May 31, 2006

Mysterious. Happy HNT.

May 28, 2006

Here in Canada, we’re known for saying ‘eh’ alot. I don’t really say it, but I sure hear it alot even in my own home. I, however, have never heard of anyone using ‘wah’ after every single sentence, whether in Canada or the US or Mars.


A few years back, while working at a paint/wallpaper shop, I met an old lady called Ester. She was a funny, odd bird and would always come in with her husband, who followed a few steps behind her and never said much at all. She, on the other hand, never shut up.


She was famous for purchasing a bunch of wallpaper to ‘do her diningroom’ but within days, would always return it. The only thing she ever bought and didn’t return was a utility knife for .79 cents. This is my first conversation with her ever:


Me: Good morning, can I help you find something?


Ester: Whaddaya doin’ wah?


Me: Pardon?


Ester: Nice day wah?


Me: Sure. What the hell is ‘wah’?


Ester: I want to wallpaper my diningroom wah.


Me: Your diningroom wall?


Ester: Ya my diningroom wall wah.


Me: Okay sure. I’m thinking she is saying ‘wall’ weird and not pronouncing it correctly. But then why would she be saying wall after every sentence, even after she already said wall correctly just now?


Ester: I want to have some flowers wah.


Me: Ummm okay. She’s creepin’ me out and I’m trying not to laugh.


Ester: Whaddaya got wah?


Me: Let me show you. I’ve got better sentence structure than you.


Ester: I bought some wallpaper at another shop wah. But I didn’t like it wah. The flowers weren’t big enough wah.


Me: Okay, so you want big flowers? How ’bout a big slap upside the head?


Ester: Ya wah.


So after spending almost an hour with Ester, pain in my rear, she finally decided on some big ass floral wallpaper. About 5 days later, she was back with her husband and her 10 rolls of wallpaper.


Me: Hi Ester, how are you?


Ester: I gotta bring this back wah.


Me: Why? The flowers aren’t big enough? Is your ass big enough for me to kick?


Ester: Ya the flowers are big wah. But I don’t like the color wah.


Me: Oh. Well I think we have a similar print in a blue.


Ester: I wanna see it wah.


Me: Sure. I wanna see you spontaneously combust.


So she decides to exchange the peach paper for the blue. Guess what? Three days later she was back to torture me wah.


Me: You’re back.


Ester: Whaddaya doin’ wah?


Me: Just about to stab you in the face wah stock shelves.


Ester: I gotta return this wah.


Me: Ummm why?


Ester: I don’t think it’s gonna match wah.


Me: Ummm okay. Someone please put me out of my misery.


So after I gave her a refund, she left, only to come back a week later so we could do the whole thing over again. This went on for weeks until I accidently shot her with an arrow. Nah, I’m kidding. I just punched her in the face. I wonder what ole’ Ester is up to now wah?

I’m not sure if it’s me and my brain is not working properly but I just can’t figure out this search that brought someone to my blog.


‘accident poop, OR pooped “in my panties” -dog/cat/plates’.


What??? What kind of search is that? And what in hell were they looking for? What kind of results were they expecting? Perhaps I should be concerned because they did eventually find me. However, I’m happy to say, that I wasn’t number one in the accident poop dog and plates.

May 25, 2006

I’ve tried to stop myself but I just can’t. So I won’t. So I am going to just go off on a little jaunt. What the hell am I babbling about? Read on.


I watched American Idol last night. Totally got into it this year and watched every single show. I was rooting for Chris to win as were alot of people I know and boo hoo’ed along with the other fans when he was off the show. I’m over it now and have stopped crying and staying in my pajamas all day and eating bonbons. I know he’ll go places. My second choice, who became my first choice after Chris left was Taylor. He won. So I’m all happy about that. We can now move on to my little manic/giddy/silly/lovable rants.


First, overall, the show was, to say the least, entertaining, at least to me anyway. There were a few cheesy parts but hey, I like cheese and it did keep me glued to the tv, so I guess they did their job. So here goes…..


Rant # 1:


David Hasselhoff tearing up as they are reading the name of the winner. Now I’m assuming he’s weeping because he liked Taylor and was happy that he won. Or maybe it’s because he is realizing, he no longer has to shave his chest hair for Baywatch. Or perhaps because he misses KITT. I’m not 100% sure.


