May 30, 2007

I made an appointment today with my doctor, who is apparently not my doctor. Confused? Ya, join the club.

We moved here almost 4 years ago and I put my name on a waiting list to be accepted at the clinic near my home for a family doctor. I was called late in 2003 and told, indeed I would be accepted as a patient with Dr. X. He’s name really isn’t Dr. X but that sounds very mysterious, doesn’t it? I thought so. I’ve been to Dr. X a few times, not many as I’ve been relatively healthy. I do have to occasionally go get my prescription refilled (for my intense beauty, gotta combat the effects with pro-ugly pills just so I’m not sooo hot) (remember, S.A.R.C.A.S.M) and there have been times that my doctor, who apparently ISN’T my doctor has been away so I therefore, had to see another doctor, who also isn’t my doctor, to refill my pro-ugly pills. Let’s flash forward now, a few years, to today. I was told that I wasn’t in the system and that Dr. X isn’t really my doctor because I didn’t have a meet and greet kinda visit the first time. Umm okay. I did but that’s okay if you don’t remember me. I wasn’t on my pro-ugly pills back then and I probably blinded him with my gorgeous self and thus, he has blocked me out as the ‘woman who took my eye sight with her fantastic self’. I can hardly blame the man. But still, I should be in the system of being the patient of my doctor who isn’t my doctor.

I hope I’ve sufficiently confused you because it would be totally not fair to me if I were the only one in a dense state over this whole ‘he’s not your doctor but really is your doctor but we have no record of him being your doctor’ scenerio. Let’s keep the score card fair people, fair.

I go on Monday, so let’s hope I remember to take my pro-ugly pills so I don’t give the doctor who’s not really my doctor a heart attack. Making him blind was bad enough. Oh the guilt.

May 29, 2007

Back in 1995, I was very sick for 3 months. I was sure I was dying (paranoid much?), had some kind of brain disorder, or thought perhaps gremlins were taking over my gray matter. I went for blood work, had tests done and finally was given a ct scan. It was finally discovered that I was suffering from a rebound headache, started by my migraine suffering. And guess what? I’m pretty sure it’s back.

It’s been a good, solid 2 months since it’s been going on again and I’ve got every single symptom:

Nausea
Anxiety
Memory problems
Depression
Trouble sleeping
Restlessness
Irritialbility
Difficulty concentrating

I thought this was a good picture that reflected my pain because the light hitting my eye looks like a lightning bolt piercing my skull and that’s what it feels like. Or maybe it just looks like I’m being spotlighted by law inforcement for being so beautiful. I never thought my looks would be such a burden. *Sigh*. I can’t help it people, I can’t help it. (If you’re a new reader here, keep in mind, I use sarcasm, A.L.O.T.)

I’m thinking maybe I should see my doctor even though I’m a doctor of loooooove because I’m sure he might be better able to cure me than me. He has a degree in healing and I have degree in sarcasm which I’m pretty sure won’t get me out of this. At least so far it’s not helped. I guess I’ll have to put my crime fighting on hold for now. Criminals all over the world, will be breathing a sigh of relief for now. But watch out betches, I’m coming to get you soon.

May 23, 2007

I have been tagged people by Chris and you know what that means? That means she thinks I’m getting old fabulous and loves me. She’s tagged me with with the following two things, which I will now share with you. I know you’re dying to know as usual. Why? Because I fight crime with my insanity beauty and anyone who can do that, well, people want to know everything about them.

WHEN I AM AN OLD WOMAN, I HOPE TO:

1. Be able to chew properly. I hope to keep all of my own teeth and not have some kind of set that you drop in a glass on the nightstand. The thought of my teeth floating beside my bed, brings shivers to my spine.

2. Not shit myself. I’ve not so far (well I did that one time back in the day but I was one, so I don’t think that counts), but seeing as I’m only 39 25, I don’t think I have to worry about that right away unless I eat some really bad seafood and there’s no indoor plumbing near by. However, I’m not very concerned about it at this moment in time.

3. Still have sex. Even if my husband perishes before me, I hope to have some sort of swingin’ lifestyle that will provide this old gal with some pleeeeeeaaaaa-sure if you know what I’m sayin’. You know, right now, the thought of old lady me getting it on, is well, making me sorta nauseous. I think I might need to find that indoor plumbing now. Be right back.

