March 15, 2006

So it’s Hump day. Yawn. Wednesday’s are so boring. At least for me they are.


This is how boring it’s going to be…I’m going to clean my basement. How frickin’ exciting is that? I wonder what goodies await me down there? I have 3 teenagers living down there. Be afraid for me people, very afraid.


Have you ever walked into a teen’s room and wondered, what the hell is that smell? No? Well, it’s happened to me a few times. I guess it’s ‘teenager’ scent. That’s all I can figure out. It’s not exactly putrid but certainly not pleasant. *Shudder*


I am going to arm myself with heavy duty, ‘can’t possibly break this motherfucker’, type garbage bags, stainless steel head to toe cleaning gear and pink rubber gloves. It’s going to be dangerous and not one bit of fun. Not even a teeny tiny bit of fun. And that just blows.


Maybe I’ll find some change lying around. That will be about the only thing I’ll have to look forward to. Finding some dimes and/or quarters. Whoppee. I should get a freakin’ award or something. An honorable mention even. Something. But I’m betting nooone will even notice how shiny and sparkly the downstairs will be. Noone will probably even notice my passed out body laying on the floor from sheer terror at the shit I’m going to find. Well not shit literally (oh my gawd can you imagine?) but teenager crap. Their papers, old socks, more paper, dishes, unrecognizable items that were once able to be identified but now have morphed into something frightening, you know, crap like that. I’m skeered. My heart is racing now just thinking about it. Help me Lord.


Okay, it’s time to don the ‘you look like a freak in that’ cleaning outfit, pull up my gloves and get out my gasmask. Please wish me luck people. I’m so going to need it.

March 13, 2006

I remember that day like it was yesterday. I was 13 and in grade 8. I was somewhere between being popular and a nerd. Leaning more towards nerd.


My grade 8 English teacher, was big, tall, fit and very dreamy. All of the girls were hot for him. He was 30ish and none of us had a chance, but who cared? We were in 13 year old girl love.


It was during our first class that he introduced himself. His name was Mr. Bemrose. Interesting name and of course some of us started giggling. We were conjuring up other versions of his name. He quickly snapped us out of our private joke and warned us that he would not be called Mr. Bentnose, Mr. Bumrose, or any other warped form of his name. Fair enough. He was so hot, we were sure to obey.


However, what happens when your friends dare you to call him something other than Mr. Bemrose? Dare you. And when you’re 13 and teetering on nerd-dome, well it’s so tempting to want to show everyone just how cool you really are. Riiiiiiight. Cool.

So about a month or so after that first day, my friends were at me full force to call him one of the ‘off limits’ nicknames. They assured me that nothing bad would happen. I was short, tiny and cute. Nothing bad ever happens to people fitting that description. The angel sitting on my right shoulder, begged me not to but the devil on my left shoulder was promising me a one way ticket out of nerdville and right into cool city.

After much consideration and obviously losing my freaking mind, I decided I would do it. It was lunch time and my friends and I were waiting in the front entrance of the school, near the ‘breezeway’ as it was called. The breezeway was a long hallway seperating the two wings of the school and when heading east, you were to walk on the right side and heading west was left and the two sides were seperated by a metal railing, much like a guardrail. So we patiently waited because we knew Mr. Bemrose would eventually come from the east wing to the west to go to the teachers lounge.

Terri nudges me as she sees Mr. Bemrose coming. Time to get into place. He’s heading towards the west wing, so I get on the other side and walk towards the east. He’s looking so hot in his tight white pants and black shirt. He’s tall, tanned and very muscular. I’m so nervous now. I can feel my heart racing a mile a minute. We meet about half way and I look up and in a very loud voice, say good afternoon Mr. Bumrose. The once busy, noisy breezeway, stops, dead silent. The other kids in the breezeway are staring, open mouthed at me. They look over at Mr. Bemrose and shudder. All at once I realize, that I’m pretty sure I’m not going to ‘cool city’ but straight to hell. He smiles at me and for a split second I’m thinking, you know this might turn out okay afterall. Ya. Well that was short lived.


Mr. Bemrose, in one swift movement, jumps the railing, scoops me up in his arms and starts carrying me towards the east. Oh gawd. He’s going to murder me and shove me in a garbage bag. My friends are following us, as are a gaggle of other students. Everyone loves a good show right? I’m now begging silently for the earth to open up and swallow me whole because this can’t end well. Might as well die now. The oddest thing though, was through this whole situation, Mr. Bemrose kept a smile on his face. His pearly whites were shining like he was a game show host about to award the best prize ever. It made me really nervous.


My friends are a tad concerned now too. I can see them coming behind us and I’m wondering if they’ll try to rescue me if need be or will they leave me to be massacred. Probably the latter. We get to the girls’ washroom entrance and I’m thinking, oh my gawd, he’s really a woman dressed as a man and he’s going to show me his hoo hoo (I had a vivid imagination even back then). I shuddered, thinking, geez, I have had 13 year old girl fantasies about this man and he’s really a woman. I’m pretty sure I threw up a little in my mouth.


