessive to me. I think the above can be pretty much defined as an introduction, but here goes my attempt at 15 interesting (subjective term, clearly) facts that y’all have been dying to know about me:

I am a twin. I am also the older of the two. You can decide from here who wins. AT EVERYTHING
I used to bite my toe nails. Didn’t grow out of it until I wasn’t physically ABLE TO do it anymore. I might have been 10, or 30. Can’t remember.
I have a slight case of OCD. Crooked pictures and odd numbers drive me batty. AND DON’T GET ME STARTED ON SOCKS ON THE FLOOR
I like pie. Mostly pumpkin, but pie in general is pretty awesome
My daughter is an American citizen, I am Canadian
I once rode on a camel
I’ve been to Disneyland like 5 times. It holds zero excitement for me anymore
I shower exactly the same every day, in the exact same order. In fact, the length of my shower is almost always exact to the minute. Military precision.
I hate watermelon. Weird. But true.
My favorite number is 13 - the only odd number that doesn't annoy me. Weird. But true.
My daughter’s favorite number changes weekly. I think it’s 3 today.
My husband’s favorite number is 6
I chose to use all of our favorite number so I could be closer to 15 facts
Lists freak me out
The number 15 holds zero special meaning for me.

Here I am playing 'MOOSE'. I think I won that game.

Well I think that just about does it for Day One. I bet I get bored by the time I hit Day 7, which really just means that I probably won’t finish the whole 30 days, but hey…stranger things have happened and I could surprise even myself. Like I mentioned in my lists post a few days ago, they really aren’t my thing, so I am quite pleased with my progress in acting more like a ‘grown up’. I should, however, stop putting ‘grown up’ in quotations, but one step at a time right?

Day two frightens me. Meaning? Seriously? How about I was bored one day and this just kinda happened? *Sigh* It’ll take at least a week for me to make up something WAY MORE CLEVER that wont be true at all. Stay tuned. I guess.

Being famous is kinda cool.

2011-10-05T15:13:00.000-07:00

It isn’t every day you get to be famous, an average Jane like me that is. Sure famous people are famous every day, DUH. Seriously, I am not stupid... I just mean it isn't every day us not-so-famous people get to be famous... but then again, that's how famous people become famous...

Well fuck, I sure messed up that introduction...

Ok, so like a few weeks ago for example…I got to be famous. Not super famous, but I got to hang out with some famous people and while my picture wasn’t taken by any of the ‘paps’ as proof… my cousin took some ninja-stealth shots with her camera so I could share my experience.

Cameron Diaz and I got to share some secrets woman to woman. Here she is laughing, because I am funny. Clearly.

Jerry Springer needed my opinion on something really important. Top secret though, you’ll have to tune into his show to find out. (Really don’t I am lying, his show sucks)

See? My opinion really matters... Jerry looks pretty impressed with what I had to say. In fact, I am probably going to be on some 'expert' panel

Angelina didn’t mind that molested Brad. As you can see though, she wasn’t thrilled, just look at her face, but nevertheless she let me cop a feel for as long as I wanted. It was pretty long. Did I mention his abs are rock hard? No? His abs are rock hard.

Hef was pretty friendly too. We chilled out, enjoyed some champagne and discussed the economic slowdown in modern western civilization. Not really, that just sounded intelligent. We really just talked about porn. True story. He left me keep the bunny ears too. Did you notice my hand is pretty close to his 'package'? That was an accident. But Hef didn't seem to mind. We have plans to play cribbage next week.

Sean Connery was really nice, albeit a little pompous. He had no issue with me enjoying his drink and we played peek-a-boo spouting some catch phrases from James Bond. What a hoot!

Arnold on the other hand has some serious attitude. I tried to show him who the boss was, but unfortunately he can kick my ass. We parted friends.

Now, Tim and I are secret lovers. I just had to let the cat out of the bag (or the sexy country singer out of my pants, whichever) This picture needs to be kept on the DL though, k? I don’t need any tabloid rumors going around that I broke up Tim and Faith.When that day 'officially' happens (which he keeps telling me will, he just needs to find the right time to tell her) then this picture can be released. I am trusting y'all.

Tiger and I enjoyed a quick round too. OF GOLF YOU PERVERTS. Mind you, he DID try to get frisky but I pointed out to him as nicely as I could that all his millions have gone to that Elin chick so he really doesn’t have much appeal anymore. He didn’t take that very well. We did not part as friends.

Julia and I however, found that we have a lot in common, one of which is posing like an idiot. We’re now BFF”s and are planning a fun play date with our kids. Phinnaeus and Hazel are cool kids. Probably.

I also got to spend a few minutes with good 'ol George Dub. He sorta came across ‘stiff’ though. I am not really surprised. He’s kind of an ass. He did play along when I posed for this pic though. What a good sport huh? But he's still an ass, I just have to be clear on that.

Ben and I got to relax and enjoy a bottle together. He's cool shit. Except for that whole wife thing. If Tim and I don't work out, I have another marriage to destroy. Jennifer Garner WHAT?!

So there you have it. Being famous for a day was pretty much awesome and I think you should all make a point of being one too. I know, I know, you can't all be as lucky as me...of course, I get it.

Lists aren't my 'thing', k? They are for 'grown ups'.

2011-10-04T10:06:00.000-07:00

Lists. I hate ‘em. Not going to lie. It pains me to write a grocery list actually. To me, they just seem so DEFINITIVE. It’s as though I can hear them taunting me, teasing me, telling me that if I don’t complete every damn thing on it the world is going to come to an end. Over dramatic, yes, but not too far from the truth. Cheesy Bloggers has decided to make lists their writing prompt this week and while I had made a decision to just read the contributors and not participate the instant I read it, I changed my mind only because I think it is a very 'grown up' thing to work through your short-comings. (This is not an admittance that I have short-comings mind you) And since I am working on this whole ‘grown up’ thing, I might as well actually work on it. See? Progress already. I think a glass of wine is in order as my reward.

I think I can write a list without feeling like I actually have to complete it. Or complete everything on it. Or buy everything on it. Or stress out that I couldn’t remember everything that needs to be on it.Or freak out that I am actually writing it. Or just be damn annoying talking about the stupid mother fucking list.

OBSESS MUCH?!? Nah. I am too 'grown up' for that, remember?

So without further adieu (or unnecessary rambling, you choose) here is my list of “Things that Carmen does not enjoy feeling obligated to participate in:”

A game of chess because someone asked politely. Chess is boring. Plus, I never win. I don’t fucking get it.
Folding socks. Why won’t anyone else fold the damn things?And why do I even feel obligated to do it? This might take some dissecting.
A staff meeting. Don’t make me. I’ll come if I damn well please
Camping. Unless it’s complete with an indoor sleeping space and shower. Then, maybe.
Board games of any kind. Unless alcohol is involved. Then, maybe
Walks. I hate them. Unless alcohol is involved.
Family events. As long as the word “obligated” is not used, I’m down. I’m a rebel like that

And the last thing on my list of things that you better not make me feel obligated to participate in?

FUNDRAISERS.

I plan ‘em, I make other people feel obligated to either participate in or donate to, but I tend to only see one side of things (mine) which means I have given myself full permission to get mutha fuckin’ PISSED if it’s done it me. Call me hypocritical, call me selfish, but don’t call me to donate cash. Fair? Shit, I might have regressed a bit here in that whole acting like a 'grown up' thing. And putting 'grown up' in quotations probably isn't a 'grown up' thing to do either. Shit.

Wow. I must say, I feel a little lighter now that I have that whole list thing out of the way. How did I do? Negative responses will not be tolerated. Just sayin’. It wouldn't be 'grown up' of you.

Monday Shank-Less

2011-10-03T14:20:00.001-07:00

I am shank-less today. I know, shocking. But in all seriousness, I had a pretty rockin’ weekend that was void of anything shankable. And I’ve pretty much forgotten last week…so there’s that…

I am feeling melancholy about summer being gone. I am actually wearing a sweater today. I KNOW, RIGHT? A fucking sweater in October. Truthfully, I should have been wearing them a few weeks ago since I do live in the great northwest, but I like to delay the inevitable as long as humanly possible. It’s sort of unavoidable now; it’s raining and the temperature is back to single digits. I may even need to turn the furnace back on. In fact, I probably should have done that already.