Rant # 2:


Tony Braxton “singing” with Taylor Hicks. I say ’singing’ loosely. I’m not sure if she realized she wasn’t singing. I heard her say “woo” a few times and mumble something about ‘I’m a weirdo and eat my bellybutton lint’, but really couldn’t make out any coherant lyrics to the song she was supposed to be singing. And she was wearing a babydoll/nighty thing. Ya, I’m sure the guys went all gaga over her dress, and by dress I mean hooker ensemble, but come on. Then again, maybe she’s broke from not having that much of a ’singing’ career because she mumbles, and forgets the words to her songs, so she can’t afford a real dress. I dunno.


Rant # 3:


The Clay Aiken wannabe/lookalike/not sure why you’d want to look like Clay/ guy came out on stage and starting singing. Within a few seconds of his ‘performance’, the real Clay comes out and fake Clay creams his pants. I mean, did you see the way he was shaking? He was meeting Clay Aiken for shitsake. Not like he was meeting me. Then I could see him shaking and quaking on his scrawny little legs. Anyway, they have their little duet moment until Ryan SeaImNotGayCauseIKissedTerrySnatcherCrest basically hauls fake Clay off by his teeny, tiny wee little arms and plunks him down on a stool on the stage. Fake Clay continues to shiver and sweat in the presence of his ‘idol’. Maybe fake Clay and real Clay will become ‘friends‘. Fingers crossed.


Okay, so far we have 3 rants. And not angry rants. No no no no no. Because all of it made me laugh and laughing is good ya? But my fourth rant is not about me being all happy and giddy. It’s about me being annoyed. It’s my party and I’ll be annoyed if I want to.


Rant # 4:


Keeeelie Piiiiickler. Okay listen, we’ve all heard jokes and sterotypes about people from the South, which obviously aren’t true. Trust me, we have some dumb fuckers up here in Canada too…and in all parts of the country equally. So her ’southern dumb crap’ is just that, crap. I think she’s acting and not very well. I don’t believe she’s as stupid as she lets on and probably thinks that we all get a kick out of her. Personally I just want to kick her. “I thought you pronounced salmon like SALLLLL mon”. Riiiight. Because in all your years of being raised by retarded monkey’s schooled, I’m sure someone said the word salmon and pronounced it correctly.


When Wolfgang Puck is showing her what a lobster is (you don’t know what a lobster looks like? You really need to go back to the woods Keeeellllie), I just wanted that lobster to accidently shoot her in the face. And she was shocked that people eat snails. Jesus. Have you ever watched tv? Read a book? Punched yourself in the face? Please just stop talking. Someone take her microphone away. Forever. Go back to your rollerblading/hamburger slinging job. Make homemade soup. Go to Walmart. Take a trip in a sailboat. Eat a pickle. Punch yourself in the face. Oh wait, I already said that once. Aw fuck it, I’m saying it again. Just please, go away.


There, I got that off my chest and boy does it feel good. I can move on with my life now and be happy. Happy happy day. Tomorrow is Friday. Gosh, does it get any better than this people? No, no it doesn’t.

May 24, 2006

This is going to be a whiney ‘poor me’ kinda post, just so you know. I’m feeling hot, sweaty and nausous and that’s not even the half of it.


This story actually starts a year ago. My daughter is in dance. Last year she took a ballet/tap class. She practiced her little heart out all year. In May they have their rehearsal, full costume and makeup. Last year, that went off without a hitch. A little disorganized perhaps but not horrible.


The middle of June rolls around and it’s the day of the big recital. We’ve purchased tickets. Yes….you heard me right……parents must buy tickets to see the show that their children are in. Don’t ask me, I think it’s weird too.


Anyway, the day arrives and after a nap in the afternoon, I get Miss up and ready for her show. Hair is pulled back in a cute bun, makeup on (yes even 4 year olds have to wear makeup since the stage lights wash them out), bodysuit and tutu on. She looks adorable. About an hour before we were to leave, she says she doesn’t feel so hot. She tells me her belly hurts. I’m thinking, well it’s probably just nerves. But she feels warm and her cheeks are flushed. Then she tells me she feels cold. Lovely.


