February 24, 2008

Is it every day you can say you were hit in the head by a Calgary Flames player? The answer is no! However, I can totally say that. Cory Sarich hit me in the head (ah for non Flames fans, that is a photo of Iginla, because he’s hot my favourite). As for me being hit in the head by Sarich, read on:

We attended the Calgary Flames Skills Competetion back in January (yes I’m just now writing about it because I wanted to have pictures to show you and I had taken over 200 and just got them uploaded - hey I’ve been busy) and we were lucky enough to get seats directly behind where some of the team was sitting. There are different things going on during the Skills Competetion - obviously skill stuff, duh, but also things being thrown into the crowd, because let me tell you, that takes some talent.

There are T-shirts being thrown, chunks of ice, hockey sticks - naw, I’m kidding about the ice and sticks but they do throw other things besides shirts. As I’m sitting in my seat, minding my own business, taking some photos, I’m momentarily stunned by a sharp pain on the right side of my head and ear. I look over at my husband and oldest son, who I figured would be opening their mouths to ask me if I’m okay, because, clearly I was in pain. I do see them open their mouths but no words of sympathy come out. Instead my son is oviously quite thrilled.

Woo Hoo! Wow I can’t believe that!

What? What can’t you believe? I was hit in the head by something and man does it hurt.

Ya I know! Awesome eh?!

Awesome that I was hit in the head?

Ya!

Um, no not awesome. I think my ear is going to fall off.

Probably not but holy shit, that is awesome!

Why is it awesome? Explain to me how me in pain is awesome?

Duh, you got hit in the head with an autographed frisbee! Cory Sarich signed it and threw it and it hit you in the head and I caught it! Ya!

Well then, never mind my bleeding wounded half falling off ear, just as long as you got an autographed frisbee. Glad my ear and head could help.

Woo Hoo!

Ya, woo hoo.

Anyway, got some decent photos - I still had the glass to attend with but it was cool being that up-close. My favourite player is Iggy and a close second (my oldest son’s fav) is Dion Phaneuf. Here are a few pics and there’s more HERE.

*My son Sean was able to meet Craig Conroy a few weeks ago*

February 1, 2008

My daughter is 7 going on 23. She’s alot of what I’m not - ballsy, gutsy, bold, speaks her mind, which isn’t a bad thing obviously. Sometimes she’s obsessive. Not sure where she gets that trait.

I had taken my youngest two shopping last week and we stopped at one of my favorite stores - Winners. As we’re browsing around, daughter spies a clearance bin (now I do know where she gets that trait) and sees a cute pink and purple purse which is on sale for $3. She immediately gets excited and tosses it into our cart. Our cart, by the way, had our jackets in it, my purse and some other things we were purchasing.

I find a pair of pants and a shirt that I want to try on. I let Ryan stay in the toy section and bring Madison with me to the changing rooms. I ask the lady at the counter if I can leave my cart in front of her counter, she says yes. I leave our jackets in the cart, along with our other items, taking only my purse and the two items I’m going to try on. We come back out a few minutes later and Madison looks in the cart and asks me where the purse is? I start looking through the cart, but it’s gone. The lady at the counter asks me if there’s a problem and I explain to her that the purse my daughter picked out and placed in the cart is now gone. Counter lady says she didn’t see anything.

My daughter runs back over to the clearance bin and starts looking in it, wondering if it had somehow walked back there by itself. As she’s riffling through the bin, she looks over to her left and starts waving to me, wanting my attention.

“Mom, mom, mom, mom!” Saying it in a hissed whisper.

“What?”

“That lady took my purse! Look in her cart, right there, she’s got it.”

I look over and see a woman standing by her cart, two kids in tow and her cart filled with toys. And she’s GOT THE PURSE THAT MY DAUGHTER PICKED OUT. BITCH took it from my cart.

As we’re watching her, she walks away from her cart to go look at the rack of clothes. Madison runs over to me and begs me to take it back from her cart. Now I’m in a bit of a dilemma. I want to take that purse, and give it back to my child but at the same time, I, who, do not like confrontation at all, and who also wants to think the best of people, and maybe that,that lady didn’t take it from our cart, that maybe the purse got up and walked into her cart, by itself. Because that’s plausible.

