December 10, 2005

Okay it’s 2:30am and we just got home from hubby’s jam session and for some reason I’m not tired. So here I sit at the computer in a tee shirt and panties, hair up in a ponytail. Gawd, where’s my camera? Anyway, for some odd reason, Harry popped into my mind. Now who’s Harry you ask? Well let me tell you.

Harry was a thorn in my side all through grade 7. He sat right behind me in homeroom Social Studies class. And he never left me alone. Ever. He was hot for me, every………single……….day. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem except Harry wasn’t your Matthew McCaughney or Chad Kroeger type. He wasn’t exactly nerdy either but somewhere in the middle of being kinda cute and kinda fugly. He was constantly trying to find ways to interact with me, even if it meant me telling him to fuck off and die or to eat shit and die. He didn’t care. Just as long as I said something to him. He would often whisper in my ear how he fantasized about me the night before while inbetween his Batman sheets. Ummmm, eeewwwwww. He would find excuses to touch me in some way. He would always want to be my partner if we were doing some kind of Social Studies project that required people to pair up. And for some odd reason, the teacher always put us together. I think now, that Harry was paying her on the side. Or she was sleeping with his father (or maybe his mother). Or some other conspiracy. I remember wearing a white blouse to school one day and it buttoned up the back. BIG FRIGGIN’ MISTAKE. As I was concentrating on a test I was writing, Harry was busy unbuttoning my blouse, so when I leaned slightly ahead, it fell off my shoulders and he got a nice glimpse of my back and my white bra. I was mortified. I turned around and in a hiss equal to that of someone possessed by the devil himself, I ordered him to button it back up before I stomped on his balls at recess. He got kinda pale and proceeded to button my shirt up but he took his good ole’ time and his fingers slipped a few times. Little pervert.

He was always staring at me. And if for some odd reason I just happened to make eye contact with him (in a moment of retardedness or perhaps I was experiencing lazy eye), he would beam like a fat kid in a freakin’ candy store with a gift certificate for a $500 shopping spree. He would wait by my locker at the end of the day, so he could blow me a kiss and tell me how beautiful I was and how he was going to kiss me one day. Ya sure asswipe, when bears stop shitting in the woods. He would sometimes take his pen and stick it down the back of my jeans if I leaned ahead in my seat to talk to the sane student in front of me. I’d go home some days with what appeared to be hand drawn, ink roadmaps on the crack of my ass and surronding areas. But for some reason I never told the teacher any of this. Or my parents. All my friends knew and they were jealous. Jealous???? Ah, ya, because who doesn’t want a greasy 12 year old guy who whacks off to you in his superhero bedsheets 5 days a week and marks on your ass crack with his Bic pen? Riiiiiiiiight.

I remember trying to find a silver lining to all of this and thinking, well at least he’s in only one class with me. Of course he’d search me out at lunchtime, hoping for a glimpse or getting his jollies at the prospect of me actually talking to him……….which if that actually happened, it would consist of me telling him that he sucked, smelled like crap, was retarded and ate boogers for lunch. But he didn’t care. He smiled every single time. FREAK. June was fast approaching and I was so happy. I kept counting down the days because once I hit grade 8 I knew I was home free. Harry was moving. Oh my gawd, MOVING. Away. Far. Moving. I tingled at the thought of never seeing him again. June 23 arrived and I walked to school with a noticable skip in my step. I don’t think I had ever had such excitement over a final report card day. Like ever. This was huge. After that final bell rang, no more Harry. I could hardly contain myself.

Three o’clock rolled around and that bell rang and baby did that sound like music to my ears. Freedom. I remember everyone piling out of the classroom, all talking at once, rushing to the lockers to gather the few remaining items from it. I got to mine and took my time putting the last few things into my backpack. This was going to be a great summer and I was envisioning all the fun I was going to have. As I was lost in thought, out of the corner of my eye, I see someone standing beside me. Oh shit. It was Harry. Hey, how about a lightening bolt right then and there? And hey, you don’t even have to strike Harry down. Strike me down. Anything. He’s just standing there, grinning. Like a stupid clown about to twist a long purple balloon into a fucking 3 legged alligator. I remember looking at him as if he were mushy, green dog shit under my pink sneakers. And he was so clueless to my sneer that he just smiled like a big doofus. Finally I can’t take it anymore and ask the little turd what he wants? He tells me he wants a kiss. Oh sweet mother of God, you’re kidding me right? I clearly know he’s not kidding so in an apparent fit of STUPID-ASS-NESS, I tell him, fine, one, short, super quick kiss and then buzz off and go play in traffic. He beams. I’m thinking if he wets his pants, I’ll barf. So as we stand in the now empty hallway, I’m also thinking that my head must be leaking and my brains are seeping out because I’ve lost my damn mind. I lean back into the lockers and close my eyes and wait for Harry to kiss me. And after what seemed like forever, he kisses me on the lips and honestly it was kinda nice. Just as I’m opening my eyes and I’m about ready to say that I forgive him for all his bullshit over the year, he grabs my hand and pulls me into the classroom and pushes me down on the floor and sits ontop of me. I’m wondering what in hell kind of accident he had as a toddler that made him such an idiot. He must have been dropped on his damn head. As I’m about to ask him if he was actually dropped as a child, he leans down and tells me how he’s going to miss me and then without further hesitation, he carefully and slowly, licks my whole face. Oh gawd, I actually threw up a little in my mouth. It was one of the most disgusting things that I had ever experienced up to that point in my life. I’m thinking being tarred and feathered would have been way more fun. Or being pissed on by a giraffe. Or picking through a fast food restaurant’s dumpster. You get my drift. Gawd, I get shivers just thinking about it. Great, I bet now I’m going to dream about the little shit. Woo freakin hoo, sweet dreams to me.

