December 24, 2006

Have you ever received a crappy Christmas gift? Of course! Here are a few things that I never want. Ever.




1. Jenna Jameson’s Pubic Hair Trimmer. Ah, just the mere fact, that this actually exsists, is enough. I need not go on.


2. Rectal pads. What does one do with rectal pads? Does that mean your butt leaks poo 24/7? If so, you might need to seek medical treatment.


3. A currency converter. WTF mate?


4. Grow-A-Frog kits. Hmmm, when and if I get into amphibians and want to manufacture them, I’ll let you know.


5. A Christmas sweater. Please don’t send me sweaters with Frosty, Santa or a ’snow’ scene on it. Oh and no snowflakes please.


6. A pillow. I have some thanks.


7. Anything velour. Need I say more?


8. Bic lighter. I don’t smoke nor am I planning on setting any fires in the new year.


9. A worm farm. See # 4.


10. Re-gifting (not always a bad thing). If you’re going to regift to me, at least remove the previous person’s name from the gift tag.


11. A toilet seat. My toilet is equipped with a seat. So a total waste of money. Thanks.


Tell me the worst gift you’ve ever received!

December 23, 2006

Well here it is that time again. Time for spiked eggnog so you can get your drunk on family and friends and a jolly good time.


You remember last Christmas right? I had special messages from my family members. This year they told me I was on my own and I told them that I was returning all of the presents I bought thus starting the festivities off on a good start.


I was actually done my shopping a few weeks ago, had it all wrapped and under the tree, which worked out well so I could sit on my duff and eat chocolate until it was going out of style bake nice things for my family.


I had a weird call yesterday. Some dude looking for the Santa tree. I told him he had the wrong number and he yelled that I had no Christmas spirit. I yelled back that I certainly did and that I hoped Santa shits in his stocking. Merry freakin’ Christmas to you too buddy. He hung up on me.


I miss my best friend already. She left to go visit family and will most likely be gone until the end of the holidays. Nice bff, to think of herself during the holiday season. Humph. Maybe I won’t buy her that mansion and the diamonds I said I was going to. And the trip to Mexico. And the date with the Naked Chef that I won. That would serve her right. (I’m only kidding, I hope you enjoy your time away and by the way, there are no diamonds and such. That was a total lie.)


My kids are pretty excited and I’ve tied them to chairs so they don’t open any gifts prematurely. Like who snoops? That’s so lame. I would never do that. (Ducking, incase God strikes me down with a lightening bolt for lying. Not that I lie.)


Do you like my holiday picture? I splurged on a new Santa hat and added bling to my teeth. Because bling sure looks nice on one’s teeth. Absolutely. Hardly looks cheap and white trashy at all. Plus my teeth are so frigging gorgeous anyway, that it’s nice to show them off although I’m not normally a show-off-y type gal. However, I’m pretty sure that there is at least one person out there that thinks I am. She’s an ex friend, who has begun to stalk me again. I’m being restalked. I think I should charge a restalking fee. Most places do.


I’m not making turkey this year. Well not that I’ve actually made the turkey in the past, just cooked the sucker. But we’ve decided we’re going to have t-bones bbq’d and have some other goodies to go with it. I guess everyone is sick of turkey. So in ya face turkey traditions, we’re going to be rebels and cook steak. Booh yah.


Well, I must go and finish making myself pretty. We are heading to the wench’s place for supper. Hopefully she doesn’t get drunk and flash her boobs like she normally does. That girl can cook but holy, keep your clothes on for a change. Ha!


Merry Christmas my sweet readers and I hope Santa finds you but I’m not hoping he shits in your stocking like I said to that weirdo that called me looking for the Santa tree. Whatever the hell that is.

December 18, 2006

Hey I’m back. Obviously. Now that I think about it, ya’ll probably didn’t even know I was away since I didn’t mention it. I guess my big “I’m back” is really useless since noone even knew that I was gone.


We travelled to Edmonton, so I could photograph a friend’s wedding. I took over 400 pictures and I will be spending the next week in photography heaven, sizing, editing, arranging, framing and shipping pictures. So much for sitting on my ass eating Oreo’s my household chores. Oh well they can wait. My laundry isn’t going anywhere. Unless my laundry moves out since they’re not getting the service they thought they were supposed to get. Iron your own damn self.


My husband and I decided to bring our 2 youngest children along and stay at the Fantasyland Hotel and get one of those theme rooms. We were in the western room. My little outlaws slept in the ‘county jail’ bunkbeds but before the snooze fest, they went to town jumping on the beds, running around the room, opening doors, changing the channel on the tv 100 times, more running and getting in the hot tub.