While the weather plays a major roll in the fall-blues for me, the other more important factor that depresses me is the end of the softball season. We may all whine and moan all season long that our lives are encompassed by it, that we have no free time, our bodies scream and ache in protest, and we can’t seem to find the time to do household chores, but when it’s over and the leaves are starting to fall from the trees…the whining and moaning takes on a whole new level. Now, we have TOO much free time, our bodies want MORE exercise, and our homes are spotless (ok, not mine, but you get the point.)

I still have my ball gear in the back of the SUV. Probably because I am just waiting for one more chance to play, but also because I just like the way it looks back there.

I’ll do my best to avoid any more talk of the blank spot I have in my life right now. I mean, it DOES end in March. That’s not THAT far away, right? I just have Thanksgiving and Christmas to look forward to, and maybe even New Years. Although, that day is usually another horrifying reminder that my birthday is 9 months away. There is no escaping the change in numerical value to the year… just serves as an example that there is no getting any younger.

I should just invent a time machine.

So peeing in public isn’t really ‘couth’. Especially when it’s on homeless people.

2011-09-29T15:57:00.000-07:00

When I went to Vegas a few weeks ago there really was only one story that came out of it all that no one can top. It isn’t because I am some crazy party animal that somehow got access to some Hollywood party and mixed and mingled with the elite, that shit doesn’t actually happen, but it truly is because the strangest most fantastically out of the ordinary events seem to only happen to me.

It’s true. Ask anyone. I hear “ONLY Carmen!” at least twice a day. Seriously. I wish I were joking.

So on our first night, the unavoidable happened: I made an ass out of myself. And quite literally actually, now that I’ve mention it so eloquently with “ass”. Ass is quite the perfectly appropriate word.

You see, I am not only an embarrassment-waiting-to-happen on a good day, but I also have an unusually small bladder. And apparently when you are in Vegas walking about 87 miles every day, having a small bladder isn’t very convenient, especially when you are also drinking alcohol. Alcohol = even smaller bladder.

On our way back to our hotel at some disgusting time of the early morning, I quickly realized that I was not going to make it back with a full bladder. It just wasn’t going to happen. And at the particular moment that I realized this, there were absolutely ZERO places for me to go. Weird.

About 10 ft up there was a long line of magazine stands with about a foot of space behind them before a wooden fence blocked off the construction of the hotel behind it. And by magazine stand I mean porn advertisements. With no lights and no people within clear view, I felt this was the perfect place to relieve my bladder.

Guess what? It wasn’t.

Mid stream I was scared PEE-LESS by a man covered in blankets sitting up as I PEED ON HIS FEET.

Yes, this poor homeless man, who in no way was going to be able to do laundry and clean MY PEE off of his blankets and perhaps even his socks (I ran so fast I wasn’t able to assess the damage) was woken up by a drunk idiot peeing on him.

I am ashamed.

Monday Shank, Oh how I've missed you

2011-09-26T12:42:00.000-07:00

Well, not really like a physical ache or anything, but yeah...I've missed a few Monday's because life has a way of shutting you off sometimes. To be clear: shutting off as in wanting to shank everything and everybody so it's best you steer clear of the general masses before you cause bodily harm.

I don't plan on visiting a prison cell. This year anyways.

Regardless of my terrible absenteeism from the Monday Shank, I do however feel the need to provide you with one today. And mostly because I'm not carrying around a pocket full of hate anymore. OK, maybe still a little, but hate is such a strong word, no? Disliking strongly? Angry like a scared puppy? That last one might have been a little far fetched. Probably.

This weekend, while parking in a mall lot to have lunch at White Spot with a friend, I had the pleasure of being accosted by an ignorant bastard who obviously has a small dick. I mean, he HAS to have a small dick to be able to sit high above in his SUV and taunt a poor woman with her two kids.

Basically, he was straddling 4 parking stalls, for absolutely no discernible reason, and I chose to park directly in front of him, as it was the closest stall (that he wasn't blocking) to the restaurant door. Usually, I like to park a far distance away from any location for space reasons (IE: don't want some fucker in a 1980 Honda Accord slamming his broken door into my nicely painted one) but on this day the wind was INSANE and I wanted to get my kids indoors before they blew away.

According to him, that was a clear bitch move, and I quote "Did I do something to you in a past life?" I blinked probably 12 times before I could muster up a "Pardon me?" and he proceeded to tell me that there were a billion other parking spots I could have gone into (pointing erratically to vacant corners of the mall lot that were nowhere near the restaurant) and how inconvenient it was for him that I parked in front of him.

Did I mention he was inconveniently straddling 4 spots himself? Ya, I think I did.

Ignorant small-dick fuck, you are awarded my Monday Shank, because thankfully my children were with me or I might have shanked you for real.

Just me being me. Without thinking of course.

2011-09-23T09:06:00.000-07:00

So it happened again. I, Carmen of a Life Less Ordinary, of sound mind and body (probably) did something completely dumb to embarrass myself.

I have a track record to uphold you see.

Last night I had tickets for the company suite for the Big N Rich and Gretchen Wilson concert. On this such occasion, our actual booth was closed because of the stage location, so we were given another suite to watch the show in. Now, the president of the company was nice enough to cross off our original booth number (14) on the tickets and write down the new booth location (1) for us, so we knew where we were going. My cousin and I found Suite 1 easily enough and were pleasantly surprised at the full spread of goodies laid out before us.

Something like this, only not this.

There were wings and ribs, cheese platters, desserts and a full stocked fridge of sodas and beer. I believe there was even popcorn spread out in cone-shaped bowls on the tables in front of the chairs.

Pretty awesome, no?

We helped ourselves to a few goodies, ordered our own drinks, and got comfortable. Another coworker of mine and his wife arrived and we passed some time with idle chit chat, before he left to head downstairs to buy some concert t-shirts. While we were discussing work thing with is wife, a nice lady from the event center came in to check on us and ask if everything was to our liking. Which it was. Clearly. I vaguely mention to her that booth 1 was a great alternative to booth 14, and that’s when things got weird.

She looked at me oddly, and politely asked me if I was from X company, to which I replied that I was, and then she even more politely let me know that we were in fact supposed to be in Hospitality Suite 1, not Suite 1.

Excuse me? There is a difference?

Shamefully, with ribs in our teeth and wing sauce on our chins, we took the walk of shame to our ACTUAL Suite, where the president was casually drinking a beer none the wiser.

Apparently this is my fault.

And apparently they were all laughing at me.

This isn't actually my coworkers. But I am sure you knew that.

Good times.

I am super glad you were born today!

2011-09-21T12:46:00.000-07:00

I am completely enthralled with THIS POST from Alexandra over at Good Day, Regular People. While our lives and stories are probably vastly different, she took the words out of my mouth in regards to how important birthdays are to me - quite literally actually. I am sure I have said those words almost exactly.

My birthday is September 17th. I survived it again this year, but every single time it comes around I hold out hope that I wont just survive it, I'll embrace it and I'll feel loved and important. Sure, there have been some of those, not enough to count on both hands though and I have had quite a few birthdays in my lifetime, but with the law of averages I am probably close to a pathetically depressing 10% of good ones.

Some, self-inflicted, others completely out of anyone's control, and few that we're just so unnecessary and painful that it's not worth bringing up anymore.

I know I promised a hilarious story about peeing on a homeless person, but my funny bone is broken this week and I just won't be able to do the story justice. But don't give up on me, it really is a good one you don't want to miss.

{hugs}

Avocado's and 2nd base. Not related

2011-09-16T10:18:00.000-07:00

What happens in Vegas never really stays in Vegas does it? So I decided it really wasn’t fair to NOT share my experiences since I have told about a kajillion people anyways, so what would it hurt to actually post about it?