December 9, 2005

Facial Expression #1: The dead, blank, yawn stare. Use this when conversing with a total spazz that is boring you abso-freakin-lutely to death and you’re a tad too polite to say, SHUT IT to their face. Continue to bore holes through them until they take the fucking hint.

Facial Expression #2: The puckered lips look, which clearly means, what the fuck crack were you smokin’ when you bought those jeans and then proceeded to wear them thinking you look good? You clearly look like a bloated sealion. ***No words need be exchanged to the offender….your own expression will quickly clue them in.***

Facial Expression #3: Pure shock that fat lady that lives next door is wearing leggings, a tube top and has pit hair. Usually no vocalization comes out but honestly, there’s no need. Your surprised and scared expression says it all.

Facial Expression #4: The fake “of course I love your new hairdo” smile, which really means, girlfraaaaand, that blows monkey ass and you need to sue your hair stylist. Like now.

Facial Expression #5: Hmmmm you smell bad. Kind of like shit. Or really chunky vomit. ***Again, this is not said aloud but your disgusted facial expression will tell the tale.***

Facial Expression #6: Ummmm what the fuck is that you’re wearing? ***Of course you don’t say this out loud to the offending fashion cow, but they’ll hopefully quickly clue in and immediately burn the offending outfit.***

December 8, 2005

We were at the Children’s Hospital today for an appointment concerning Ryan. After leaving the appointment, Ryan tells us, that he needs to find a bathroom. Duty calls. Hubby takes him in and I wait outside, apparently missing all the fun. Yesterday, at school, Ryan purchased a book from the Book Fair that comes around every few months. He was so thrilled to get this Totally
Spies book. He loves it so much that he slept with it last night. Anyway, he took it to school today so it came along for the appointment today. He’s looked at it and read it so much in the last 24 hours that it looks like it’s been around the block a time or two. So as hubby is taking him in the bathroom after the appointment, Ryan gently lays the book down on the counter and goes into a stall. Daddy waits just outside the stall by the sink. There’s also someone in the other stall. Hubby figured the guy was taking a dump. I’ll take his word for it….I didn’t need details. So Ryan decides he better give a heads up to daddy. Goes like this……….
“Dad, watch my book. It’s on the counter.”
“Okay Ryan.”
“Make sure noone steals it dad.”
“Okay buddy.”
“Ummm, well there’s a man in the other stall dad.”
“Okay Ryan.”
“Well he might know some kids that like Totally Spies.”
“Huhn huh.”
“Well he might steal it and give it to them. So watch it okay dad?”
“Okay buddy.”
Of course SirPoopsAlot in the next stall heard all of this and must have found Ryan amusing and was chuckling as he was having a crap. Ryan is so innocent and oblivious to all of this and just tells it like he sees it.
“Dad, I was pulling up my longjohns and then my pants and I realized my underwear wasn’t there. They didn’t get pulled up with the longjohns and my pants, so I had to start all over again and do my underwear first and then my longjohns and then my pants. Okay dad?”
“Yup, sure buddy.”
He comes out and is very relieved that not only did his underwear finally get pulled up with the rest of his clothes but that his new, totally beloved Totally Spies book, was totally not stolen. Totally.

December 6, 2005

Have you ever wondered how some people function in life? How they get along every single day in this world without falling on their faces? Well, let me tell you about Betty at the grocery store. She scares me. Literally. I’ve gone through her checkout several times. Not on purpose. I swear. I try to avoid her like I would try to avoid shaking the hand of a 4 year old who just blew big snot balls into his palm. But if not for crappy luck, I probably wouldn’t have any, so on occassion I get Betty the Door Knob.

She’s a short, stocky lady, not totally unattractive, however, her scary, slightly dingbat personality makes her a tad less attractive. She’s in her late 40’s I’m guessing, so it’s not like she’s hasn’t been around the block a time or two but apparently she’s not learned much from her times around it.


She never makes any sense. Ever. At our grocery store, cashiers are required to ask you if you want bags. We pay 4 cents a piece for them….I’m assuming this is to keep costs down. Anyway, who cares? So she asks me, “How many bag you want?” I tell her I’d like 5. “You only want 5 bag?” Yes please. Just five. “Okay, but you got grocery.” (She rarely puts the plural on anything requiring it.) Yes I realize I have groceries. ‘Cause I’m at the grocery store and I’m buying stuff. And it’s groceries. So how about you just hand over the bags. “Okay I give you 5 bag.” Super.