4. Be able to wipe my own rear. I will invent some sort of wiper should my arms become too fragile to do the job by themselves. No way will I hire someone to do any sort of wiping for me. Just not happening people, just not happening.

5. Still be semi hot. Not hot as in ‘oh I have a fever and nasty rash’ hot, but old lady hot. I think this one might be a pipe dream but I could be senile by then anyway, so let’s just go with it mmmkay?

Onto the next part, which, you’re just holding your breath waiting for. Maybe I should do part 2 tomorrow and make you dream about me all night long. I’m not that cruel, however. You can still dream about me though.

WHEN I AM AN OLD WOMAN, I WILL NOT:

1. Tell you how many times I passed gas before noon. Besides, people like me,liars princesses, don’t pass gas. It’s a true fact people.

2. Have short, old lady bad perm hair. I like my hair. I’ve not always liked my hair and it’s taken me many years to come to fall in like with it, so I will not cut it all off and make it all curly and gray. I will dye it. I will leave it sorta long, probably not as long as it is now but I will not have short, white, carpet hair. Sure the other wrinkly broads at the old folks home will hate me but so what? Eat it betches.

3. Wear polyester stretch pants or blouses with ruffles or undershirts (not sure if old women wear undershirts, maybe that’s old men, whatever, I’m not wearing them), wear giant ‘granny panties’, soft soled nurse type shoes or elastic waisted anythings. If I look like a retarded asshat wearing my lowcut lacy black bra under my sexy white tee and my tight jeans with the hot high heeled boots, that’s my business. I’ll cut you.

4. Have bunions. I will cut them off before I walk around with fungus on my feet or whatever the hell bunions are. I will file that fucker off before I walk around with an gross lump on my pretty little feet.

5. Have a turkey neck. There is no need for one. Honestly, wrap that baby up, clip it, tape it, sand it, get surgery, something. Just no need to walk around, all flappy and shit.

And there you have it. My old lady list of do’s and don’ts. I’m sure you’ll all be sleeping like babies tonight, just having that much more information on me. I’m thoughtful like that. Thank you Chris for tagging me. I’m pretty sure you said you’d pay me like $235 for doing this, so check’s in the mail right? Right.

*Edit* I’d list some people to tag but having five 895 fans is a bit much to list and I’d feel horrible if I left anyone out. So if you feel like doing this, do it and come back and tell me you did it. I, however, will not pay you like Chris is paying me. We have a special relationship.

May 22, 2007

I’m sure most people have seen an episode of Fear Factor. And if you haven’t, you should because it’s really rivoting television. By rivoting, I mean it’s gross. The stuff they make those people eat, is just nasty. Well they don’t make the contestants eat the junk, the contestants are apparently hard up for cash and will do just about anything for some money. The thing is, it’s not huge money. Most game shows now, head towards large amounts of moola, not FF, they win a whopping 50 grand on that show. Sure, I don’t have 50 thousand in my bank account right now but I’m also not willing to eat bull balls with a side of goat hair. Just not doin’ it.

However, my husband will apparently eat weird things, oh, for FREE. For FUN. Just for the pure pleasure of grossing out his family. I’m so not even kidding one little bit.

We had to stop and pick up a receipt at some guy’s house and it was sorta rainy yesterday. And when it rains, what happens? Come on, you know. Certain creatures crawl out of the earth. I know you can totally see where I’m going with this. As the kids and I are sitting in the truck, we see hubby coming back down the walkway and as he approaches the sidewalk, he bends down and picks something up. At first, I’m thinking he’s picked up a spider and is going to throw it at his very arachnophobic wife, you know, for shits n’ giggles but as I’m about to jump out of the truck and start running really fast, I see what he’s holding. It’s. a. worm.

He opens the truck door and immediately my kids start screaming. Okay, it’s totally normal for people to be afraid of spiders, kids (like your mom), but worms? Come on. Toughen up for petesake. As my husband is standing there holding the worm, he raises his arm up, tilts his head back and in goes the worm. In his mouth. As in, he ate it. I’m shocked but not 100% because I’ve seen this performance before, about 6 years ago while gardening with him. Our older 2 boys were just as horrified as their younger siblings were now. I guess it’s a tradition or something. It’s a right of passage. Yes kids, now you can say you’ve seen your father eat a worm and then laugh hysterically about how nauseated you are seeing him swallow it. We all tell him that that is sick and nasty and he tells us that obviously we’re chickens. No honey, we’re not chickens, because if we were, we’d eat the stupid worm. So there. Nanny nanny boo boo.