Well, it may cause some judgments, but I have never been accused of being classy by any means, so I am not too concerned with any of your judgments about me any ways. If I was, I would be writing you frequent drivel about how perfect I am and how my life is all rainbows and lollipops and we all know I certainly do NOT post that shit. Much.

The trip started out innocently enough…no random car searches at the border, a leisurely lunch at Subway (cause they offer avocado in the USA, and Canada has not jumped on that bandwagon yet…and for that I curse you Subway Canada!), a hassle free check in process….

And then…

The security gate.

It’s a terrifying place isn’t it? My heart beats rapidly every time; taking off the flip flops, pulling out the Ziploc bag of liquids in under-3oz containers, unzipping my purse and carry on for easy access. I am near-sweating at this point, and for what? I have nothing to hide. And then, as you walk through the ominous machine, hands at your side, and NOTHING HAPPENS, you breathe a sigh of relief and carry on your way.

So that didn’t happen this time.

That stupid ominous looking machine decides that I am the ‘random’ person of the hour that gets to be searched. LUCKY ME. And the kicker? The silly lady standing there with rubber gloves doesn’t know what the random search is going to be.

Huh?

So I am forced to stand there, feet spread, as she stares at me blankly explaining ‘it’s a random search and even we don’t know what kind of search its going to be… yet.”

Huh?

And douche-canoe security guy over to the left of me says “…mumble mumble…. Internal….mumble mumble”

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

And I thought I was sweating before.

I think the only reason I wasn’t taken to a side room for a thorough examination was because I drove the lady absolutely bat-shit crazy asking her over and over again what the hell they were going to do to me and could they please hurry it along. So, instead of a rubber gloved hand shoved up my ass, I got felt-up by a lady who probably didn’t enjoy 2nd base any more than I did.

And then I proceeded to drink my face off on the plane. If only to make me feel better for being violated. Of course.

Stay tuned next week for when I tell you how I peed on a homeless man. True Story.

Bee's Knee's

2011-09-07T11:19:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I left my baby and hubby at home to compete in the Women’s C Division slo-pitch provincials. 14 of us super awesome chicks made our way to sunny Kelowna and proceeded to kick some ass. But while being a successful weekend ball-wise, it wasn’t short of its share of drama. We have uteruses – it comes with the territory, no?

I must add as well that I was either playing ball or drunk, which explains the lack of posting, blog-stalking, and twitter updates. I have a reputation to upkeep ‘yo.

I think my weekend can be summed up in a few short bullet points:

Bee-Boop is the bee’s knee’s
Sunburns are NOT the bee’s knee’s
Black Cherry coolers are meant to stay IN the mouth, not on white carpet
Whiffle ball into the lake is my new favorite summertime activity. Sober OR drunk.
30 degree weather and softball should be prepared for. Seriously. I was unprepared.
Vanilla vodka and gingerale is the bee’s knee’s
What happens in Kelowna stays in Kelowna (but it’s the bee’s knee’s)

I think that’s where I’ll leave it. So many stories to share, but so many that shouldn’t be. Sorta the way these ladies weekends go…and this one is no exception. Back to my regular scheduled posting. When funny inspires of course.

Women's Armed N' Hammered 'C' Division Provincial Champions. Who look sexy in orange socks

I've been busy, so stop your whining

2011-09-06T15:44:00.000-07:00

Seriously. I was away, not just ignoring my blog. I am now back but feeling as though I was hit by a dump truck so the creative juices are definitely NOT flowing. A proper wrap up post about my vacation will have to wait until at least tomorrow.

So please forgive me.

I will, however, like to announce to the world that my ladies slo-pitch team is SUPER AWESOME AND I AM STILL HIGH ON ADRENALINE FROM SUCH AN AMAZING WEEKEND OF KICKING ASS

and yelling that sentence pretty much drained the last bit of energy I had.

Thanks a bunch.

Wordless Wednesday - An Eye for an Eye

2011-08-31T09:29:00.000-07:00

Linking up with Live and Live out Loud, Kiddothings, and Angry Julie Monday

I am co-applying for World Dominator.

2011-08-30T13:48:00.000-07:00

It isn't every day that I post twice. Actually, it's never. Also, I didn't feel like being productive at work. You're welcome.

This is a gem about my bestie Kelly-elly-ahoooo.

Ok, so Kelly-elly-ahooooo doesn’t make sense to any of you, I know this. But keep in mind I can’t explain EVERY joke between me and my friends or I would be writing blog posts all day and not making any money at my real-life job. Just know that its really really really funny, k? Thanks. Also, say Kelly-elly-ahooooo like you are a yodeller. I'll wait.

See? I bet you are laughing now. Seriously. Funny. Shit.

Anyways...

I have a group of girlfriends that I email every day with pretty repeatedly. Like I delete about 374 emails a day. And that's not including my sent box. Seriously. It’s actually a wonder I get any work done, with that and writing blog posts, and should probably be the recipient of some major multi-tasking award. In fact, they should make that a Pulitzer category. Just sayin’.

*Multi-tasking right now, emailing Switzerland or wherever the hell these Pulitzer people are with that very suggestion*

I have now lost two of the girlfriends to school and unemployment* so starting yesterday Kelly-Elly-Ahooooo is my only email friend during working hours. This excites me and saddens me. Excites because she’s super awesome and now I get to email her even more than before because I have freed up some time not emailing the other two, but saddens me because the other two are pretty awesome also and I feel a little empty not having my email box light up with their name.

Also? I digress. A LOT.

So today, Kelly-Elly-Ahoooo and I are discussing how awesome we are (as usual) and making some pretty major decisions and agreeing that we are pretty amazing at making said decision together thus making us qualified to tackle some of life’s significant dilemmas. And writing run-on sentences. It’s sort of a given that we’re brilliant y’all.

This is pretty much a cut and paste. Almost.

Kelly-elly-ahooooo: Oh man I’m such a geek underneath all this gorgeousness! And I am not vain at all. Just brilliant. And gorgeous

Me: Yes you are. Only brilliant and gorgeous people know each other, so I am pretty much guaranteed to be that as well. Probably.

Kelly-elly-ahooooo: Perfect!!! Done and Done then. Do you think we should take on global warming next!?!?!

Me: I am not sure what “Done and Done” means since I didn’t ask you to do anything. Plus, we should start smaller... but I like your enthusiasm

Kelly-elly-ahoooo: Ok AIDS it is then!

Me: I was thinking more a long the lines of world starvation… but AIDS’ll do

Kelly-elly-ahooooo: Well I was factoring in that we’ll have more people to feed once we’ve kicked AID’s ass and so that would then next logical task going forward.

Me: Very logical indeed. Perhaps after AIDS, and world starvation, we could tackle mosquito’s? They are annoying little bastards.

I cannot confirm or deny if this picture was photo shopped.

So you see, we’re not just gorgeous…but brilliant decision makers. I have a feeling that if either of us ran for World Dominator we would win by a landslide. What do you think? And there totally has to be a political position called World Dominator. Isn’t that who Donald Trump THINKS he is?

UPDATE: Just a thought, but every time I come back on here and make an edit (I don't spell good. Or use proper grammar. Usually) do my 'subscribers-by-email' get another email? I wonder. Cause that would be annoying.

*She's only unemployed for a week and starts a new job next Tuesday. Which makes me happy. It's been along week without her emails and it's only Tuesday. I am needy.

I am bitchy and judgmental. So there's that...

2011-08-30T08:53:00.000-07:00

I have a beef.

And no, not the medium-rare juicy T-bone kinda beef. I have a complaint. I am probably going to come across as judgmental and bitchy, but that’s never really stopped me before.

There are about a Kajillion of us Mommy Bloggers out there; single parents, stay-at-homers, working moms and parents of challenged children, just to name a few. We blog for our own reasons whether they are personal, educational, or emotional outlets, and we generally support each other as though we are family. It’s almost like a club really, one that we all want to belong to and feel so accepted when we do. I know I feel lucky that I have such a support system online, as I am sure many of you do as well.

But that’s where the rainbows and lollipops end for me.