I get the Tylenol out and a cold cloth and wrap her up in a blanket. She cannot be sick. No way. Not the day of the recital. I mean we’ve had 10 months to get sick. Why today???? She tells me she’s feeling a bit better so we head downtown to the concert hall. She’s really looking pale and her lips are super red. A sure sign that my daughter indeed has the flu. Jesus. Kick me now.


Just as we are pulling into a parking space, Miss barfs everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. My then 9 year old, says, “oh that’s just wonderful. And that’s nasty”. Ya, thanks sweetie for the 411. Sigh. I run into the concert hall and find her teacher, give her, her flowers and card from my daughter and tell her that she can’t make the show since she’s out in the van blowing chunks. Sure glad we had to pay for those concert tickets. And the whole year of dance. And the costume. And the makeup. And the photos. And the flowers.


So tonight, we go to daughter’s dance rehearsal. She was looking so sweet in her bun, and bright yellow tutu. Her makeup looked better than mine (I must pat myself on the back for that one). She was feeling good and very excited. Plus tonight, after the rehearsal, the dancers were getting their pictures done. Although I have already done hers myself (you can see them here), I did pay to have a class photo. We get through rehearsals, but of course, my daughter’s class was about 3rd from last. So we sat there for about 2 hours waiting for her to go on. And lucky for us, the theater was hot. Not hot as in hawt but hot as in kick me in the face because I’m burning up kinda hot. You know, the kinda hot that sucks. Unless you’ve been in the arctic and are near frost bite, then perhaps you’d like the hot. But I digress.


Maddy’s class gets through their performance, which was very cute. She’s smiling and doing a wonderful job. They come off the stage and then are lead out to a big room, that’s even hotter than the theater (super.) and there are tons of parents and kids, waiting in line to get their class photos done. My daughter comes over to me and says she’s getting a migraine. The poor kid was just hospitalized last month for a 10 day migraine. I’m thinking, great, just what she needs. One of the moms runs out to her car and brings in some children’s tylenol. I give them to Miss but she’s still feeling like crap and begging me to take her outside for some fresh air.


In the meantime I had called hubby back to tell him to come and get us (he had already once been on his way and I sent him home…doh). We did have a drive with one of the moms but my thinking was, I know my child and when she gets a migraine she throws up. So I didn’t particularly want her vomitting in someone else’s car on our first time with them. Noooo thanks.


We go outside for some air and one of the moms comes out and asks us if we want to come in for the group photo. But Maddy was just too sick. So we declined although I was sad that she missed another opportunity. I swear dance+Maddy=vomit.


My husband shows up a few minutes later and as soon as we buckle her up, I give her a bag because I just know she’s gonna hurl. And yup, within 30 seconds she’s tossing her cookies. But guess what? The bag had a hole in it. That’s right folks. So she got her WHITE bodysuit and her WHITE socks and her tutu. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get chunks out of a tutu made of netting? I should get a freakin’ medal.


We made it home and got her to bed and now she’s sleeping soundly. I, on the other hand, just want to stick my head in the toilet and flush it. So I’m keeping my fingers crossed that we can get through recital night in about 3 weeks without another vomit incident.


Thank God Miss wants to take soccer next year instead of dance.


***Sigh*** Thanks for listening to me moan, whine and sulk. I do feel better. Kinda.

May 18, 2006

Meat. That’s what you get at a deli. And lots of it. All different kinds of meat. Whatever your little heart desires. My 2 teen boys and my oldest son’s gf all work at the same grocery store. My boys work in the deli but in different sections. My oldest works in the meat department of the deli. He often, as they all do, tell us stories about the people that come into work. This particular story had us laughing.


Customer walks up to the counter and this is the conversation. ***Note, customer was over 55 and dumb.***


Son: Hi can I get you something?


Man: Hi, yes. I want meat.


Son: Okay. What kind of meat would you like?


Man: I dunno. Meat.


Son: Weeeellll, there’s many, many kinds of meat, so can you tell me what you would like?


Man: I dunno. Cut me some meat.


Son: Ummmm, well, I kinda need to know what kind of meat you would like. Listen fucker, name a meat and I ‘ll cut it, or I can wrap your cane around your head. Pick one.


Man: What’s that over there?


Son: Bologna.


Man: Okay. Gimme that.


