January 26, 2007

Maybe my day will improve! Chris, my new fan, because she said I was the most talented, beautiful, sexy, sweet, gorgeous creature she’s ever seen/read, has tagged me. Fine, I lied, she didn’t say any of that but she did say I was hilarious, so that’s almost the same thing. Anyway, I must tell you 10 things about me, which I KNOW you WANT to KNOW. I have to run out for a bit but I will return to tell you 10 things that you will poke your eyes out because you DIDN’T want to know that about me have been dying to know about me. Ab-so-freakin’-lutely. Now, listen, go about your day until I return, although I know that will be hard because you’ll be sitting on the edge of your seat, breathlessly waiting for me to come back. Honestly, breath okay? Be back soon!


*Edit*


Told you I’d be back albeit later than I expected. And by later, I mean over 24 hours later, but I was getting sloshed and whistling at the cars going by rescuing a cat from a burning tree. Anyway, enough about my being a superhero, let’s move on to ten things about me that you’re dying to know.


1.) I love early morning. Why you ask? Because it’s that time of day that I open the booze can play online without being interrupted, listen to the quiet and zone out before my day starts.


2.) I can’t swim. I may have mentioned this before somewhere along the way but you probably forgot because you were mesmerized by my insanity beauty and all.


3.) I’m scared of sharks. And I know I just said I can’t swim and therefore, will most likely never be out swimming in the ocean, however, should a band (is that what you call them?) of pirates kidnap me and throw me overboard, then it’s possible that I could become shark bait and that scares me tremdously.


4.) I love pink. Like anyone with a brain can’t figure that one out. However, I wouldn’t want pink hair. Or a pink toilet. Or pink eyes. Or a pink elephant in my livingroom.


5.) I have a love affair going with peanut M&M’s. I wish I didn’t and I hope to end it soon because my heartburn isn’t happy with our goings on.


6.) I listen to Chris Daughtry’s debut cd every single day since I got it. He’s a really great singer and not hard on the eyes. I’m not normally into bald guys, but hey, it works on him. I’d hit it shake his hand if I met him.


7.) I have 2 pens that light up. One is silver and one is pink and both write with black ink. They’re $1.98 at Staples. And so worth the money, if you’re into pens and such.


8.) I wish I could play the guitar and although my husband has been playing for over 25 years and is really really good, even he can’t teach me. I suck. Plus I like having pretty nails and I’d have to totally cut them and then I’d look like I have short man hands with ugly nails and that is so unacceptable. I’m too girly for that to ever happen.


9.) I can’t stand the smell of olives. There’s an olive bar at the grocery store and I try to avoid walking by it because to me, it smells like dirty socks, b/0 and dog shit.


10.) I watch 3 soap operas. Not fully but I turn them on if I’m puttering around in the livingroom and half watch/listen. It’s just that I’ve been into them since I was like 15 and how, I ask you, could I give them up at this point? It’d be like, you know, a sin or something.


There you have it. Ten things that, now that you know, you WILL sleep better tonight or perhaps you’re passed out now because I bored you to death. I’m so glad I could make that happen for you.

Yes, I realize Christmas has passed and the next one is pretty far away but I wanted a “crappy” picture to show my “crappy” mood, so I searched for a “crappy picture” and this is what came up. So I’m goin’ with it.



My nerves are so frazzled with all this house business, both with having to keep my house (that we rent) spotless 24/7, so the realtors can show it (it’s for sale), leaving the house and trying to come up with things to do while I’m out, like get drunk shopping, worrying about whether we can swing buying the fugly pink (we’ll eventually renovate) house we want and now my van. It’s basically a piece of shit metal on wheels. I might as be driving around on an actual piece of poo with attached wheels. I think I’ve said crap, shit and poo like a million times already, so I wonder what kind of CRAP searches I’ll get today? Hmmmm. Should be interesting.


I decided to drive my daughter to school this morning since it was cold, I’m fighting a lingering migraine and honestly, I just felt like it. Well I dropped her off, waited until the bell rang and then went back to my van to leave and it wouldn’t start. There’s a loose wire thingy attached to the battery thingy that you apparently have to beat or wiggle or some such bullSHIT. As you can tell, I know nothing about vehicles other than THEY’RE. SUPPOSED. TO. START. WHEN. YOU. TURN. THE. KEY.



I called my husband to see if by some miracle he was still in our neighbourhood but no, no he wasn’t. He told me to lift the hood and hit the cable going to the battery.


The battery?


Yes, the battery.


I don’t know what it looks like? Like a Duracell?


No. You’ll see it when you open the hood, it’s on the passenger side.


Ah huh. Right. Does it say ‘battery’ on it?