My child is not happy. I walk over to the clothing rack, the purse thief is at the other end and I say, quite loudly, “Wow, it’s really rude when people take things from someone else’s cart.” Lady aka THIEF looks over at me and glances down at my cart, which still holds our jackets and other items. I see the look on her face for that split second. She knows that I know that she took the purse that my daughter picked out.

Madison comes over to me and starts her rant.

“See? That lady is rude mom, rude! Why are you not taking it from her cart? She doesn’t deserve that purse. I saw it and picked it out and she just walked up to our cart when we weren’t looking and took it. That’s STEALING.”

“I know Madison, it’s rude and I wouldn’t ever do such a thing, but I know what you mean, I know you want it back, but technically we didn’t see her take it, so I don’t think we can just go over and take it back.”

“Why not? We had it first and she didn’t mind taking it from us. I say we march over there and take it back.”

At this point, I’m envisioning a riot, police being called, handcuffs and making a call to my husband to bail me out. Do I have an over active imagination? I’m thinking, yes.

Again, we watch as the lady walks away. By this time Madison is practically foaming at the mouth.

“If you don’t go take it from her cart, then I will. I will march right over there and take it.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I think it’s a GREAT idea.”

I tell daughter to just wait a minute so I can think about this, think about how to approach someone and accuse them of stealing something from our cart. Is there a polite way to do that? However, as I’m picturing things in my head, the decision is taken out of my hands.

“Mom, I see their cart! She walked away, I don’t see her, I’m making a run for it.” And with that, my child dashes over to the lady’s cart and quickly takes a look around, and snatches the purse.

She makes her way back to me and throws the the purse in our cart and buries it under our jacket.

“That lady was rude mom and there was no way I was going to just let her get away with that. And when she realizes that the purse is gone, then she’ll probably KNOW that I took it but I don’t care because she was the one who was wrong, not me.”

“Ah huh.”

“I’m so not letting any rude lady get away with that. NO way.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and said, “Let’s go pay for MY purse.”

Brave and bold, that’s my girl.

January 20, 2008

Who knew that taking my kids to meet Calgary Flames center Craig Conroy would be so exciting? My oldest and my youngest are big hockey fans and when my son mentioned last week that he wanted to go to the “meet and greet” with Conroy, I had no idea I’d be the one taking them.

We got to the show home (where it was being held) and listened for a bit to the radio show on Fan960, being done live. Even that thrilled my kids. Not so much me. I did take a tour of the show home just to kill time. Later on, we made our way down to the next home to wait for the hockey player that I really don’t know much about. My 7 year old daughter knows way more than I do about such things. I thought she was a princess? Princesses aren’t supposed to know about hockey and sport-ish stuff. Sheesh. And she also entered a contest for the “Junior Reporter” where the winner gets to interview players, gets free tickets, a jersey, goes to a practice and maybe gets to marry one of the players for all I know. Again, I’m pretty much in the dark about such things. Madison is convinced she’s going to win. She has as much of a shot as the next kid, but I’m sure there were lots of entries. Fingers crossed.

We waited about an hour and finally the moment of truth - Craig Conroy walks in. Holy. He was way hotter taller than I thought. All of a sudden I was wishing I knew more about him. Wait, I’m married. Oops. He is in my age range though. Not that that matters. Plus I’m sure I saw a wedding band on his finger. And again, I’m married. Did I mention I’m married. Yes.

I didn’t realize I would get so flustered. God. I didn’t even know what he really looked like before he walked in. He was so nice too. He smiled at each person that went up, signed everything that people asked him to sign, stood up for pictures if you asked, thanked you for coming and waiting in line. He really was a nice guy. And gosh, so hot tall. Just so tall. And his eyes are so blue. Very blue. Not that I was looking. I mostly just watched the wall. Am I babbling? I think I am. Anyway, it was fun seeing my kids so thrilled by it all and getting to meet a “star” in their eyes.

October 23, 2007

For the last few days, we’ve been telling our youngest children that ‘daddy’s new worker, Bubba, is coming for a visit’. Who we were referring to, was our oldest son moving back here for the next few months to work. However, we wanted to surprise the kids, so we didn’t tell them, instead, made up a fictional dude named Bubba.