*Edit* Next time it rains, I’m totally going to tape him eating another worm and post it, so you can witness the horror that we had to see. You’ll barf. And then I’ll laugh. No, wait, you might make me clean it up and that people, would NOT be funny.

May 21, 2007

Okay, what the hell is with a migraine that never fully goes away? I practically gag at the thought of popping one more pill but what can I do? Short of loping my head off, which, quite frankly, I kinda need, I’m not sure what the solution is. Perhaps if someone would kick me in the ass, then my concentration would be on my butt and therefore, I’d forget my head pain. I’ll sleep on it.

I took my kids to see Shrek 3 this weekend and I personally thought it was really funny. The ‘critics’, whoever the hell they are, said there wasn’t ‘enough donkaaaay’ but let’s remember people, the movie is called Shrek, so if Shrek appears in the movie more than the donkey, then duh. I thought all the characters were funny and laughed quite alot, so there. Bite it.

My husband bought me a lawn mower and a weed whacker/whipper snipper/thinga-ma-jiggy, so I’m guessing that means my job is to mow the lawn. However, I don’t mind because I like a nice lawn and I know I’ll hire the 12 year old across the street anyways do a great job and make everyone proud.

We hit a few yard sales on Saturday but since it was the long weekend here, they were few and far between. We did find a handful of good deals though and as well, did see a whole lotta shit out there too. One lady was selling trophies. As in, someone, perhaps her son, won for hockey or golf or some such thing. Ah, ya, his name was on them too. So I guess if a Randy Stairs comes along and wants to pretend he won some stuff back in ‘85, then maybe he’ll snatch those up. Another person was selling an old rotary phone from like 1980. In beige. Okay. It’s between an antique and out of date. So basically it means, it’s a piece of shit. Throw it out. Noone is going to buy it. Another lady was selling wire hangers. For $10. There were 7 in the pile. Listen, it’s a yard sale. People want deals. If you want to go into business with your wire hangers, fine. But selling them in a dirty cardboard box in your back yard isn’t going to make you rich. Just sayin’.

I did get 2 brand new picture frames for a dollar and a very nice lady gave my daughter a like new stuffed dog with a red leash and she was on happy high for the rest of the day. She called him doggie. Very original. My son got 2 hockey games, one for his computer and the other for his XBox, so he was also floating. Amazing how you can put a smile on your kid’s face for under $5 bucks. Dollar store here I come.

Oh speaking of Shrek again, I tried one of those McFlurry things from Rotten Ronnie’s today, the fudgy sludgy pudd n’ pie Shreky minty ones with pieces of fudge and candy in them. They look very green in the picture and claim to be mint flavoured with pieces of fudge. Sounds good in theory. Not so good in real. First off, the guy waiting on me, only gave me half of the small that I ordered. Sure I don’t necessarily need more jiggle to my ass by eating a whole small McFlurry but dammit, if I’m paying for the fucker, then I want the full small. Not half a small. Get it bud? Ya. Second, he didn’t mix it well enough, so most of the green coloring or whatever it was, toxic dayglo shit for all I know, was all clumped at the bottom of the cup. Third, it did not, I repeat, did not taste the least bit minty. False advertisement people! Unless dinkledorf forgot to mix the mint flavour into it, which based on his skills performing his tasks, is entirely, very possible. And lastly, the bits and pieces of ‘chocolate covered candy’, were in fact, rock covered candy and I’m pretty sure I broke a few teeth. I highly recommend NOT eating one no matter how much you love Shrek. Or maybe just don’t order it from the Mickey Dee’s at the Walmart I go to. Beware is all I’m sayin’.

It’s midnight and that means my pumpkin is going to rot or my stage coach is going to turn into a pumpkin or my bed is going to melt into pumpkin pie……..see, I’m tired and can’t even get that right. Sweet pumpkin, err, dreams.

May 17, 2007

As we all know, my trips to the grocery store are usually filled with freaks, more freaks and now mighty fucking annoying clumsy people.