Son: Sure. How much would you like?


Man: I dunno.


Son: Okay, maybe 100 grams? How ’bout I shove that bologna roll up your ass AND wrap your cane around your head? Hmmm? Hmmmm?


Man: Sure I guess.


Son: Okay sir, anything else?


Man: Yup.


Son: Okay, what else would you like?


Man: More meat.


Son: Right. Which kind of meat would you like? Maybe you’d like a honey ham upside your head along with the cane?


Man: What’s that over there?


Son: Cooked ham.


Man: Ya I want that.


Son: Again, I need to know how much of that you’d like? And would you like it shaved or sliced?


Man: Shaved or sliced?


Son: Yes, shaved or sliced.


Man: What do you mean?


Son: Do you want it sliced or shaved…sliced as in slices, shaved meaning it’s really thin and not in slices. Is this guy for real? He had half his brain removed right? I’m on Candid Camera right? Dude I’m bein’ Punk’d right?


Man: Gimme sliced.


Son: Great, how much?


Man: Three slices.


Son: Three slices? Ooooo goin’ all out. Three fucking slices of cooked ham. Big spender.


Man: Oh wait…how much is that 3 slices gonna cost?


Son: Give me one second and I’ll tell you. Okay it’ll be $1.19.


Man: Oh geez I don’t want to pay that much. Take a slice off.


Son: Ooookay. It’s now .72 cents. Wanna take out a loan for that?


Man: Yup I go with that. Don’t wanna go overboard. That’s good.


Son: Super. Hope you don’t choke on all that meat you bought sir.


I love that my kids have the same sarcastic type of humor as me. Love it.

Someone googled ‘only idiots say “oh my gawd”‘. I was number one out of 53,000+ links. Sooooo does this mean I’m an idiot or that I say ‘oh my gawd’ alot? Maybe it’s both. Oooooor maybe people who google ‘only idiots say “oh my gawd”‘ are idiots. I’m going with that.

Okay so I opened my big yap and asked Webmiztris to tag me with a letter meme and she gave me the letter ‘P’. I asked her not to give me ‘Z’ because I only know ‘zoo’ and ‘zit’ and that wouldn’t be very interesting. So the deal is, I list 10 words that start with the letter ‘P’ and spill my guts as to what these particular words mean to me. What do I get myself into? I swear I’m on crack. Which I’m not, but I’m just sayin’. Okay, here goes:


1.Pee: Well we all do it. It doesn’t particularly mean anything to me, it’s just something I do sometimes. Well I do it everyday not just sometimes. Oh I’ve never peed on anyone. That I’m aware of.


2.Poop: Come on, you all knew it was coming and may as well say it and get it over with. I get many freaks people who come to my blog because they’ve googled ‘I pooped my panties’. Now that I’ve said that for the one millionth time, I will get more shitters coming to my blog. But weird publicity is better than none right?


3. Pie: I love pie…..strawberry pie. I haven’t had any for 3 years. I have often dreamed of making one but we all know how well I do in the kitchen and that would just be another disaster waiting to happen.


4. Pineapple: I like pineapple. But it gives me heartburn and then I want to be a hero and that makes for a bad scenerio. Spongebob lives in one.


5. Punch: I don’t mean punch as in a fruity drink that one serves at a party. I mean punch, as in ‘I want to punch you in the face’, which I sometimes have the urge to do to really really dumb people (which brings me to my next word).


6. People: People are weird. People are crazy. People are stupid. People make funny noises. People annoy the shit out of me. And no, this does NOT pertain to all people. Just some. And certainly noone that comes to my blog with the exception of one freak who still stalks me on occasion. The rest of you people, I love.


7. Purple: This is a nice color. My friend Penny hates it and often tells me she hates it. She’s on a trip right now. Lucky bitch. She likes green. But that starts with G. Hmmm maybe I’ll tag her and give her the letter X or Z and see if she can come up with more than ‘zoo’ and ‘zit’.


8. Photography: I am totally into it. Well I don’t like developing my own pictures, I just love taking them. You can see my photography HERE. Yes it’s a shameless plug. Hey plug starts with ‘P’. But I’m not using plug as one of my ‘P’ words because I hate the word plug. It sounds gross. Like phlegm, which, as you can see, is another ‘P’ word but again I’m not using that one. That’s gross too.