No.


Well I can freakin’ guarantee I will not know what or where it is.


I get the hood open and just as I suspected I had no clue which dirty, blackish, dusty, metal thing it was. He explained and I eventually spotted it. He told me to move the cable a bit or hit it with something. Works like a charm for him everytime.


You want me to hit? With what?


I don’t know, there must be something in the van.


No. There’s yesterday’s mail. Should I beat it with our power bill?


Sure. No, there must be something, a wrench, something.


No, I’m looking and I see nothing.


Did you open the back door of the van? There should be something there.


Fine, I’ll check.


I find a trowel thingy for spreading crack fill. Oh this should TOTALLY WORK.


So there I am, beating my battery with a trowel. It’s NOT WORKING. My husband is assuring me that eventually it will. No, it won’t. I’m trying, my hands are now black/brown/dusty/crappy and I must look like some kind of circus sideshow pounding on the inside of my van’s hoody thingy. My husband tells me to just walk home and he’ll be over later. Sure. So I grab my book and lock the door and start walking home, cursing the world, my van, my frost bitten hands, Oprah, The Pillsbury Doughboy and anyone/thing I can think of. So there I am, walking down the sidewalk, bawling like a 2 year old, the stresses of the last few weeks finally coming to a head. Great time to have a breakdown. My makeup’s sliding off my face, tears pooling on my jacket, snot most likely starting to drip from my nose and then I begin to hyperventalate and have an asthma attack. Gee, did I happen to bring my inhaler, you know that thing I need incase I STOP BREATHING? No, no I did not. So I’m walking as fast as I can, which doesn’t help when you’re fighting for air, wiping my face off with my jacket sleeve, which is not a great idea because my jacket is brown and my makeup is white seeing as I’m a pasty person, mix that with some snot and tears and you have a jacket that really needs to be WASHED. Oh and I’m trying NOT TO DIE from lack of oxygen in my lungs.


I finally make it home, stumble with the key in the lock because of the lockbox on the door handle and the fact that my once pasty white hands are now red/purple from being so cold. I get in and go on a search for my inhaler, find it, take a few puffs to get some much needed air in my chest, and then fall on the couch to continue my breakdown. I sat up a few minutes later and went to take a look in the mirror, which cracked from the horror show displayed on my face. Let’s just say I WILL be redoing my makeup.


Anyway, now that my little cry fest is over for now, I think I’ll go bitchslap my neighbour’s dog that won’t shut it’s yap. Might as well get this funky mood out and what better way than to beat a small yappy dog? I can’t think of a thing! Happy Friday.

January 23, 2007

If you want me to have a heart attack or vomit, then put me in a room with Carrot Top. Good freakin’ Lord what is that? Did he have plastic surgery or is he in desperate need of some? I can’t tell, but I can tell you this, it frightens me to the core. It’s like he’s saying, “come here, I want to eat your face”. Does he not have people? Like people to tell him, “listen dude, you really need to lay off the Botox”, or whatever the hell it is that you’re injecting into your face to give you that pyscho, I’m going to hack up your cat, kinda look. Be back later, I’ve got to get my garlic and wooden stake.

January 17, 2007

Donald Frump Trump was given a Hollywood Walk of Fame star yesterday. My question is WHY? For what? The longest combover? Shouldn’t that be in the Guiness World Records book? Just sayin’. Why does he deserve a star? For shuffling around some real estate? For having the world’s largest ego? Here’s a little quiz for you…what’s bigger? Donald Trump’s ego or his scalp scarf?


I bet when he gets out of the shower, his giant muff is hanging down by his knees. I’m sure his ‘hair stylist’ (I use that term LOOSELY) has to put clothespins on his nipples so he doesn’t laugh at his client, thus getting himself fired. I’m guessing that the amount of shellac used on Trumpie’s rug each day, is enough hairspray to last most people a year or more. Maybe the stylist nails it to his head? Perhaps that’s why he’s not quite all there, his brain fluids are leaking.


Not that I want to picture ‘The Donald’ (stuck on yourself much?) and his bimbo wife having sex, but just for shits and giggles, let’s go there.


Wife: Dahling, your knee hair is getting a bit thick, perhaps you should have it waxed.


D: That’s not my knee hair, that’s my wrap! Gah.


In other related news, Mr. Dumpster Trumpster has apparently ended his feud with Rosie, which really means, he’s run out of insults ’cause grade 3 called and they want them back. You’re fired.

Wanna learn how to become a professional drama queen? Sign up for Miss Maddy’s Drama Queen 101 class.