As I’m putting my groceries on the conveyer belt thingy, there’s a man behind me, holding a few things. He starts pushing my stuff further up the counter, which, listen buddy, you can wait the 30 seconds it takes for my crap to be rung through. So he continues to push my groceries and as I turn back to the cashier to roll my eyes, we hear a huge crash. The moron pushed my glass jar of barbeque sauce off onto the floor. Of course the sauce doesn’t just fall in a plop on the floor, it splatters like some kind of yucky crime scene and I now have bright red barbeque sauce splashed on my pants. My nice capris actually. My nice white capris.

I look back at Mr Pushalot and he’s smiling like an idiot and literally saying, “he he he”. He what? He gonna get his ass kicked by white capried lady with red sauce sloshed on her pantlegs, that’s what. I give him my best death glare, which I’m told is about as scary as Bambi giving a dirty look but still, I’m giving it my best effort. The cashier apologizes, which was sweet, but it’s not your fault honey, it’s the dumbass behind me. I’m thinking, he’s going to say he’s sorry at least. Nope. Instead, he again starts pushing my groceries and then my son’s butterscotch pudding cups fall onto the floor, and you guessed it, into the big blob of sauce. I give yet another death stare and the guy is still smiling like he’s won a prize. I gotta prize for you buddy, bend over and let’s see just how far my pretty high heels can fit up your butt. Wait. I like my nice shoes, so forget that. Let’s see how far the cashiers fist can go up your butt. Wait. That’s not fair to her. She was lovely and friendly, and why should she be grossed out? Let’s get the janitor and his mop and we’ll see how far that mop handle goes up shall we?

I’m looking at this guy and he’s still not said he’s sorry. I turn to the cashier and roll my eyes again. Then I see his wife coming over (or maybe she’s his nurse from the PYSCHO ward) and she’s pointing to the mess and he starts giggling again (weird) and then they both run away. Ummm, they’re in their 50’s and acting like they’re 10. Or 2. Whatever.

That was my fun evening. How was yours? Did you get splattered with barbeque sauce? No? Well no need to brag. Gah.

May 14, 2007

Did you ever have a friend who was so bold that she could tell someone off even better than a trucker but at the same time, is so caring that she’d give you the shirt off of her back if you needed it? I do. She’s moving far away and leaving today and saying goodbye really sucks. *Insert blubbering here*

She’s the kind of friend, who you may not talk to every single day but you know that she thinks about you and you think about her and when you do talk, you can share anything. She’s the kind of friend who would drop what she’s doing if you needed her to come over and give you some wicked migraine pills to help ease your stupid painful migraine. She’s the kind of friend who hurts when you hurt. She’s the kind of friend who would finish putting together your patio set because you’re too girlie to figure the fucker out and may break a nail. She’s the kind of friend who laughs with you AND at you because she knows that you would never get mad at her for making fun of your blonde moments. *Because you’d be mad often since you often have them*……..but I digress.

She’s the kind of friend who makes really yummy potato salad and loves that you love it. She’s the kind of friend who loves your chocolate chip cookies so much, that’d she hide them from her own offspring to totally enjoy them all to herself. Now that’s a friend.

She’s the kind of friend who can say ‘fuck’ and make it sound so funny and at the same time, she can say just the right thing to make you feel better when you’re down. She’s the kind of friend who, you actually haven’t a clue what the hell she’s saying when she’s really riled up because of her accent but you think it’s freakin’ hilarious to listen to her.

She’s the kind of friend who cares about how to approach you or tell you something for fear of hurting you, because she would never want to hurt you. And she never has.

She’s the kind of friend you’ll have for life, no matter where she lives and now she’s going to be living far far away and although I’m sad about that, sad that I can’t just call her up and say ‘can you come over?’ and sad that we can’t have any more of our girls out breakfasts with Ang (another sweet friend but this isn’t about you wench…haha) but as her friend, I’m very happy for her new life change.

Penny, I wish you much success in your new home, your new city, your new everything and I will be coming to visit because you’re going to make me some of your potato salad and I’m going to sit by your pool and you’re going to take me shopping. Bossy aren’t I? I miss you already.

Oh right, moms work 24/7, even on, you guessed it, Mother’s Day. I forgot. So even though this was ‘my’ day, I still had to be a mom. Funny that.