So as I’m packing my groceries, she keeps looking at me each time she rings something in. I’m thinking, OMG do I have something stuck on my cheek? A random booger that found it’s way out of the nostril cavity? Did I grow another nose while going up isle 23? Did my eyebrow fall off? What? What? But she just keeps on looking at me.


My order comes to $43.10. So I give her a $50 dollar bill and tell her that I have the dime. “What? What you want dime for?” Ummmmm, I’m going to give YOU the dime to put with the fifty and then you’ll give me 7 bucks back. Ah ya. So as I’m looking for a dime, she says to me, “I wait.” You wait? Wait for what? For God to hand out a brain to you? Oh sorry Betty, God was handing those out 40 some odd years ago and you were busy picking your ass and missed the boat. So sorry.


I find a dime and give it to her. She looks at it. And please realize, there are people behind me, waiting, very patiently. I’m praying that they know, I’m the smart one and well, Betty is the tart.

So she plunks the dime in the till and then says to me, “What you like?” What do I like? Weeeeeeeelllll, I like lots of shit yo’. I like chocolate, I like men, I like pink, I like candy, I like baked nachos, I like my kids, I like shopping, I like photography…….I could go on and on. So I’m looking at her and wondering, what the hell happens inside that skull of hers? The gerbil running on it’s little wheels sure ain’t doing it’s job in her head. You’re FIRED rat boy. So I decided to say nothing and wait. Wait and see what ‘I ain’t the brightest bulb in the box Betty’ is going to say.


She figures out that I’m not speaking so she asks me, “What you like best? You like fives? You like tens?” Ummmm well I freakin’ love hundreds but since you only owe me SEVEN DOLLARS, I’m betting that $7 bucks and raise you twenty, that I’m not getting a brown one. So I tell her, yes I abso-freakin-lutely love fives and that would be perfect if she could just give me a 5 and a two. That would be perfect. So she gives me my change and says, “You like?” Yes Betty, I like. Gawd someone beat me with a dirty shoe because I know that would be way more fun that going through Betty’s checkout. Like ever.

December 4, 2005

Have you ever wondered why some of us are prone to get the crackpots calling our house? I swear I’m the queen of wrong numbers. I get them all the time for some local glass company and a local donut/coffee shop. At least once a day or sometimes more. Plus all the other wingnuts that decide to call my number thinking they are calling Aunt Bertha or Grandpa Joe or whomever. Ya whatever. So a couple of nights ago the phone rings. I answer it. Of course I say Hello. The woman on the other end, says (and she’s saying it like perhaps the person on the other end is retarded or at the very least, slow in terms of conversing on the phone.) ….
“Hiiiiiiiiii” (drag this Hi out, reeeeeeeeal slow), is your mom or dad home?”
“Ummmm, I’m the mom.” DOH.
“Oh.” Oh? That’s it? Isn’t it at this point, that you realize you have the wrong number and then politley say, Oh I have the wrong number? Hunh huh hunh huh? Isn’t it? Nope. She keeps on yacking.
“Oh, this is Faith right?” Ummm, no this isn’t Faith. And it isn’t Faith’s daughter, aunt, sister, grandma or transvestite brother-in-law.
“Nope, this isn’t Faith.” So now that I’ve said that out loud, this is really the point that she should say, sorry, or oops or something and then end our conversation. But instead, she says nothing to me BUT doesn’t hang up the phone either and then yells to her son or husband or postman, not sure who, but YELLS in my ear,
“Keith!!!!!!!!!!!!! You gave me Faith’s number and it’s wrong!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Holy shit lady, are we done here? I don’t really need to hear you chewing out a new butthole for your offspring/hubby/mail carrier or whoever it is having the pleasure of hearing you scream like a crazed maniac on some real bad pot. I have lost partial hearing in my left ear I’m pretty sure. I should sue. I do have her number on caller ID now. Maybe I should call her today and ask her if she has Robyn Hood by the bag. Or if her refridgerator is running.

Ryan and Maddy were in the tub talking about drowing people on their game Rollercoaster Tycoon. I’m like what? Why are you drowning people? That’s part of a kids game? Okay. Anyway, Ryan speaks up and says, well Maddy told me to, so I did it. And they burst into loud, ear piercing laughter. Well I got all serious on them and told them how their dad’s best friend drowned many years ago. They both stopped and looked shocked that someone dad knew had died that way. Ryan then asks me how long ago it happened. I said, well when your dad was a teenager. Ryan’s eyes got all big (and I’m thinking he’s going to say something like, wow that’s so sad or that’s awful or something to that affect but no) and he says, “OMG MY DAD WAS A TEENAGER????????” Funny how kids minds think. Oh ya.

December 1, 2005

Maddy loves cats. Abso-freakin-lutely adores them. She’s been bugging her dad to get her one. So far he’s not biting. Last night we were at the table (little ones were in bed) and the subject of cats came up. Matt told us he hates cats. Now I did not know this. I thought he liked cats. But when one says, “You know I’d love to try a good ole’ cat kabob, I think it might be kinda tasty”, then ya, that person doesn’t like cats. I guess you learn something new every single day. Meow.