I heard my daughter sobbing the other night and asked her to come out to the livingroom. She walks out, holding a crumpled piece of paper in her hand, tears streaming down her face. Now when you’re reading my daughter’s part, say it in your head using a loud, sobbing, ‘my life is over’ kinda voice.


Me: What’s wrong? Why are you crying?


Her: I suck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *Sob sob sob* I suck as a dolphin artist!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *Sob*


Me: A dolphin artist?


Her: Look! *holding out the crumpled piece of paper*


Me: *I unfold the paper to reveal what honestly, looks to me, like it’s a dolphin or at least some kind of sea life with fins* Honey, it looks like a dolphin to me.


Her: Noooooooooooooooooo, it doesn’t!!!!!!!!! I suck as a dolphin artist!!! I’m never going to be a dolphin artist! *Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa*


Me: Maddy, just how many dolphins have you ever drawn? You’re six. I can’t imagine that it’s been alot and quite honestly, I’ve never seen you draw a dolphin before.


Her: That is my *sob* second one.


Me: You’ve drawn two? That’s it? *Calgon take me away*.


Her: Yes! *Sob* I suck! What will people think of me? I should be able to draw a dolphin, they’re not that hard to draw!


Me: I’m sure people aren’t going to have a bad opinion of you because of some dolphin drawings.


Her: Yes they will! I can’t even draw dolphins! *Sob sob sob*


Me: Maddy, honey, you have to practice. How do you think people get good at things? No matter what it is, you have to practice and the more you draw dolphins, the better you’ll get.


Her: No, I’m just never going to be a dolphin artist! *Sob*


She sulks off to her bedroom and about 10 minutes later comes out with a new piece of paper, the sobs have subsided and she exclaims that she’s now going to be a famous dolphin artist. She hands me the paper and I can definately tell it’s a dolphin for sure.


Her: Look! I’m sooo totally a dolphin artist now!


Me: Ah huh, for sure. Absolutely. How many dolphins have you drawn in the past 10 mintues?


Her: This is like, my 5th one! I can’t even believe it! I’m a dolphin artist now! Can you believe it?


Me: Amazing, truly amazing. *Where is that Calgon*?


Just leave your name, a payment of $25.99 and we’ll get you started on your Drama queen 101 lessons. Good luck.

January 11, 2007

It’s sofa king cold out that my hair actually froze as I was walking home. I looked like a hippy grandma. I’m pretty sure my nose was running but since it was 8 million below zero, I think my snot froze on my upper lip. I didn’t look because it would make me barf. Penguins and polar bears would snub their noses (beaks, whatever) at this weather. It sucks. What in blue blazes happened to our mild winter? Who the hell invented winter anyways? You’re FIRED. ‘Cept if I was firing someone, I wouldn’t do it with really bad fucking hair a comb over/wrap around muff/dead mink on my head. I’m just sayin’.



I have to start packing today. I don’t want to but I have to. Did I mention that I don’t want to? I did? Oh. We don’t have a new house yet but have our hearts set on one but we don’t want to get our hopes up yet until we know how the financing thing is going. I will say that the house we hope to get, is, well, sofa king ugly it would win the ‘you have the ugliest house in the world’ contest. I guess it’s not so much the house that’s ugly, it’s the exterior color that was chosen. And the inside looks fresh out of the 80’s. So we’d have to do some major cosmetics. Anyway, I will speak more of this depending on whether we get it or not. It’s all top secret right now, so putting it on the internet is probably not a good idea but really who’s going to read it?

Oh did I tell you that I LOVED going to the hockey game? Me? A NON hockey fan/sports fan of any kind. It baffles me slightly but I’m not going to fight it. Flames won! And I had fun. FUN. I thought I’d be bored enough that I’d want to hang myself but nope, not the case. We had 2 drunk guys behind us that were taunting THE ONE Dallas Stars fan sitting across from us. It really was quite funny. The 2 dudes behind us, said fuck like it was the word ‘the’ or ‘I’ and had no regard for my 6 year old sitting beside me. Nor did the Dallas fan. However, as the night wore on, and the guys behind us got more drunk, they began to shout at the Dallas fan to watch his mouth since there was a little girl sitting here. It was priceless how they slurred their words, blew their big red horns, chanted, “Go home Dallas”, laughed hysterically, then listened as the Dallas guy would shout back, “fuck the Flames”, then they’d shush him and tell him not to say the ‘f’ word. You can’t get any better than that. I’ve begged hubby to take me to another game. So I’m pretty sure we’re going to the Flames vs the Sharks in late Feb.

Well I suppose I must get off my duff and get to work. I’m writing this in a whiney voice. Or whiney type. Whatever. Tell me that the packing/cleaning/cooking fairy will show up later to spot me.