I had it all planned out, bought my son fake black mustache and sideburns, gave my husband (who was picking him up from the airport) a black hat to give him so he could cover his red hair as that would be a dead giveaway for the kids and told him (son) not to wear a familiar jacket or shirt etc. I envisioned ‘Bubba’ coming in (and I was videotaping it) and we’d make a whole production out of it, the kids would ask Bubba questions (and Bubba was a hick from somewhere) and it would be this funny, fabulous video, so funny infact, that we’d send it in to America’s Funniest Home Videos and win the $10,000 grand prize. Perhaps a bit of a stretch in my overactive imagination but hell, one can fantasize right? Right.

Husband and Bubba arrive, I have the video camera all poised and ready to go, signal them to come in and my daughter runs to the door because all evening she’d been peppering me with ‘Bubba’ questions. “Where’s he from? Why is he a hick? Does he have yucky teeth? Is he married? Does he have a car? A girlfriend? Is he cute or ugly”? Oh the questions kept coming. She runs to the door excitedly and in walks Bubba, wearing his familiar hat, red hair sticking out, familiar orange hoody, familiar jeans and workboots and although he did put on the fake mustache and sideburns it was not enough with every single freakin’ thing else looking much the same as when he left half a year ago. Therefore, immediately, my child says, ummm you’re not Bubba, you’re Sean. Well duh.

Was it too much to ask for husband and son to put the getup on as instructed? No, it was not. So, it was basically a half assed effort and of course he was instantly recognized. Then, then, then to top it off, my youngest son wasn’t even in the room, which I thought he was. No. He was on the toilet, so my oldest runs up (ah not even going for the pun there) and peeks in and surprises the crap (ah ahem, er, nevermind) out of my youngest boy, who just stares at him in shock. It was a priceless moment for sure, however, it’s not one that I’m going to share with the world, since my child might not appreciate the fact that his mother is videotaping this wonderous event, you know, with the whole toilet issue thing happening.

Next time some child of mine or any other relative, is coming for a visit/stay, and I want to make it some big surprise, I’m going to make sure I’m the one who goes to pick up said person so I can dress them appropriately for the whole, you know, SURPRISE factor and fantastic video capture moment. Geez. If you want something done right, such as shocking the shit outta your family, let the crazy bitch woman do it.

October 18, 2007

Well apparently that’s normal and not shocking at all. Why? Because my kids thought nothing of their big brother, hiding in the downstairs bedroom in the closet after being away for 6 months. I shot a short video of the scenerio (less than 2 mins incase you were worried that’d it be some asine, long winded boring piece of crap home video but I can assure you, you will wish you had a bag of popcorn to fully enjoy the full one minute and 50 seconds…yawn) and you can see it HERE.

You can hear the insanity in my voice, wondering why my children didn’t think it was the least bit odd that Matt was IN. THE. CLOSET. As in HIDING. ‘Oh you’ve been away for 6 months but ya, of course you’d be hiding in the bedroom closet’. Sounds logical to me. They quickly moved on to regular chit chat, wanting him to see our new cat. You remember her, she’s a Ninja. They wanted to know how long he was going to be living here. Ryan wants to know if it’s forever. Ummm I love my children and having them here obviously, but let’s not get crazy. Forever is a very, very long time. So no, he won’t be living here forever. Let’s not use the word forever. For awhile is more appropriate. Just sayin’.

There you have it, he arrived safe and sound is back to work. Now stay tuned because I will have yet another video (get that popcorn poppin’), this time of my 20 year old who is coming back. I’m not even shitting you. However, he’s not staying as long. He’ll be leaving in March to go back east. It’ll be fun though, having all 4 kids home, wreaking havoc and causing chaos in our home. I mean who doesn’t just absolutely love chaos? Chaos is practically my middle name. Right after crazy.

October 8, 2007

It’s Thanksgiving here in Canada. Get with it mmkay? We had our turkey dinner at the wench’s house and she cooks a mean bird. Everyone ate too much but that didn’t stop us from eating more later with several desserts to choose from. People never learn. Anyway, on the topic of dead meat and other such things, let me tell you what I found on Saturday.

My husband brought home a big freezer, which was given to him and all that was needed, was for it to be cleaned up. So he begged me to clean the filthy thing I graciously offered to clean it so he could put his meat in it. See? Told you this was going to be about all sorts of meat stories.