I see the big sink straight ahead in the girls washroom. It was a half moon shape and there was a bar under it for us to step on and that would make the water run out in a big sprinkler type fashion. I’m very puzzled at this point in time. What the hell is he going to do? But alas, within a couple of seconds, it becomes quite apparent. Mr. Bemrose, places me in the sink and steps on the bar. In about 10 seconds, I’m soaked. He leans down and says, “I hope you’ll remember to call me Mr. Bemrose in the future”. He then holds out his hand to help me out of the giant sink. I’m like a soggy cracker in my white pants and pink shirt. He smiles at me and tells me to go to my locker and get my stuff and take the rest of the day off. He’ll sign me out.


I stand there for a moment after he leaves and for a split second, I was considering scratching the eyes out of all 4 of my friends. But that would have just made a mess of my wet, pink shirt, so what’s the point? My friends run over to me and ask if I’m okay and then proceed to tell me how awesome that was. They said the way Mr. Bemrose was carrying me, was just like a romance novel. Ummmm, ya, well, I’m pretty sure in a romance novel, the leading man doesn’t put his gal in a giant sink and turn it on. I’m just sayin’.


I went home after gathering my books from my locker and when my grandmother greeted me at the door, she was puzzled as to why I was home so early and why on earth I was wet. Oh nanny, there was a flood at the school and they sent everyone home. She said, okay and asked me if I wanted some icecream.


The next day, Mr. Bemrose greeted me with a big smile, a flower and I did really well in his class that year. I, however, did not make it to coolville. Like ever.

March 12, 2006

My son and I went out to get some fast food…….went to Harvey’s, my favorite burger joint.


We get there and I ask for a cheeseburger. The cashier asks me if I just want the ‘booger’. Ummmm the booger? No, I’m not into snot. Not one little bit. Just give me the burger and a pop and I’m good to go.


So she rings up our order, I pay and then we wait for our food to be cooked. When the burgers are done, she places them on the wrappers and asks us what we want on our ‘boogers’. Shut up. Stop trying to make me conjure up visions of nose mucus. I’m nearly vomitting at this point. She asks me if I want ‘peckles’ on my booger. Jesus. You know what? Just give me the burgers and I’ll dress them myself.


Note to self: Punch retardo cashiers in the face Sweetly lecture cashiers the next time they suck and can’t speak properly.

March 11, 2006

Hey guess what? I signed up with Technorati. Are you excited for me? Come on, you know you are. I am. Really. I am. I swear.
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March 10, 2006

Maddy: Mom, how do you know who has their privates shaved and who doesn’t?

March 8, 2006

Get excited because the crazy cute bizatch is back.

I had a freakin’ blast with my 2 very dear friends! They were so drunk sweet the whole time. We laughed so hard they peed their pants. We ate so much that we needed to purchase elastic pants and be wheeled out of the restaurants. It was super.


My flight home was fine. Except for the big, 20 something guy trying to hit on me in a not so subtle way (ummmm I have an almost 19 year old son, I’m not into anyone under 30 thank you very much). I’m guessing he was about 21 and he acted like he was about 10. His buddy sat in the seat directly in front of him. They would take turns being morons to each other. My seat partner would punch his friend’s seat. His friend would then reach back and try to grab his buddy’s hat off of his head. Jesus. Go out in public much?


After about 15 minutes of this, I decided to give lover boy my extra headphones so he could watch tv and NOT talk to me or touch my leg with his leg. *Shudder*. He smiles at me and asks me if I live in Calgary and what I like to do for fun. Nunya. Put your damn headphones on and stop speaking to me immediately.


I had a super snack on the plane. Two vanilla-ish type cookies with stale frosting and a blob of hard, gumdrop like shit in the middle. Nasty. But when you’re slightly starving, it will do I suppose. I ate it. Blech. Remind me to punch myself in the face for being so desperate.


Anyhoo, I arrived safe and sound, my luggage wasn’t stolen (see below) and my family actually missed me and cleaned the house. How much better can it get people?

March 5, 2006

I don’t drink. Well I drink, but not anything with alcohol in it. Anyone who knows me, knows I do not need anything else to whack me out.

So Nicole and Karen and I go to Moxies…a fabulous restaurant, you should totally go if you ever get the chance. They’re in different cities across Canada. Very nice atmosphere and really great food, oh and Matt.

We had the best waiter, like ever. He loved us. Well at least in our minds he did. He probably thought we were ditzy (more so me), giddy, a little retarded and most likely hoping if we got sloshed enough, we’d tip big.

We waited about 45 mins for our table, so we spent that time at the lounge/bar area. I had water………best damn water ever I tell ya. Karen had a ‘blue seafoam, looks like window washer’ type martini and Nicole had an ‘incontienance slayer’ martini, no wait, it was an ‘incompetant slapper’, wait, I don’t know, something like that. Anyway, they looked potent. And they were. Especially after like 23. Each. By the time we had gotten to our table, they were slurring, drooling and possibly peeing in their pants. Thank gawd I brought wipes.