There is a little bottle set out beside the hot tub, which says ‘bubble bath’. Which I assumed was for the hot tub. I’m thinking now, you’re not supposed to pour the whole bottle of bubble bath because then this happens:

Ya, like a ton of bubbles. And once all four of us got in it, we couldn’t even find our daughter. We think she may have went down the drain. I couldn’t even sit down all the way because then my hair would have gotten soaked and then I’d have to flat iron it again and that takes forever. So I just kinda half sat, half stood in the tub. Very attractive. And comfortable.

Oh and speaking of flat irons, as we were walking through the mall, I was stopped by a guy trying to sell flat irons. That curl. Lemme get this straight (no pun), you want me to buy a flat iron that curls my hair? My naturally curly hair? That I straighten. With a flat iron. I said to the guy, ‘Listen, I have straight hair as you can see but it’s naturally curly. So that means I own a flat iron. I don’t want a flat iron that can curl my hair since I have curly hair and want it straight, hence the flat iron. That flattens’. He looked at me like I had a dirty diaper on, outside of my jeans. Whatever Jack Doofus in your white lab coat that makes you NOT look like a doctor trying to sell people flat irons. That curl. Good luck.

We had some supper and as we walked by Dr Flat Iron, his flat irons nurses came over to me and were holding up their pink irons. ‘Hi Miss, we’d like to curl your hair with our flat irons that curl’. Hmmmmmmm. ‘I have curly hair, that I flat iron, hence, you can see me currently with really straight/flat hair. I don’t want it curly. If I did, I’d just fill up my hot tub again and swim in it. Thanks anyway’. They turned to each other and said, she’s weird. Ya. I’m so weird because I flat iron my curly hair with a flat iron. I don’t know how I get through life.

On Sunday, I went back to a place that I had been to on Saturday evening. They sold scrubs for your body and face, had speciality creams and other body treatments. All kinda sheee sheee pooo pooo if you ask me but I did like the sample scrub and cream I had tried. So I decided to go back before we headed home and buy some of it. Again, these people were wearing white lab coats to make me think they just whipped up this cream in their kiosk while shoppers walked by? Absolutely. A guy, about in his 50’s came up to me and started to open his mouth to start his big schpeal. I stopped him by letting him know that I had been here the night before, tried the sample and I want to buy it. He said that was wonderful. Then he looked at me and said, listen, I know you’re probably only 30 but it’s never too early to start caring for your face. And if I bought this product, I’d surely look 25 if not younger. I let him babble on, all the while shaking my head like I was interested, which I was not. I was thinking about what I might have for lunch. Or maybe I have fleas. Or a nervous tick. Dunno. Finally after he shuts his cakehole for 2 seconds, I tell him that I just want the body scrub and cream that I came for. I also told him, that obviously I don’t need your product, since whatever I’m currently doing is working because I’m not 30, I’m 39. Booh yah. I rock. Thank you very much. I did, however, want to ask him why he doesn’t use his own product because his skin looked like it had been cooked and then laid out to dry. ON THE SUN.

Anyway, I must go now, because I look so young that I can hardly stand to be around myself. Peace out my people.

December 13, 2006

Miss Misery has tagged me because she said I’m really smart and really pretty and really funny and really cute, and adorable and fashionable and clearly insane sane. Okay, so she didn’t say those things, but I know she’s thinking them. I’m a mind reader incase you didn’t know. I’m not even kidding. So I’m going to list 6 weird things about myself (only 6? Ha!). Here goes:


1. I love eating scrambled eggs, on toast with Cheeze Whiz and barbeque sauce. Not weird enough? Well I eat this sandwich while standing on my head, wearing only a wig and a pair of thigh high boots.


2.I worry. What’s weird about that right? Well, I just don’t worry, I worry about green aliens taking me, giving me an anal probe (exit only baby, exit only) and that they’ll eat my fingernails. Clearly, this is not normal.


3. I only eat bread slices from the middle. I refuse to eat the ones on the outside of the loaf. Don’t ask me why, I can’t explain it.


4. I prefer my bras to match my panties and if for some reason, like the world is spinning faster on a certain day, and I end up wearing non matching under garment items, I feel like a freak, even though, chances are noone is going to see them. Unless the mail lady blackmails me with my parcels and says I have to run around my maibox wearing only my ‘unmentionables’ and throw spagetti at her car. I’m pretty sure that won’t happen but you never know.


5. I won’t go in water deeper than my knees. There could be sharks in that pool/pond/lake/puddle! You don’t know! And I’m not taking chances.


6. I can’t leave my house with dishes in the sink. I have to make sure any dishes are loaded into the dishwasher or washed by hand. It’s sick, I know.


And there you have it. Some kinda really fucking weird things about me. Thank you Miss Misery for thinking I’m so ill in the head fabulous, that you just had to tag me.