While I love and support so many of you in your daily struggles, I cannot for one second stomach those ‘Mommy Bloggers’ that post their dirty laundry for sympathy and attention.

Was that harsh?

It’s so hard actually to put into words what I mean here, even though I am attempting to, so if I insult you in any way I encourage you to comment here so I have a chance to further explain.

I do not personally converse with any of these ‘Mommy Bloggers’ that I feel do this (by linking to, or commenting on their blogs) and I shake my head at the ones I come across with blatant self-pity and over-sharing of personal issues. To me, those blogs should be kept personal, and their purpose saved as reflection and growth for the writer, not as a public forum for attention.

But who am I to judge them? And if I don’t like it, I shouldn’t read it, right?

I don’t speak generally here. I am not clumping these ‘Mommy Bloggers’ into their own category. It’s all subjective. I have posted extremely personal things here on A Life Less Ordinary that probably contradicts my whole opinion on this post. So shame on me.

But here is the clarification: I write for my own therapy, and almost 100% for humor. NOT FOR ATTENTION OR SYMPATHY. It’s the motivation that annoys me.

But how can you tell what the writer’s motivation is?

Truthfully, I don’t. How can I? It’s just a feeling. And I have probably been wrong on numerous occasions. In fact, I KNOW I have. But when I go back day after day to read the same drivel, I can’t help but feel like the attention being garnered is deliberate, and not situational.

We all have our personal problems and struggles. And we should all feel as though we have our community to listen, support and encourage, I truly believe that. I am just annoyed at the ones that are never-ending cries of ‘Look at me! My problems are way worse than yours! Can’t you see? I talk about it EVERY DAY!”

I hope that I haven’t come across like some mean-spirited cold-hearted bitch. If I have, I am sorry. But truthfully, I feel better knowing I got this off of my bitchy, judgmental chest.

Michele Bachman scares the shit out of me

2011-08-29T10:29:00.000-07:00

It’s Monday, which means I am at my bitchiest. For some reason, Sunday nights are the bane of my existence, and I cannot function Monday mornings without a pitcher of coffee and some space from my coworkers. And even then, it’s still touch and go.

While my weekend was great, I am beginning to realize that when you require a weekend to recover from your weekend, YOU ARE WAY TOO OLD FOR THIS SHIT.

BUT, I did kick ass at beer darts. Just sayin’.

I missed my Monday Shank last week because I truly didn’t have anyone I had any interest in shanking (shocking I know, and even more surprising when I learned that 2 people found my blog by searching “sometimes, I cut a bitch”) but this week, I cannot ignore someone.

I JUST CANNOT IGNORE YOU MICHELE BACHMAN. You seriously make my head roll.

I wont make this a long post commenting about American politics because I am less qualified than a 5 year old, but I will say that EVERY SINGLE news article about this woman makes me want to cut a bitch. Seriously.

Reinstate “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell?”

Wishing Elvis a Happy Birthday, on the day he DIED?

Hurricane Irene was a warning from God?

She's running for presidency y'all, so stop asking her relevant questions, DUH!!!!!

So today, you are being awarded my Monday Shank because you might possibly be the craziest bitch to ever walk this earth. Even crazier than Sarah Palin but that’s only because she made me laugh repeatedly when she was running for president. She gets extra points for being funny crazy. Sorry.

And for those of you judging me for posting ‘news links’ from Perez Hilton…don’t hate. It’s how I roll.

I am published. Sorta. And it's completely awesome

2011-08-26T16:00:00.000-07:00

Next month is my birthday. Not usually an exciting time for me now that I have passed the 30-hump, but a birthday nonetheless. Today, my super awesome friend Stephanie gave me my gift early because she just 'couldn't hold it in any longer'. Her words. Practically.

Stephanie, the most sweetest and thoughtful person in the whole fucking world (at least right n ow, you all have a chance to top her you know) went and had my blog, A LIFE LESS ORDINARY, published into a coffee table book.

Soak that one in jealous people.

It's super awesomely amaze-balls and I have already caught myself several times today drifting away from my work to oogle over posts I wrote waaaaaaaaay back when. Back when this blog was Carmen101, and not Life Less Ordinary. Back when I was using the blog more as personal outlet rather than a public one. Back when I didn't follow ANY bloggers. Back when I was naive and immature.

But that's assuming I am not naive and immature anymore. I'm going with that one.

There are some good'ers in there y'all...and have given me some flash back posts to re-post because ~~I am lazy~~ I am enthused to share them all with you. Truly.

Like Anonymous from November 2008. Who knew that a few short years later, random comments on my blog would EXCITE THE FUCK OUT OF ME? Seriously. I get heart palpitations. Comment please. COMMENT.

Or Night at the Rox (Bur)y from August 2009. Memories of drunk debauchery are always good for a laugh, no? Fortunately I have documented many. Mental note: Delete these when my daughter becomes of age to start following my blog. Probably a good idea. Most likely.

And then there's my It's that time of year once again... from September 2010 where I so eloquently discuss my fear of aging. At 31. I am such a bitch. There is an emotional little tidbit in that one too - so prepare with a Kleenex if you're the crying type.

These are not my best posts, just a few that stood out to me while ignoring work to look at the Best. Birthday. Gift. EVER.

Prepare for some oldies in the future though, because I am an over-sharer. And Lazy.

Babies. In Stereo

2011-08-25T15:25:00.001-07:00

This. Is. Awesome.

Try not to laugh. I dare you. You're welcome

Watch Your Step - The Stagette Edition

2011-08-24T10:09:00.000-07:00

No one would ever accuse me of being graceful, so when Cheesy Blogger’s announced their writing prompt for this week, Watch Your Step, I thought it would be the perfect time to share one of MY stories of epic failure. Because friends, I may not have broken a bone, twisted an ankle or concussed myself… but I did end up with a pretty road rash and hurt pride.

My Stagette was probably the most fantastical event of all time. This is true, I have heard it repeated on numerous occasions. I cant help if any party involving me ends up being fantastical. It is what it is. Ask anyone.

Please note the penis water bottle

On this particular evening we started out at my SIL’s house for a BBQ and a sex-toy party. Good times, good times. And that’s all I will say about THAT. We moved on from the BBQ and headed out to the local country bar where the shit-storm began. I vaguely recall a penis water bottle that the bartenders gladly refilled for me, as well as a huge blow-up penis that almost every patron in the bar signed for me…but the rest of the night is fairly fuzzy. Surprising, I know.

Try hiding THIS from a 9 year old!

I think most everyone was ready to ~~pass out~~ call it quits by 1pm, so we decided to head out the door and stuff our faces with hotdogs from the genius cart vendor outside. Now, I know this bar. I have been there numerous times since I was 18…err…19 I mean (I never had fake ID, NEVER), I am very familiar with the architecture of this building. I have been sober AND drunk here…

Which does nothing to explain what happened next…

While exiting, in my supreme excitement of the hotdog I was about to devour in a few single bites (much to the delight of my friends) I walked straight off the 4 steps in front of the entrance as if they never existed at all.

There was no tripping in my drunken haze y’all. I clearly walked into thin air.

So today, over a year later, I have a nice oblong-shaped rose-colored beauty mark on my left knee. Battle scars my friends, battle scars.

Becoming Mrs. M

2011-08-18T15:41:00.000-07:00

How fitting that this little meme popped up on my radar only a few days before my one-year anniversary. Natalie at Mommy of a Monster has a link-up this week called 'Down the Aisle' for us to brag about our favorite wedding photo. Coincidently I was going through my photos this week to create this awesome gift for my husband:

We didn't hire professional photographers (Advice: Put it in your budget) but enough turned out that we were able to create a small wedding album. I love this shot because it was a random one taken by my Hubby's aunt while we were waiting for our wedding party to get in their places for some planned pictures.

It's those random ones that always make you go 'Awwwwww'.

Happy Anniversary Mr.M!

It's time to hold a strike vote. With myself.