We meet our waiter and immediately fall in love with him. Not in a sexual way (although I’m not 100% sure about Nicole.) especially since he wasn’t much older than my oldest boy (he was totally legal people, I want to make that clear *wink*) but more in a ‘we love you because you are serving us in a way that we’ve never been served before’ kinda way.

We ordered appetizers, I asked for a virgin and the drinkers asked for more double sling shot, gonna put me under the table martini’s. Oh….virgin as in non booze drink. Sheesh.

We ate like we were on death row and the switch was being flipped tomorrow. It was soooooo good. Good as in we really should have brought some elastic pants with us in our fabulous handbags. I’m pretty sure they will need to wheel us out later.

Just after we finished our meal, Karen looks at me and asks me for the time. It was 8:46pm. Nicole and Karen look at each other and jump off their stools and tell me to wait at the table, that they’ll be right back. Ummm where the fuck are you going? They were going to walk over to the licquor store. It closes at nine so they have to get a rush on it. They leave and a few mins later, Matt comes over and looks at the 2 empty chairs and kinda gives me a look. I said the 2 nutjobs went to the licquor store. He looked puzzled, like I was clearly lying to him. I assured him I was serious. Serious like a fat kid love cake. They come stumbling, sauntering back in and gently place their bags of bottles next to me. Sure, make me look like the boozer.

We sat and laughed, laughed again and laughed some more. The manager came over and called us a cab and chatted with us a bit while we waited for our drive. I think we made a huge impression on him (more like made asses of ourselves and he was praying we’d leave) and he thanked us for coming. He was very friendly to us, when in fact, I’m pretty sure he had grounds to have us arrested for disturbing the dining experience of the other patrons. We had a really good time.


Nicole picked up the tab (thank you again Nic!!!) and Karen and I took care of the tip. We hugged Matt, gave him our blog links, Nicole gave him her email address and I’m quite certain he burned the napkin after we left and ran screaming for his life.


It was one of the funnest evenings I’ve had in a long time. And yes, we had to be wheeled out and lifted into the cab. Then Nicole grilled the cabbie about his knobs, buttons, computer gear, earwax….something….I can’t really remember…on the way home. He sure earned his pay that night lemme tell ya. In fact so did Matt.

March 2, 2006

OMG. In 5 hours I will be on a plane to see my BF Karen. Seven am. It’s now 2:04am. And since I’m typing, that means what? I’m awake people, I’m awake. Wide, wide awake. Why am I awake? Well, this is where my ‘freakishness’ takes form.


I’m so paranoid that my alarm will fail and not wake me up. Or I will be having such an awesome sex dream that I won’t hear my alarm if it does goes off. Or Sasquatch will come into my room and knock me out and drag me out into the deep, dark woods and then dammit, I will miss my flight. So many things could go wrong, so I figure the best way to avoid any unfortunate situations, is to, of course, stay awake all night. So here I sit. And wait.


I’ve painted my toes a pretty dark red, put on my toerings, packed, watched Jay Leno (watching Conan now), gave myself a facial, gave a……nevermind, that’s private………washed some clothes, cleaned my fridge, brushed my teeth, put on dangly earrings and drank some water. At 3am, I will take a nice hot bath, moisturize, brush my teeth again, get dressed, fix my hair, put on makeup, double, triple, obsessively check to make sure my ticket is in my purse, kiss my sleeping kids and wake my husband up at 5:30 to take me to the airport.


Well, I should go check my ticket again. I’ve only seen it 43 times in my purse, but can’t be too careful. Muahahahhaahha.

March 1, 2006

No it’s not a turd. Although I suppose they could be big, are often brown and most definately ugly. But I’m referring to my suitcase.

I don’t even remember when or where I got this shit monster, but I’ve used it on the last few trips I’ve taken. I call it my big, brown, ugly, ’70’s’ suitcase. And I have a theory that goes along with it.

I’m a slightly paranoid person. Paranoid about alot of things, not to the point of me being better off institutionalized (hmmmm) but bordering on freakish I suppose. People often tell me, that I should consider purchasing new luggage. Some have even offered to buy me new luggage, as in, they will foot the bill. I vehemently decline each and every time. Why? Well I’ll tell you.

I always worry that some ‘airport thief’, you know the type *shrug*, will come along and see my suitcase and steal it…..that is, if I had a pretty, glittery, pink or black with gold, fancy luggage set. I see all those classy, expensive looking sets and drool will spill from my lips, but I am strong and will not let their glossy, come hither appearance, make me weak and buy them. Nope. Not me.

I figure my shit box with a zipper is so hideous, in appearance, texture and size that one look at it and the would be luggage thieves will run, shreaking for their very lives. So I deny myself the luxury of having beautiful luggage. I like my clothes, panties, bath products and extras and I don’t want some stranger enjoying them. So if I disguise them in an ugly, shitty, hideous suitcase, then people will figure that my clothes must be crappy too and thus, leave it alone.

I know, I’m a freak. But that’s life. And that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Wish me a safe flight!