December 12, 2006

It’s been reported that Evel Knievel is sueing Kanye West concerning Kanye’s video ‘Touch the Sky’, which really should be called ‘Torch this Shit’. Ha!



Kanye whiney little bitch West crashed the MTV European Music Awards back in November, going up on the stage, shouting that his video should have won because ‘Pamela skanksalot Anderson’ was in it, it cost like ‘a million dollars’ (hey that’s your problem if you want to piss away tons of moola over a shitty video) and people, he was jumping over canyons! Where’s my violin? Here, let me cry you a river, betch. Hmmm, sore loser much, loser?



Evel Knievel said, “That video that Kanye West put out is the most worthless piece of crap I’ve ever seen in my life…”……………Can I just say, Evel, you’re my new hero. Seriously dude, you rock. Apparently, cry baby Kanye had no comment. Here’s a comment for ya Kanye……..GET OVER IT. You ain’t all that and a bag of potato chips. I hope Evel wins.

December 11, 2006

I love shopping as you may have guessed from the many times I’ve mentioned that I’ve gone shopping. I’m always meeting strange people. Either they act like freaks, or as described below, they look like freaks. I’ve recreated a similar look that a lady was sporting while shopping at the Walmart. It wasn’t pretty. At all.
Perhaps I shouldn’t be so judgemental. Maybe she was just coming from, say, clown school? Or maybe she’s in a play and had to make a pit stop at the Walmart to get some more crayons makeup because, you know, people on stage have to wear exaggerated makeup inorder for the audience to see them and not look washed out. Perfectly fucking ridiculous plausible explanations.


She had short brown hair (I was not cutting and dying my hair, so just imagine the short brown hair), was about 55 or so (you know, the age where you wear LOTS of bright makeup to accent your wrinkles and age spots), had the reddest blush I think I’ve ever seen, had spread foundation over her real eyebrows and then drew (not very artisticly I might add) new eyebrows on, had blue eye shadow on (see, I couldn’t show you that because I.dont.own.any.) and had outlined her lips in a very, very, unnatural way. And by unnatural, I mean even drag queens don’t outline their lips that much.


I could not tear my eyes away from this woman. It was so bizarre to me. The icing on the cake, was, she was with a woman, who was about the same age, who had the nicest makeup job ever. She looked very classy and it looked like she had had her makeup professionally done. It baffled me, like wouldn’t the classy, non clown lady, say to the clown like lady, you know, how about I do your makeup today? Or here, let my pet monkey make you up because I know that a drunk, double amputee monkey could do a better job. I know it.

We took the kids to the Festival of Lights last night and guess who we saw? Frosty. As in Frosty the Snowman. I’m not even kidding.


I said to my 6 year old daughter, “that was the real Frosty”! To which she replied, “Mom, it’s a dude dressed up in a snowman suit”. And that folks, was the end of that. Nothing like raining on your mother’s parade sweetie. Excuse me while I make a trip to therapy.


*Edit* My daughter looked at this picture and said, “Ya, confirmation (what 6 year old says confirmation?) it’s not the real Frosty. His eyes aren’t made of coal. Nice try Mom”. Lord help me.

December 7, 2006

Hi all, I’ve been so busy, getting sloshed and passing out every day getting ready for the holidays, I haven’t had time to do much of anything else. I am happy to report that my Christmas shopping is done, wrapped and under my tree and I didn’t even kill anyone. Or tell anyone off. Much.


I bought myself a purse a couple of days ago. Usually they’re filled with a bunch of crumpled up white paper but not this purse. This purse was special. It came with an air bag. Or a bag of air. Whichever you prefer. Now I’ve never seen this and thought it was quite funny that there is an actual company that fills up plastic bags with air and shoves them into certain products. I love that they feel the need to tell us with little cartoon pictures that, you cannot use this bag of air for a personal floatation device. Or use it as a life preserver for a baby. And it’s not allowed to be used for a pillow for an infant either. Party poopers.


I was at Walmart yesterday and there was a guy watering the fake poinsettas. I’m sure the people purchasing them, will be happy when they pick up the potted fake flowers and their clothes get wet. A lady stopped me in the shoe isle and asked me if I had the time. I didn’t have my watch on but had my cell phone with me, so I took it out of my pocket and told her what time it was. She looked at me and said, “I don’t trust those” and walked away. Okay, was there a full moon or what? Seems like all the crazies were out.


I must go and start my Christmas drinking baking seeing as I’m pretty much Betty Crocker when it comes to that. No really, I am. Just ask anyone who’s died from eating tried my cooking.

December 1, 2006

I don’t clean house on Friday’s. I do this instead. I even got my bf hooked. The tights are hot.