2011-08-17T11:07:00.000-07:00

I am considering a strike.

strike

noun /strīk/
strikes, plural

A refusal to work organized by a body of employees as a form of protest, typically in an attempt to gain a concession or concessions from their employer

- dockers voted for an all-out strike
- local government workers went on strike
- strike action

*courtesy of dictionary.com

Other than being organized by a body of employees, since I am only one, the definition fits. Being a mother and a wife isn’t easy, and it becomes increasingly harder when you are pretty much the expected person to do the domestic chores. Because this is my blog, and my rant, I won’t accept ANY responsibility for making it this way either, so shutthefuckup if you have any comments regarding this being my fault. Just sayin’.

It’s not just becoming a routine, it IS the routine. Nothing gets done if I don’t throw a tantrum or do it myself. Well, I guess to be fair, I cant say ‘nothing’…because every so often my hubby will do some tidying* and look at me like an excited puppy expecting a doggy treat for a job well done. But that’s the exception, not the rule.

*tidying: move things around and pretend it’s less cluttered. Like throw all his clothes into the closet and shut the door. Impressive.

So I am thinking that perhaps a strike is needed. You know, absolute refusal to do anything around the house to see if I can ‘gain concessions from my employer’… which might sound a little sexist, referring to my hubby as my employer, but there are days when it sure feels like I have two full time jobs.

I want to come home from work and relax (like he does), I want to sit and watch TV while toilets are being scrubbed (like he does), I want to sit on the patio with a pint while the vacuuming is being done (like does) and I definitely want to enjoy my dinner while the baby is being fed (like he does). And don’t get me started on the times when HE does dishes. Cause I’ll go into a long diatribe of how I am back in there 5 minutes later finishing it.

I sound like a whiney baby, I know that. He does take the kids for walks and he does take out the trash (when reminded), and he does make an effort to help out when I am losing my mind. But it just never seems enough. And I need a break

So how do you accomplish this? I need some advice.And if it includes copious amounts of wine, you will be my bestie.

Tales of a Drunk Bitch

2011-08-16T12:08:00.000-07:00

So I've started my own little meme... because we ALL HAVE STORIES OF THOSE DRUNK BITCHES. Assuming that they are OTHER people of course, but hey, I have plenty that are about me too, but I can't promise when I post them that I'll take credit.

Have to keep SOME level of professionalism.I promise, though, this one isn't about me.

A few years ago I was attending a ~~small get together~~ raging party at a house way out in butt-fuck-nowhere. It was Halloween, so the intended goal was to out-do everyone. I don't dress up EVER, but since these were my soon-to-be-hubby's friends, I made an effort and came out looking like one hell of a sexy angel if I do say so myself...

This was taken at a different Halloween party the year before, but its the only pic I have of me in the costume...not that you would have known that if I hadn't told you, so I pretty much just wasted time typing all of this.

Anyways,

I had a pretty good time that night... but NOTHING compared to some of the slut-for-hire chicks that were also in attendance. These 'friends' of my hubby's are what you would call 'made of money' and I should have assumed that everyone would be dressed to kill that night, but sadly I am a little naive when it comes to these matters...and chose to dress APPROPRIATELY.

But on to the drunk bitch...

She was friendly, I'll give her that. She was even pretty, in a hooker kind of way. But she made it pretty clear she was there to get laid, and it didn't really matter which guy it was, as long as he had a penis and was willing to use it. By the end of the night, she looked like this...

So tell me your drunk bitch story, grab the code from the side bar, and link up!

Eff You Trampoline, EFF YOU!

2011-08-15T10:28:00.000-07:00

It’s Monday.

YAY.

I am feeling a little worse for wear this morning. Actually, does that sentence even make sense? Whatever.

This weekend was a rough one. I am clearly too old for this shit. Especially since I was drunk Saturday, not last night, so why the heck am I STILL RECOVERING TWO DAYS LATER?

Well, it might have been the trampoline.

Let me explain.

As a child, I never had a trampoline. When I was growing up, they were all the rage too. Every second house on our block had one. Maybe more. I think I may have some feelings of deprivation actually. Regardless, I now have a small obsession with them, despite the fact I am as awkward as a two year old trying to ride a bike without training wheels. Plus, I look completely stupid.

First, I started jumping in a dress. Not a good plan (especially for those of us that believe panties are for pussies). So I made the right decision and went and put pants on. You know, to keep all the boys off of me. Secondly, I jumped in between games of flip cup.

This, my friends, is a drinking game that leaves you completely shit-faced.

I won’t lie to you, I fell off the damn trampoline. And it wasn’t graceful. No one has ever accused ME of being graceful.

So today, two days later, I am SORE. And I HURT. And that DAMN TRAMPOLINE gets my Monday Shank for being a total douche-canoe and letting me jump on it while I was shit-faced. Because I take no responsibility WHATSOEVER.

Stupid trampoline.

Motherhood Exposed: Because Sometimes This Job Sucks

2011-08-11T09:32:00.000-07:00

Morgan at The Little Hen House created this blog hop and as a mother of two, I felt it was my duty to participate. HELL YES this job sucks sometimes, but the rewards far outweigh the frustration, so I think I’ll keep it. You know, just for shits and giggles.

My confession? I don’t like reading to my kids.

**GASP**

How many of you just put your hand to your mouth in utter shock and decided I was a terrible excuse of a mother? I wouldn’t blame you really, it makes me feel awful too. But no matter how hard I try to force myself to like it I just can’t seem to find any enjoyment behind it.

Sure, I’ve read plenty of children studies that conclude babies that are read to end up being brilliant and world leaders and famous even, and I’ve probably deprived them of the chance to be astronauts, but holding a squirming child and reading Dr. Seuss in a sing-song voice makes me cringe.

Admitting this is freaking me out actually.

I love my kids more than anything in the world. I make mistakes. Daily, even. But when I put them down to bed without a story I know they aren’t judging me, because I cuddled, I kissed them, and I told them “I love you”.

I am sure there are studies out there that also prove children that are constantly shown love grow up to be brilliant too. Maybe not astronauts though, those kids read at 18 months. Freaks*.

I’d like to think my kids are going to be full of love. For me, for themselves, and for their own families, because that is how I am raising them.

So, I’m sorry Dr. Seuss, my son will learn to read in preschool, just like his older sister. And she’s rad. And probably going to be famous one day. She told me.

* I’m only kidding. If your child read at 18 months, you are my hero. And congratulations on raising an astronaut!

My Big Dream – Jennifer Lopez ain’t got nothin’on me. Except everything

2011-08-09T12:45:00.000-07:00

Cheesy Bloggers is looking for some dream posts, but I decided to go about it in a different way… I am going to share a little story about the big dream I had when I was a kid. And not the kind you fall asleep to.

Back in Elementary school, I wasn’t what you would call ‘cool’. Far from it actually. I was a ‘pleaser’, and yet couldn’t please a single soul. It was depressing really, but no matter how hard I tried, those cool kids just didn’t seem to like me. It wasn’t until High School when they discovered they could cheat off me and get help with their homework that I really came into my own. Sure, parties weren’t ever part of the deal, but I got to hang out with them during breaks. It was enough.

I grew up in the late 80’s and early 90’s, when lacy ankle socks and teased bangs were totally awesome, and Joey from the New Kids on the Block was every prepubescent girl’s husband-to-be. I rocked out to Rick Astley, Salt ‘n Pepa, and TLC. I sported the rolled jeans and colored Kedd’s. I even bought a $75 pair of Ikeda Overalls because everyone had them.

So, in true tween fashion, I dreamt of being a backup dancer on In Living Color. For those of you that don’t remember that show, it’s where Jim Carrey, Jamie Foxx, the Wayans Brothers and Jennifer Lopez got their start, and it was SUPPOSED to be where I was going to make it big. You see, Jennifer Lopez was a FLY GIRL. She was part of the most awesomest group of dancers that ever lived.

Side note: Carrie Ann Inaba from Dancing with the Stars was a Fly Girl too!!! Just noticed that.

My best friend and I decided that the only way we were going to be successful was if we chose a super awesome song and choreographed a routine. At the time we were both crushing on the same boy, so it was only natural that we dedicated it to him, no? I am not lying to you, we actually DID THIS and performed it for him at lunch one day.