As I’m cleaning the free deep freezer, I could smell something weird. We have 2 kitchens in our house because who doesn’t need two kitchens to clean? I mean, sweet right? Butter my ass and call me Judy. No wait, that’s not right. Smack my loaf and butter my bisquit? I forget. Whatever. I’m downstairs in our other kitchen, cleaning this freezer and this smell keeps assaulting my sense of well being, making me slightly nauseous. I stick my head way into the deep freeze and while it’s a bit musty smelling, it’s not rank. I’m thinking perhaps my kids spilled something in the garbage can and it’s a bit smelly. But there’s nothing in the garbage can except some stale chips and a couple of paper towels. Hmmm.

I get back to cleaning the freezer and there a few icepacks in there, so I wash them off and since they were in perfect condition, decided I’d keep them and walked over to the fridge, open the top freezer and was about to put them in when the horrendous smell smacked me upside the head. I pick up an open box of Mr Freezies. Remember, this is in the FREEZER. Where things are supposed to be FROZEN. As in not thawed. I peeked into the box of Mr Freezies and sorry to say Mr Freezie ain’t frozen, he’s quite limp. The whole box is liquid. I scan over to the huge box of chicken fingers and reach inside to pull them out and they aren’t frozen. They’re soggy. Not good. As I’m trying not to pass out from the smell, I reach in and grab a bag. Not sure what’s in it, however, it was not pretty in either looks or odor. It was our pork ribs. Another bag held what was once fairly expensive pork loin. Yet another bag yielded a huge tray of chicken wings. Oh and let’s not forget the $30 worth of strawberries we picked, that I was planning on making jam with seriously, you think I was going to get around to making homemade jam? Sure.. There are piles of sticky Mr. Freezie, ah, juice, ahem, and the icecube trays no longer hold ice. Oh I had cookie dough in there that is able to be thawed and then refrozen but it was now tainted with rotten pork/chicken smell. Yum.

I opened the fridge to see what the freezer control was set at, and low and behold, instead of 8, where it’s recommended, it was at 2. I stood there scratching my head, wondering just who might have messed with the controls. Probably not my husband since he rarely goes down there and I’m pretty certain he’s busy, oh, running his own business, that he’s not got the time to ruin the meat he forked money out for. Oh, oh, oh, see that? See? ‘Meat’ he ‘forked’ money out for. You eat ‘meat’ with a ‘fork’. There’s that amazing word magic I have going on. Revel in it. Basque in it. Deep breath. I know it’s hard being around such word greatness. Snap out of it now, you’ve got more reading to do.

I am quite sure it wasn’t me who turned down the freezer because as appealing as cleaning smelly, rotting meat sounds, I just have other things I’d rather clean. That leaves a 7 year old who could care less about frigging with controls on motorized/mechanical things and an eleven year old, who loves seeing just how things work and playing with buttons, moving them, seeing what button does what when turned this way or that way. Hard to decide isn’t it? Right. Needless to say I had to clean up all that disgusting, rotting meat and sanitize the whole refriderator. What better way to spend a Saturday afternoon? Ya, Happy Thanksgiving.

September 13, 2007

…shit? Nope. Chris. Chris Crocker. If you haven’t seen THIS yet, perhaps you’ve been under a rock or have been busy staring at my picture and the rest of the world has passed you by. I can see that happening. Anyway, crazy Crocker boy was featured on Jimmy Kimmel Live last night and I thought Jimster’s (that’s what I call him, we’re tight like that) comments were hilarious. He’s not quite as funny as me, but then again, we can’t have everything can we? No. Just thought I’d share that bit of info. I love being helpful in any way that I’m able. I can feel your appreciation eminating from all the way over there to here. Wherever you are.

My daughter was showcasing her many purses to her father this morning and he didn’t think a 7 year old girl really needs that many handbags and she informed him, that she will be purchasing more at a later date. I say, get used to it, she’s a girl who inherited her mother’s unhealthy obsession for purses and shoes. It’s genetic. She can’t help it. Anyhoo, she pulled out some play money out of one of them and I thought it was helpful that the manufacturer had printed a big SPECIMAN across the bills. I know I often get play money confused with the real thing, hence all my embarrassing moments while trying to pay for shit. What do you mean I can’t pay for my house with this????? More companies should print warnings on their play money. Bastards.