January 5, 2007

I’ve never been to a hockey game. Ever. Hubby is taking me this Saturday to a Calgary Flames game. I’m actually kinda excited even though I can’t really classify myself as a sports fan.


My 2 oldest sons and I were at the table the other night and I asked them if there’s anything I need to know about going to a hockey game?


Me: So, is there anything I should know?


Both boys look at me and then at each other, then at me again.


Sean: Ya. There are naked girls that come out on the ice, to shovel it.


Me: Naked? Like nude? Like no clothes on?


Sean: Yup.


Me: Ah, well are there any naked men for mama?


Sean: Nope. Sorry.


Me: Well that sucks. But, anyway, that seems a bit inappropriate since people bring young children. We’re bringing your 6 year old sister.


Sean: Whatever. Keeps the men happy.


Me: No doubt but still, seems a bit wrong.


Matt: Oh, there’s the other thing.


Me: What other thing?


Matt: Well when Kiprusoff makes a good save, there’s a chant.


Me: Okay. What chant?


Matt: Everyone shouts, “tops off for Kiprusoff”. Then the women in the crowd are supposed to flash their boobs.


Me: What???????????? Uh, I don’t know if I want to do that.


Matt: Everyone will boo you if you don’t. You’ll look like a loser.


Me: But, ah, that isn’ something I really want to do in front of 19,000 fans. Plus, hello, we will have Maddy with us.


Matt: Well look like a loser then.


Sean: Hell I even flashed when I went to the game.


Me: Well you’re a guy, that’s a little different.


Matt: You’re gonna get booed.


Me: I don’t really want to get booed.


Matt: Well you’ll have to flash then.


Me: I guess.


Later on, when hubby returned, I asked him if he’d be upset if I flashed.


Hubby: What? Flashed what?


Me: You know, for the chant.


Hubby: What chant?


Me: You know, ‘tops off for Kiprusoff’.


Hubby: What the hell kinda weed you on? There’s no chant like that.


Me: Really? The boys said there was and that I would have to lift my shirt up.


Hubby: Good Lord, why would you even listen to them?


Me: So it’s not true?


Hubby: Ummm. NO.


Me: Oh. Well what about the naked girls?


Hubby: What naked girls?


Me: Ah the ones on the ice.


Hubby: Good God woman, they’re not naked. The wear pants and a halter top, hardly naked. People take their kids to the games, it’s a family event. Duh.


Me: Ya, well I totally knew that they were jiving me. *Blink blink blink*


Hubby: Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.


Anyway it should be fun! Go Flames Go!

January 2, 2007

Happy New Year. Guess how I rang in 2007? Watching the Sopranos, which was over at 11:58pm, so I watched the clock on the stove change to 11:59pm and then 12:00am and then I looked at my husband and said, it’s 2007. He said ya. And that was that. We are such party animals. Totally.


Oh did I mention we have to move? No? Well we do. The house we are living in is being sold and we have until May to get out but we’ve decided we want to move like 2 days ago before the house prices go up again, which they are predicted to do. Can you just imagine the panic I feel right now? So much to do and so little time to do it in. I mean how can I possibly get smashed every day pack up an entire house in such a short time? Oh and, ya, we kinda need A HOUSE.


I forgot to tell you, that when I was at the grocery store on Christmas Eve, a nice man, about in his 50’s belched IN.MY.FACE. What a nice way to cap off my trip to the store and start the holiday festivities. I was packing my groceries and turned around to put something in my cart and as I turned, I looked up and was face to face with this fucking pig man and he literally let out the biggest, loudest, smelliest burp EVER and lucky me, it was in my face. My mouth hung open as I thought of something to say but no words would come out. He just looked at me like he’d done nothing more than give me the time. His wife must be so proud of him.


My daughter has been sick for most of her holidays thus far. She got sick during the eve of Christmas night and finally got better yesterday. Talk about a fun filled vacation with vomit and more vomit and more vomit. I’m going to spare you any further detail. I’m sure you’re thanking me right now.


I must say that my husband and chillin’s really spoiled me at Christmas. No I didn’t get that trip to that warm place or the diamonds or the million dollars in cash I had asked for, but really what they did get me was super cool. Santa certainly came this year.


I’m on my way to have a shower and then dry my hair and then flat iron it. How cool is that? You’re so jealous right now I know it. Also I’m hungry. And all I can see in the fridge right now is pizza. But seriously, who eats pizza at 9:19am? I’ll tell ya. Me. ‘Cause I’m a rebel. Oh ya baby, look out.


All righty-o, I must make this short and sweet. I have so much to do today like pass out from eating too much pizza and then guzzling booze cleaning my house from top to bottom and doing laundry. I’m a powerhouse I tell ya.