*sigh* I am actually cringing while typing out this memory. I.WAS.SUCH.A.NERD

So, without further adieu… here is the song we chose…

It doesn't get any better than this does it? Just visualize two 10 year old girls doing really inappropriate dancing to a really terrible song in the middle of a gravel field in front of a 10 year old boy who probably didn't even like girls yet.

Yes, no matter how bad your visual may be right now, I can guarantee you it was probably much much worse.

Unfortunately, my dream was never realized. I was never a back up dancer for anything. Not even a school talent show. Apparently this white-girl-can’t-dance-worth-shit. And Jennifer Lopez can kiss my ass.

Monday Shank - Cryptic Edition

2011-08-08T12:19:00.000-07:00

Have you ever met a person who just the sight of them makes your skin crawl?

I know such a person. And today, he is my Monday Shank.

I had written out a long explanation, and had even contemplated revealing his REAL-LIFE identity, but after a moment of reflection I realized a few things:

He is just the type of person to Google himself and find A Life Less Ordinary
Upon finding this blog, the repercussions of what I reveal could hurt more than just him
I am not willing to bring attention to those ‘other people’.

So, while cryptic as hell (and I apologize for that), I shall award my Monday Shank to Kreeper*. A vile, sad excuse for a Man who deserves much more than just a shank.

Tampons and the Olive Garden. This is going to make for some WEIRD search results 'yo

2011-08-05T12:37:00.000-07:00

Over the years Sadie has provided me with some really great stories to tell. She never fails to amuse me or others around me, and I have some excellent material for her future wedding. Last night while visiting with my SIL, we started talking about some of those funny stories and she mentioned one I had completely forgotten about…and really cannot wait to share…so here it goes…

One night, when Sadie was about 18 months old, my boyfriend-at-the-time made plans to go out for dinner with my brother and his girlfriend (now wife). We live in Canada, there is like ONE OLIVE GARDEN so naturally we chose this place cause it’s quite possibly the best restaurant in the whole wide world and who made the stupid decision to put ONLY ONE IN CANADA*?

*disclaimer: Only one that I am aware of and within driving distance. If you know of more, keep it to yourself.

Side note: Have you eaten the Tuscan Garlic Chicken? TO.DIE.FOR.

I talk. A lot. Those that know me well will not argue with that statement. In fact, those that only know me even a little bit would agree. Truthfully, strangers on the street would probably nod their heads too. What can I say? I have things that need to be said. I usually command an audience, and this dinner was no exception.

While I was jabbering away about something that was clearly important and enthralling to my dinner companions, my dear, sweet 18 month old daughter was entertaining herself in my purse. Usually, this is nothing to be alarmed about. She’s happy, I’m talking, win/win.

On this occasion, I just happen to have tampons stored in a side pocket. A girl can never be too prepared I say. I must have a genius child though, because Sadie taught herself how to work a zipper in like 3 seconds flat, because without me realizing it, that pocket was open and one of those tampons was a brand new exciting toy. Who knew a paper wrapper with a cardboard applicator could be so interesting. I sure didn’t at 12 when I had to start using them. Fuck you Mother Nature.

Out of the corner of my eye I spot my cute little darlin’ peering over the booth behind us and spying on the nice people sitting there enjoying their dinner. Maybe they were eating something that looked delicious to a toddler, who knows, but I quietly turned her around and continued telling my enthralling story. I never noticed the tampon clenched firmly in her fist. She of course went right back to peering over the booth…

AND THAT’S WHEN IT HAPPENED

I think it probably only took a split second, but my darling little cute-as-can-be 18 month old daughter stood on her feet, leaned over the booth, and shoved that tampon right into the ear of the largest, meanest looking black man I had ever seen.

This is clearly not a picture of the incident as this cute baby is NOT in a restaurant, but this is an actor's portrayal of my daughter's delight while playing with a tampon. This is an unpaid portrayal.

And guess what? He wasn’t mean. He thought it was the funniest thing EVER. I am sure he’s telling this story 8 years later too.

Thumbs are necessary for drinking. I have learned the hard way.

2011-08-02T13:43:00.000-07:00

I'm bitchy.

And I am guessing that doesn’t surprise anyone.

Yesterday I sprained my thumb, and until you hurt something as obscure and unimportant as your thumb you don’t realize how NOT OBSCURE AND NOT UNIMPORTANT it really is.

Did you know that you can’t hold a wine glass with a sprained thumb? I didn’t. But you can’t. And that’s just plain unacceptable I tell you. U.N.A.C.C.E.P.T.A.B.L.E.

Strangely enough, I can type. How’s that for stupid? So I can’t drink with my left hand, but I can go to work. Life just has a nice way of being a douche. Thanks Life.

I was tempted to award my lovely friend Trevor with my Monday Shank since it was his torpedo baseball that sprained my thumb, but I have to be honest here and say that it’s my own damn fault my thumb looks like an overly stuffed sausage, and not his. As a (somewhat) trained baseball player, I know that catching a ball off the side of your glove isn’t the proper technique, and really, despite the fact the thing was thrown so damn fast I doubt anyone within 5 ft even saw the fucking ball, throwing it hard is much better than throwing it rainbow-style since the object of the game is to win. Ya, who knew?

So Trevor, I am NOT awarding you with my Monday Shank. Mostly because you didn’t do anything wrong, but also cause you are big loveable teddy bear who would probably feel bad anyways if you saw my thumb today.

I was attacked by a moth today. True story.

2011-07-29T12:58:00.000-07:00

Last night I left all the windows down in the SUV including the sunroof. I mean, it’s gorgeous out, right? No need to do the responsible thing and lock up your fucking vehicle. It’s not like we live in a shitty neighborhood anyways. Robberies don’t happen.

Um, wait. YEAH THEY DO. In broad daylight. My bad.

Two weeks ago, while we were out for the afternoon, some punk(s) stole a cooler full of drinks we had left in the carport, our brand new pressure washer, and (strangely) our spray attachment to our hose. My husband says its copper or some other metal (I tune out when he gets all manly on me) that sells for like kajillion dollars on the black market so he gets it. I am slightly confused by this however, since I think it was like $7.00 at Canadian Tire, but whatever.

So, I left the vehicle pretty much with a sign on the back window saying ‘STEAL ME’, but without an actual sign, and lucky for me that didn’t happen. What did happen however, was that while I was pulling out of the carport at 7am this morning a moth attacked my face and almost caused me to drive into the side of the staircase leading to my front door. Or the laundry room, I don’t remember exactly. I, and my children, were too terrified to notice the small details.

So I look like an Asian male here, but that's only because I stole this pic from the interweb ok?

First, I screamed. Then they screamed. And then I miraculously discovered my foot was still on the gas pedal and I slammed it into park (In hindsight I should be given an award for realizing this) and then I jumped out of the drivers side faster than you can say ‘you’re and idiot’.

And my 9 year old saved the day. She swatted that moth right out the door and we carried on our morning. Three cheers for the mature 9 year old, she deserves it.

Hi, My Name Is... Not what you expected

2011-07-26T14:47:00.000-07:00

Cheesy Bloggers has given us a new writing prompt: How did you come up with your name. Now, we can be selective and pick ANY name; blog name, pets name, children’s name, I could go on… but the general point was for us to share our creative (or silly) idea around creating names.

So my contribution for Cheesy Blogger's Hi, My Name is… is how my hubby came up with the name for something that decided to grow ON MY FACE. That’s right, a pimple. And not just some regular run of the mill, white-head that sometimes blemishes the face of us regular folk. This was probably the largest zit I have ever seen, and it almost made me incapable of leaving the house for a few days.

This is what I looked like. Only not as pretty, and she doesn't even have a zit. So yeah, basically what I looked like.

Unfortunately I have this thing called a life (read: career and children) and turning into a hermit all in the name of vanity doesn’t really work for me. But I was temped. FOR SURE.