9. Phone: What I’m on all the time. Usually with this bizatch. Or this one. Or this one. Or sometimes this one. Oh and sometimes this one.


10.Profanity: I use it alot on my blog but in real life don’t use much of it. I never say ‘fuck’. I love to write it though. Fuck the fucking fuckers.


Thank you Webmiztris for giving me ‘P’ and not ‘Z’. Or ‘X’. Or ‘I’. Or ‘Q’. Muah!

May 16, 2006

My 10 year old is having his named changed…to Dennis. And by Dennis, I mean Menace. I’m not even kidding. Okay, I’m kidding but I’m tempted.

On Sunday, we basically spent it hanging out at home, watching movies, bbq’ing and generally being lazy. The kids of course went outside at some point, bike riding and running around.

My daughter was minding her own business, when Mr. B himself brooched her with an idea. He wanted her to join him up on top of the mailbox. She wasn’t sure, she said, but he said it would be fun, so she hesitantly agreed.

He went over to my husband’s shed and grabbed one of his ladders and took it to the mailbox. He told Maddy she should climb up first since she was smaller. What the hell that has to do with anything, I’m not sure, but she did it anyway. Once she was up, bike helmet and all, he removed the ladder and ran back to the shed with it and then begin to laugh hysterically. The next thing we hear is:

“Mooooooooommm!!!!!!!! I’m stuck! I can’t get down!!!!!!!!”

I go out and see Maddy sitting on top of the mailbox with her bike helmet on. My husband comes out and tells her that we’ll see her on Monday when the mail lady comes. Well this sends her into an even bigger frenzy.

“I don’t want to wait until the mail lady comes! What if bugs get on me? What if it rains? What if I get hungry? What if someone thinks I’m their mail? I want to get down!!!!!!!!!”

Meanwhile, Ryan is running around, laughing like a crazy person. I’m quite certain, we’re the laughing stock of our cul de sac or close to it for sure. People probably think we’re raising monkeys because some days, it sure feels like it.

My 18 year old finally goes out and rescues miss and then we proceed to chase Mr. B around, trying our best to tame him. So far it’s not working. Maybe I will get the paperwork for that name change…………….

May 14, 2006

I decided last night that I wanted to stay up and watch Mad TV, which I did almost successfully. I got to see the first two skits but then I was off to dreamland on the couch.


I awoke at about 4:30 with heartburn so bad I thought, oh shit, I’m having a heartattack. Turns out a couple of Tums put the fire out and I wasn’t actually dying. Anyway, as I’m standing at the kitchen counter, looking out at the night, I see a flash. What the hell?


It looked like it was a person, running. Then I heard it. A weird noise and then the flash again. OMG…….it was a vandal and a thief! He was running away with the neighbors mailbox! Shit, okay nerves are on edge, what do I do? Do I run outside and confront the thieving teen or call 911? My heart is racing now and I’m ready for a fight.


I hear the noise again and think, damn, he’s taking another mailbox. And wait……..there’s a car idling on the street for him. Oh I see he’s got a get away car. Little bastard. As I run to look out the other window, I realized something. How can that kid be taking people’s mailboxes? We don’t have individual mailboxes on our homes. We have a community mailbox that sits BESIDE MY YARD. And unless this kid is the Incredible Hulk on crack, he ain’t carrying a 300 lb mailbox.


My peasized confused brain is thinking a mile a minute. I take another look out the window, this time, really watching with a close eye and see that it’s a teen boy DELIVERING PAPERS while his MOM sits in the car waiting for him. The ‘weird’ noise I heard was the sound of the newspaper landing on the cement steps. Ummmm, ya. Can you say dumbass? Fucktard? Can you imagine if I had of called 911? ‘Ma’am, what would you like us to charge the teen boy with? Delivering newspapers? Think we should throw his lowlife ass in the can because clearly he’ll never be able to be rehabilitated’? Ya ya ya, snicker why don’t ya?


Remind me to mind my business next time I get up at 4:30am. Pee, get a Tum and go the hell back to bed. Do not pass Go. Do not look out window. Do not listen for noises. Do not care if you see a flash. Act dumb and get your dumb ass back in the bed. Lordy lordy.