March 13, 2007

I still have a secret and I still have to keep quiet about it because I didn’t hear the thing that I thought I’d hear, therefore I don’t think I should mention it yet incase I jinx it. So once again, you’ll be dreaming about me and my secret. And that’s not so bad is it? Naw.

I can tell you this though….I suck…in the kitchen. I must admit I’ve had a few successes of late but usually my true self comes out while I’m in the kitchen. Not if I’m cleaning it so much, just if I’m cooking in it. I was cooking tonight and I managed to drop the raw hamburger on the floor, slice my finger, slop pasta sauce on my WHITE shirt and on the floor, down the WHITE stove and all down the cabinet doors and this was all before I even decided what I was going to actually make. In the end, I cooked some kind of pasta noodles, not sure what their name is, they’re sort of long, fat and hollow. Logs? I dunno. Anyway, please pray that my family doesn’t fall ill after eating it. At least let’s hope it’s not full fledged food poisoning. I mean, really, a little vomitting and diarreah never hurt anyone. Well the cramps might be a bit of a pain in the ass. Oh did you read that pun? A warrior with words I am! Gah. Hopefully there’s not much lint in the ground beef that I put in the sauce. I think I got most of it out. Fingers crossed.

I’m going to watch American Idol tonight. I’m not exactly sure why though. This has got to be one of the most boring seasons ever. There’s not even any eye candy for mama. Not unless you like 17 year old boys who kinda look like girls. And I don’t. However, it’s like I’m compelled to see it to the end, like I’m being disloyal if I stop watching it now. I could use a nice sleeping pill though and I’m betting Idol will come through for me.

Oh to the guy who sent me emails asking if I need a penis enlargement (actually he said, “hey no more short dick for you”…charming), thanks, but I’m good. And to the chick who said, “let’s meet on messYenger so we can ‘cat’,” I’m not sure what the hell that means, but I’m super busy tonight *see above paragraph*. To ‘Loverlacehodax’, your message to me, was appreciated, “of course I’d love to meet you, you’re a hot guy and I love hot guys and incase you forgot my info, I’m a femAIL“……..ah ya, but I’m not as hot a guy as you think, although I’m flattered that you think I’m a hot guy. Makes me feel confident and not be self conscience about the hair on my back. And ass. And pits. On that note, where’s my friggin’ razor?

Well time to stir the pasta and hope it’s still fit to eat. Maybe I should look for that take out menu…………..

March 12, 2007

I like have a secret but I can’t tell you yet. Probably tomorrow. Hopefully you can wait that long. And if not, well, ah, I, guess, err, too bad? Ha.

It’s Monday, albeit almost over. It was one of those rollercoaster ride days. My stomach was flip flopping all day for a variety of reasons. I’m sure none of them because I ate a giant bag of M&M’s 2 M&M’s.

I changed my voicemail message today on my home phone. Only one person has heard it so far, and she loved it. I think I’ll keep it for awhile. Wanna know what it says? I’m telling you anyway. Well, I’ll give you a tiny bit of background, so it will make sense and hopefully be funny for you. I’m considerate like that. We get alot of wrong numbers for Tim Hortons (coffee shop and it actually was their number in NINETEEN NINETY NINE. GET.A. NEW. PHONE. BOOK. PEOPLE.) and it’s also close to Economy Glass. So my angelic voice *cough* says this:

“Hi, this isn’t Tim Hortons and it”………shit, hang on, I have to call my house to listen to it, I forget the exact wording. Nothing like ruining the punch line. Give me a sec……………Okay, here it is:

“Hi, this ISN’T Tim Hortons, and it ISN’T Economy Glass but if you’re looking for the Smiths (not my real last name), then you know the drill. Bye.”

Isn’t that sweet? I thought it was genius really. And by genius, I mean, dumb, but what the hell? You only live once and I wanted to be a phone rebel. Boo.

Totally switching gears here, Have you seen that commerical for some dish cloth type product? I’m not being very specific but I can’t remember the product name, but what I think is really lame, is they show a woman holding up a dirty, smelly, ratty, disgusting dish cloth (which she sniffs in the commercial and then makes a gagging face….how ’bout this, THROW THAT FUCKER AWAY), that she supposedly washes her dishes with and how she should switch to this other kind of dish cloth that you apparently never have to wash, like ever. My question is, who would actually wash the dishes that THEY EAT OFF OF with a shit hole of a rag, that you can pretty much see the stink fumes rolling off of it? Why do some commercials have to make women seem like morons? Why? Sure, I’ve run into poles, made the crappiest meatloaf around and generally make an ass out of myself on a regular basis but at least I have clean, nice smelling dish cloths. One of my fine qualities dontcha think?

Oh, my freakazoid neighbours finally cleaned up the 8 bazillion piles of dog shit off of their DECK. I don’t have a dog. I have had dogs in the past when we lived in the country, so I do have some experience with being a pet owner and I’m pretty sure we didn’t let our dogs crap on our deck. We kinda preferred, oh, THE GROUND. They have 4 dogs, so they had 4 months worth of 4 dogs’ shit piles on their deck. And if you looked out my livingroom window, into their backyard, you got a super view of their toilet deck covered in poo. Very nice. Oh, and a side note…they still have their Christmas tree up. I’m not even kidding.

I have to go because I now have a headache because of speaking about my neighbours. Why do I even mention them? I dunno, it’s like they’re a trainwreck and I can’t look away or they’re like aliens from another planet and are trying to live normally amoung us real humans but are kinda fucking it up. Oh well, to each his own. Sweet dreams. And remember, I have a secret, which I might tell you tomorrow. Try to get a good night’s rest even though you’ll be totally dreaming about me and my secret. Don’t even try to deny it.