You see, it wasn’t like this zit decided to grow in some obscure place that no one with relatively decent eye sight could see. I mean, that would be somewhat respectable, right? No, this god forsaken lump of blood, oil, and white puss (am I grossing you out yet?) decided that my forehead was as good place as any, and firmly started growing its roots.

Yes, roots. This thing WAS DEEP. And painful I might add.

It didn’t really attack my whole face until it had festered for a few days, but one morning I woke up and there it was: the size of a quarter and as red as a cherry. Lucky me! Now, you can’t hide these things until you know they are there…so it was even luckier for me that my hubby gets to see my beautiful face in the morning first, before I am subjected to the bathroom mirror.

In as much love and adoration that he could muster, he peered at me sleepily through one eye and said “Dear...*dramatic pause for effect*... Mt Saint Carmen is about to burst on your forehead. Do I need safety goggles?”

(He almost died that morning.)

To this day, every time one of these monstrous zits appears, he likes to politely refer to it as Mt. Saint Carmen Jr. But I would like to add that none of them have ever compared to the original.That one deserves it's own postal code. Or zip code for you Americans.

So to save face that day (hahaha), this is how I left the house. Only, again, not as pretty.

Blog Lovin'.

2011-07-25T10:37:00.000-07:00

I kinda like these blog award thingys. They make me feel special, loved, and wanted. Perhaps that shows my insecurities, but whatever. Thanks to my good friend Angela at Begging the Answer, I have been graciously handed another one so here it goes…

7 things you don’t know about me and maybe don’t really care to know but it’s the way these things work, so I’m sharing:

I have a Munroe piercing. People who see me in pics (and sometimes in person) think I have food on my face. Awesome.
My hubby is a dual citizen with Finland and Canada. He doesn’t look Finnish. At All.
I have an obsession with clean sheets. My hubby doesn’t. It causes me unneeded stress. And a lot of sheet changing on my own.
I color code my skittles and eat 1 of each color at a time.
I turned down a soccer scholarship for a boy. Wasn’t my smartest move ever.
I don’t like pizza, but work in the pizza industry. Go figure.
I was once a ‘navy wife’.

You, know writing these things about yourself can be pretty challenging.

So a few bloggers I’d like to pass this award to:

Really, what were we thinking?

I think the rules are that I nominate 15, but *sigh* that could take me YEARS, so check out my blog roll over there --> and take a look at even more awesome bloggers that I stalk. You are welcome.

UPDATED: Just another poop story to complete your day. You are welcome.

2011-07-22T15:28:00.000-07:00

It seems like everyone has a poop story. Like my friend Handflapper whose hubby’s shitcapades resembles my own hubby’s, or DMTFace who knows her triggers and embraces them. WE ALL HAVE THEM and they are funny as hell to share. I enjoy a good poop story, really I do.

Lucky for me, I have two such stories. Coincidentally, as noted above, one just happens to resemble Flappy’s a little too eerily, so I’ll save that one for another day… but my second one just makes me giggle uncontrollably, and it’s one I have shared REPEATEDLY for 15 years.

Yup. 15 years. It was a long time ago. Doesn’t make the story any less hilarious to me, however.

Have I mentioned to you before that I am a twin?

(Male Readers: Get your mind out of the gutter. It’s a boy. Ruined that one for you didn’t I?)

Growing up we were pretty much enemies. In fact, we were so competitive with one another that there was an incident in the middle of the night where I was getting kicked out of the house by my parents and he was yelling “I get her stereo”. That’s love I tell ya. (I must add that while dramatic at the time, my parents and I have gotten over this incident.)

But I digress…

My twin wasn’t what you would call socially accepted. He tried, but the darn little guy just wouldn’t grow. I think he was 4’8 in Grade 10. He’s 6’1 now, but back then it sure was fun to traumatize him with his shortness. And his lazy eye. And his buck teeth. I could go on… but I have some compassion. Some. A little bit.

One day he was talking on the phone to a ‘buddy’ and was passing gas like a 50 yr old trucker who ate beans for a week. I just happened to be in the kitchen at the time, and made it pretty clear that I wouldn’t be eating for a week after having to smell the carnage coming from his ass. Quickly, he said good bye to his friend, put down the phone, turned, and ran his short little ass to the laundry room yelling “That was no fart….”

Curiosity got the best of me, and I followed him.

What I saw next is imprinted on my brain and will remain there for the rest of my life. First, because this story will forever be shared to anyone who will listen, but secondly because it was fucking awful.

My poor, socially unaccepted, short and buck toothed twin brother was sprawled helplessly on the laundry room floor with his pants down around his ankles… COVERED IN SHIT.

True Story.

His future wife will be told this story on their wedding night. Just to serve as a warning of course. And maybe so I can laugh about it one more time.

See? We're the Sedin Twins. Get it?

UPDATE: So it appears I have more than two poop stories. I am not ashamed.

I am pretty sure the local police officers think I am nuts and if they don't, they should

2011-07-21T13:54:00.000-07:00

I had a pretty eventful lunch hour today and thought it best I blog about it before I completely forgot. Plus, I think it’s always nice to share with my readers when I do really fucking embarrassing things. Makes me real, no? Or dumb. Whichever.

I decided today to go to Safeway to buy a sandwich. Surprisingly they’re quite delicious. If you haven’t tried one yet, I encourage you to do so. My personal favorite is the Bistro Club. Just if the lady there suggests toasting your tomatoes, say no. She was/is quite pushy and pretty adamant that you should be toasting your tomatoes. In fact, she looked at me very sternly and said “I have converted about 90% of my customers to toasted tomatoes, so clearly you are weird”. OK, so she didn’t say the weird part, but I felt it in her gaze. Menacing I tell you.

Anyways

While driving back to the office I took a different route back because I like to mix things up. Keeping it fresh, right? First mistake. I can see cop cars all the which way, and eventually, smoke. Lights are flashing, people are standing on the sidewalks (actually, someone even had a crib out at the bus stop with an actual kid in it. That’s weird, right? I thought so.) and there is just a general sense of pandemonium. I was clearly in a bad spot.

So naturally I panic right along with these strangers and pull over. I am pretty sure this is my daughter’s elementary school at this point and I was going to run into the building pushing and shoving my way to save her life. Naturally, right? LIKE NO BIG DEAL. No lie, I was breathing hard before I even got out of my vehicle.

So I approach (read: almost ran straight into) this really mean looking police office and managed to sputter out “Is the Elementary School on fire?” or something closely resembling. He looked confused but said that no, it was in fact a vacant house.

Relieved, I held my hand to my chest and said “Thank you! My daughter goes to that school!” He looked at me funny again, but I turned away and headed back to my truck. Cops are weird. I wasn’t concerned that he was looking at me that way. I mean, everything I just did was completely natural. COMPLETELY. NATURAL. For a crazy person.

So as I begin to maneuver around the crowds of pedestrians, I hit the next block. And stranding right in front of me is my daughter’s Elementary School. Yes folks, I wasn’t even close.

But it get’s better.

SCHOOL IS OUT FOR THE SUMMER.

I think the funniest part of the story for me though is this: it took a friend of mine who I told this story to, to tell me that my daughter was in fact at daycare with her brother, and not at school.

I know exactly what you are thinking. I’m awesome. Clearly.

Serious Post: Hard Questions

2011-07-20T13:53:00.000-07:00

I am at a crossroads right now. And I hate it.

My Story is a rough one, but when you hear or read about other people’s trials and tribulations, everything just seems so trivial and meaningless, and somewhat selfish in comparison. Sure, dealing with a husband having seizures and subsequently having a brain tumor removed, and suffering through a sick child being hospitalized and even still, having to endure physical therapy with him can be mentally, emotionally, and physically taxing…

BUT

Every body is OK. We get up each morning and put our pants on one leg at a time. We breathe fresh air and drink cold water. My husband and I have jobs that support our lifestyle, and our children are happy, (finally) healthy, and there is love; gigantic, immeasurable love in our lives.

And you know what?

Sometimes it just isn’t enough.

Right now I am sitting here at my keyboard feeling like all my life decisions could or should have been different, but changing them is so terrifying that I can’t even fathom what they could even be.