We couldn’t decide on what to do for our family day. We had wanted to go to a movie but there wasn’t really anything playing that the kids wanted to see. So after much humming and hawing, we decided to take the kids to the Shrine Circus, to which Ryan proclaimed that he hated circuses.

You’ve never been to one though. How can you hate it?

I hate the circus.

After much protesting, we convinced him to go. It said on the website, that the show started at 1pm. We arrived at about 12:54 and my husband kicked me out of the truck to go stand in the insanely long ticket line while he parked. He had tossed me his banking card. The line is moving fairly quickly, so I’m thinking that I’ll get the tickets before one and we’ll get half decent seats. I finally make my way to the front of the line, get to the ticket window and ask the guy if they take debit. Nope. Just cash.

Ah, can you make an exception?

Right.

So out of the line I get and go find my husband in the parking lot. I tell him the great news, that I stood in the mile long line up for nothing and that we need to have cold hard cash or we ain’t gettin’ in that damn big top.

We go into the mall and as we’re looking around for the debit machine, he’s telling me to get back outside and get back into the line. Fantastic. I head out and hop back into the now even longer line up, again waiting for my turn. I look to my right and see a frigging bank machine set up just outside the circus tent. Good Lord, couldn’t the guy at the ticket booth have maybe, oh, MENTIONED THAT?

I called my husband on his cell and tell him to forget searching the mall for a cash machine, that’s there’s one right in front of me. He comes back out and I see Ryan smiling. Oh, good maybe he’s got a better attitude about going to the circus now and we’ll actually have a drama free afternoon in a hot, giant tent. While standing in line, there were people passing out coupons that would save us a few bucks on the admission price, so I took 4 and that would only cost us $40 bucks to get in. My husband brings the cash over to me just as I get to the front of the line again and I hand the girl the 4 $10 each passes and the forty bucks. She carefully counts out the tickets THREE times and then says, ‘that’ll be forty dollars please’. Ah, ya, well I just handed you forty dollars, so I’m not about to hand you another forty. ‘Oh you did’? Yes. ‘Oh, I guess you did’. Ya think?

As we’re making our way to the front entrance of the tent, my son turns to me and asks if he should go to the truck now?

What? Why would you go to the truck?

I’m not going to like this. It’s stupid.

I can hear the panic setting in now, so I bend down to his level and explain that there are no scary clowns (I hope to God there aren’t), no man eating tigers nor will anyone call on him to perform in the big ring, so not to worry.

We get in and find some seats and then the crying begins. I see my husband talking to Ryan but whatever he’s saying it’s not working. I get Ryan to come over and sit beside me, where I let him lean on me and tell him to relax and that the circus might be fun and he might actually find parts of it entertaining. He’s not buying it however and is begging me to let him leave. Well since you’re a 5th grader and not in college, sorry but that will not be taking place. After much hugging, back rubbing and hushed tones to calm him, he settles in to watch but assures me that he’s going to hate every minute of it and that he’ll never go to another circus again. Fine by me because as I’m sitting in the hot, dark tent, remembering how I took Sean and Matt to the same freakin’ circus 12 years earlier, I forgot how much the circus tent smells like sweat, B-O and urine fun it really is. You know buddy, I’m thinking I’ll never go to another circus again either. You might be on to something there.

After two and one half very long hours, the show is finally over and Ryan lets me know that he hated it (even though I caught him laughing at things several times during the show) and he was relieved it was over. I can’t say as I totally blame the kid because after inhaling the nasty scent of what seemed to be stale pee and elephant shit co-mingled, I was sorta relieved that the circus was over too.

All in all it was a nice day even though I had to work overtime to console a weepy, paniced kid, smell elephant body odour/pee/poo, listen to tattling, put up with some whining, break up a fight and clean up a few messes. I also got some nice hugs, a phone call, some kisses, homemade pictures, a new purse and a whole lot of ‘I love you’s’.

May 9, 2007

That’s what the wind did to me today. It’s so freakin’ windy here, that had I brought my wings (they were being cleaned) with me on my walk, I’m quite certain I could have taken flight.

I walked to the grocery store and although, nothing major happened while in the store, with the exception of an angry lady complaining to me about how she’s sick of the customer service there, I did have a fun walk getting there. By fun, I mean, where’s a taxi when you want one?

First, I saw someone’s wig laying on the sidewalk. I had to do a double take but sure enough, it was a brown wig. I’m not sure how you lose your wig and not notice unless perhaps they were drunk or on drugs or they wanted to be bald today, who knows. I did take a cell phone picture of it but since it’s not great quality, it looks like a giant pile of dog crap, which I’m sure you don’t really want or need to see. Unless you’re some kind of freak and if that’s the case, then you can find a blog that posts pictures of dog poo. I’m not doing it and you can’t make me.

I also got hit in the head with an empty pop can. As mentioned, it’s so bloody windy, that everything not tied down or weighing over 10lbs is being strewn about and hitting people. I also got jabbed in the corner of my right eye with a folded up receipt from Home Depot. That kinda hurt. Not hurt like, I want to roll over and die or call 911 but hurt nonetheless. Feel sorry for me yet?

And finally, I stepped in pinkish vomit right outside of Michaels craft store. I mean, who hasn’t stepped in puke on the sidewalk in front of a shopping plaza? And who hasn’t hurled on the sidewalk at some point in their life? Happens to me all. the. time.

I could use a nap now. I feel volated after walking in barf. And what the hell did they puke up? I mean it was day glo pink. Maybe they just drank a whole bottle of Pepto? But doesn’t that help an upset stomach? I dunno. I’m tired now. I have to go wash my sandals. Or maybe I’ll just throw them away. Or burn them. Where are my matches?

*Edit* Maybe the person who threw up, was the one who lost their wig later on? Just a thought. Okay back to burning my footwear and bleaching my feet.

*Edit again* Or maybe they lost their wig, didn’t notice AND then puked because they lost their wig? I’m thinking out loud here, is there a law against that? No. Oops, note to self, don’t burn footwear inside. Gotta go.

May 8, 2007

I got a search string today on my blog for ‘trashy ugly girls’ and I was # 2 on Google. What’s that about? I know I’m no beauty queen but trashy and ugly? Okay, I’ll take trashy, but ugly? I don’t think so. At least I hope not. My mirror tells me every morning that I’m okay. Maybe that bitch is lying to me. I’ll cut her.

Big, hairy butts are ugly. Flappy hairy, smelly pits are ugly. Betty is ugly. Dog poo melting in the sun, you guessed it, ugly. And gross to boot. But me? Well I’m not stuck on myself but I know I’m not ugly, at least I don’t think I am. Okay I was so sure a few sentences back but now, not so much. Thanks Google searches for making me feel unsure of myself. I will say, however, I remember this guy from grade 7, who I was totally, secretly in love with and one day he shattered my dreams by turning around in his seat and telling me, point blank, that I was ugly. Whatever bizatch. I hope you’re fat, bald and hope your wife is having an affair with some hot, Latino man. Bring it. I wish I could remember his name. Derek I think. Guess I wasn’t as in love as I thought.

It was kinda hot here today. I’m going to try not to complain about the weather because as humans, we moan about the cold and snow in winter and then about the heat and sun in the summer. So I’m just making the comment that it was warm here. That’s all, nothing more. My windows are open and I can hear someone whipper snipping their lawn. Isn’t that exciting? I’m glad I can bring you up to date, interesting pieces of my life. I rock.

I cleaned out my dresser today and threw out some clothes that I don’t wear anymore. How can one person (me) have so many clothes? Where do they all come from? I think I shop/sleep walk, because quite honestly I don’t remember buying that much. I really should stop, but I do like clothes. Alot. You know, it’s probably too late to reform myself, so why even bother? I should have been my pyschiatrist because I really do know myself. Again, say it with me, I rock.

I’m craving something. However, I’m not sure what. Has that ever happened to you? You’re dying for something but you don’t know what you want? I think I want Chinese food but I am pretty sure I’m not going to get any. Maybe if I ask my husband real nice, he’d pick some up on his way home? Pray for me. Well, praying seems a bit much for Chinese food. Maybe just crossing something for me. Like fingers. Or whatever you like to cross.

I’m going to go take a bath and turn on the jets. Wicked isn’t it? I have a tub with jets. Okay, so it’s not a private jet, that would fly me around the world, now that would be wicked, but having a tub with jets, is kinda neat is it not? Better than taking a bath with a creepy clown that makes fart bubbles. Don’t ask.