It’s tough to really convey what I am trying to say right now without really diving into the story, but as much as my life is an open book here on my blog, there are just some things I choose to keep private. Not for my sake, because I am a firm believer that one must always be held accountable for their actions, to themselves and by others, but more-so for the sake of my loved ones because their respect and trust mean everything to me.

My journey has been riddled with ups, downs, and in bet-weens, but everything that has happened has been the result of decisions I HAVE made, not someone else. I understand that. So what does it take for me to make changes? What does it take for me to stand up and truly react based on my own convictions?

These are questions I have to ask myself. I still don’t have answers.

And I hate that.

Monday's Shank - an Aging bitch

2011-07-18T11:10:00.001-07:00

So today I have decided to dedicate my Monday Shank to ME. Ok, not me specifically, but my body because it’s aging and its pissing me the fuck off.

I have been more active in the last month than I have in the last year, and since I am no longer in my twenties, my body has decided that it’s going to teach me a lesson for it.

That’s some fucked up shit ‘yo.

I could whine about every little bitty pain I am feeling right now, but I think I would rather spare you all of that and just say MY WHOLE BODY HURTS AND I WANNA TAKE DRUGS.

The end.

So body, I shank you today for the seemingly unbearable (but we all know I don’t really have a choice but to bear it) pain that you are currently causing me. You make me cry. I hate crying. Therefore I hate you.

So I speak Jupiterian. Apparently. Plus, I'm insecure. Probably

2011-07-14T15:23:00.000-07:00

So now that I have all the blog design crap out of the way, I can finally get to writing something. Or, not writing something. Whichever. Seems I have a bit of a block.

Truthfully, I’ve been writing like a mad woman for the company blog (and no I will not be linking because I in no way want randoms from my work to somehow magically find this blog and dissect every F word) and am only finding inspirations in dull, grey, business-y type paragraphs and that really isn’t suited for Life Less Ordinary.

Plus, I’d like to keep some of my readership too. Probably. I kinda like the 2 ½ of you. I am only assuming I have a ½ reader somewhere since I am sure many of you like to sit and read blogs with your pets in your lap, right? That could be the half right there?

Like I said, only assuming. But for the sake of no arguments, I’ll compromise and say just the two of you. I’d like you to keep coming back.

Actually, by not writing something I am doing you a favor, right? Because like I said, I have a bit of a blockage going on in the writing department. Well, not-so-much-in-the-dull category you see, but in actual so-funny-it-makes-you-want-to-pee way.

And once again, I realize I may be pushing it here – when I have ever been so funny-it-makes-you-want-to-pee? Probably never, but maybe once? So I’ll compromise and say I can be mildly funny and every so often get a little snicker out of the two of you.

So let’s recap shall we?

I definitely have a blockage, and not the type of blockage that you can take an over the counter medication for.

I have decided to gift my trazillion* readers (with our without pets) by not posting something all business-y thus boring them into never coming back

I have wasted way too much time writing drivel no one is going to read anyways. But hey, my blog is pretty!

(Which leads me to ask YOU for a favor. I HATE THE TITLE FONT and want something way prettier but messing with html is kinda like asking me to eat a flip flop: not going to happen. Think any of you could design something stupidly awesome and I will pay you back with thoughts of love?)

That about sum it up?

*Trazillion: Jupiterian for 2 1/2

Ok, So I am doing it again....SUE ME

2011-07-13T15:58:00.000-07:00

Y'all know I don't have a lot of luck with Blog Templates. Firstly, I get bored. But secondly, it's because I also don't pay much attention when I load them and like weeks later I realize something is missing, broken, or just plain not working and probably never did.

I really liked my last look.

Unfortunately, it didn't like me.

I couldnt get my twitter and facebook links to work, and even still the commenting was a little warbled. I can promise you though that I did exactly what I always do with this new one too... I havent fully checked if it all works.

But for now, I don't have the time to go look, so that will happen tomorrow.

And maybe this damn site will change again.

Who knows.

Delayed Monday Shank - Someone in government has WAY too much power

2011-07-12T15:00:00.000-07:00

This here folks is a giant monument of Raspberries. The picture quality sucks because I was 'technically' driving at the same time I took it with my phone. And apparently that's frowned upon so I had to do it quickly and inconspicuously.

I wish I was joking.

Some time last week someone erected this monstrosity and called it ‘art’ in the new round-a-bout by my office. I am all for beautifying, but this is slightly ridiculous don't you think?! Not only is it CLEARLY a misrepresentation of raspberries (c’mon, everyone knows raspberry bushes have thorns) but it is also INSANELY large; thus resulting in numerous fender benders from drivers gaping at it in disbelief

While no fender benders have been reported yet, I am sure they're coming soon. I nearly collided with the curb on day one.That may or may not have been because I was struggling to take a picture, but whatever.

So today’s (yesterday’s) Monday Shank is reserved for the douchecanoe in government who decided that this ‘art’ was a valuable use of our taxpayer’s dollars. Firstly, it isn’t. Secondly, it’s ugly. End.Of.Story.

Are there any monstrosities in your part of the world that’s been passed off as art?

My Great Summer Holiday Story

2011-07-07T12:15:00.000-07:00

Written for Cheesy Bloggers

I have had some pretty uneventful summers. And not because OF ME I would like to add, but more so because I had stick-in-the-mud parents (I would like to defend that statement though by saying they DID have 6 kids and managing fun for that many people can be mind-numbing at best, it just takes maturing to realize that and appreciate it) who refused to allow us much, if any freedom at all. If I recall, a lot of my summer time BS* (Before Soccer) was spent playing with my god awful siblings in the backyard with a week at church camp.

Once I hit 13 and was playing soccer like a bajillion days a week, I was at least away from those pesky kids I was related to and out having a good time. Well, other than those times those biotches made fun of me, but I think that’s another story for another day. I might have some deep rooted issues about that. Probably.

Anyways, I digress… this is about a great summer holiday, not about the shitty ones. (Which there were plenty.)

Not the actual camp I went to, just an image I stole online but you get the idea.

The summer I turned 16, I decided to sign up as a camp counselor at the church camp I had been going to for 5 years. I wasn’t a Christian, but my grandparents were/are, and it thrilled them to bits to be able to do this for their grandchildren every year in hopes that one day we would join them at some god awful (see what I did there?) hour in the morning every Sunday.

I would just like to say that it didn’t work.

Being a camp counselor really wasn’t something I was prepared for. To me, at 16, it was a time to do fuck-all; stay up late, sleep in, flirt with boys, and enjoy the freedom away from my parents. I think my wake up call came the first morning when I was woken up by my co-counselor for the early morning bible study. We quickly decided that she would handle those. I won’t confirm or deny, but it’s rumored that I might have strong-armed that decision. Who knows?

Truthfully, I compare myself then to an angst-ridden teenager in a Judy Blume novel. Pick one, any one. That was me: immature, rebellious, and plain stubborn. I wasn’t going to like these children entrusted in my care, let alone love them! I wasn’t going to sing happy campfire songs and hold their hands! Who the fuck was going to make ME play kick the can and hide the flag, and ACTUALLY ENJOY DOING IT?

Who knew that at 16, I could actually be sane, friendly, loving, and ENJOY KIDS? My parents didn’t. I sure as hell didn’t. And I am pretty sure the Camp Directors feared me just a little bit.

Throughout that week, I learned a lot about myself. In fact, it was probably the summer I really started to grow into the woman that I am today. I look back fondly on it, remembering the awesome group of 6 and 7 year olds I had the pleasure to get to know and mentor despite my initial reluctance to do so. I smile when I recall the campfires and forest games and the mess hall food that truly isn’t something I would ever eat again. I like to think that those kids remember me too and look back fondly on the times we spent together, and maybe, just maybe, I had a positive impact on who they’ve grown up to be.

When I first started thinking about posting a great summer holiday story for Cheesy Bloggers, I wasn’t expecting to tell this one. But every story that came to mind took me directly back here, to this summer, and I knew I had to share it.

I think I am going to look into sending my daughter to that same camp next year. I think she’ll love it.