My husband and I had bought a couple of cases of bottled water a few weeks back. We have another complete kitchen downstairs, so we keep extra food and drinks in the fridge down there. I had put some of the bottled water in the downstairs fridge and after the water up here was gone, went to get some of it to bring upstairs. I noticed that the seals were broken on the bottles. I asked my kids if they had opened them. Indeed they did. They dumped out all of the bottled water and replaced it with our tap water, which is fine to drink, but umm, that’s not the point, is it? No. They also made mommy some ‘gatorade’. How? It’s an easy recipe actually. You take many Mr Freeze freezies and let them thaw on the kitchen counter for an hour or so. You then take some scissors and cut them open and pour the now thawed sticky liquid into the empty bottled water bottles and put the covers on. You then put the bottles back in the fridge. Then you wait until your mother finds them and has a breakdown thanks you profusely. See? Easy.

I have to paint the bedroom downstairs. I do not like painting. At all. I have nightmares about it and perhaps THIS could be one reason why. I usually end up wearing alot of paint, no matter how carefully I plan things out. Painting, plus me, don’t mix. Don’t paint and drive I say. Or something like that. I think maybe I should wear cling wrap or something so I don’t ruin more clothes. Or just paint naked. Now there’s an idea. Maybe my ASS could help me paint. Might as well make it useful for something. I mean it just sits there normally. See that? That was sorta pun-ish. I’m a wordsmith champion and you shouldn’t mess with me.

I must leave the internet for now. Martha Stewart is coming up on The View and I want to punch my tv in the face. Oh the day in the life of me. Busy busy busy.

September 6, 2007

About 12 years ago, my husband and I and our 2 oldest boys, who at the time were 8 and 7 went for a drive. It was a perfect May Sunday, warm, sunny and the promise of summer just around the corner. We decided to stop at the dam lookout. There was a big grassy hill that the kids could run around on, and over the hill and fence was the dam, water rushing into the basin and the kids would love to watch the spray splash over the rocks.

The boys were running ahead of us, and as my husband and I were walking around the guardrail in the parking lot, I see Matt bending down to pick something up. Sean is also kneeling down and they look deep in thought. I can’t see what exactly they are admiring. In about one minute it will become crystal clear.

I watch in horror as our 2 sons are skipping back towards us and they have a new friend. I don’t like to be judgy but she wasn’t very pretty. Had a little too much makeup on. Arms and legs just flailing about. And her mouth was just a little TOO BIG. And OPEN. She sort of looked like this chick:

That’s right. She was the kind of friend who needs to be blown up inorder to ‘participate’ in the ‘friendship’. My mouth is now hanging open and my brain is in overdrive, picturing the barf inducing bacteria that MUST be now growing on my childrens’ hands from touching this dirty bitch. I’m going to hurl I just know it. The boys rush over to us, asking us, what exactly is ‘this’?

I don’t know.

Mom, you must know what this is?

It’s a giant Barbie doll. And you should put her down. Like now.

It’s sure an ugly Barbie doll. Like really ugly.

Can we keep her?

Ummm no.

Why not?

Ah, ah, umm, because it probably belongs to someone *insert vomiting noises here*.

It seems a bit big for a little girl to be playing with it, dontcha think?

Yes. Can you please stop touching it? It’s germy.

So why can’t we keep it? How germy could it be?

My husband pipes up at this point, because honestly, the man just doesn’t believe in beating around the bush……ah perhaps not the greatest choice of words on my part. Anyway, I digress. So husband says, ‘oh you can’t keep it because some weirdo has been having sex with it and it’s got gross stuff on it’. Nice touch sweetie.

The boys immediately throw dirty bitch down and start screaming and making throw up sounds and I am screaming at them to not touch their face or their eyes or their mouth and we decided it was probably best to go home and fumigate the boys and have them tested for diseases, you know in our lab, because, you know, we’re scientists and such as.

Now I must go shower because after talking about dirty bitch, I feel dirty. Where’s my air pump?

July 22, 2007

I swear we have the weirdest kitten ever. Don’t get me wrong, she’s the best kitten ever too. She was the perfect kitten when we got her…instantly trained, could climb stairs no problem, does the dishes when asked, mows the lawn when I’m just too lazy…the list goes on. She’s a gem really. She is however, a little freaky.

My daughter decided to climb on the back of our love seat in the livingroom and then proceed to jump off of it, practicing Karate moves even though, technically she isn’t taking Karate professionally. I guess she wants to prepare before she actually takes the class. Good thinking. Smart like her mama. Anyway, the cat thinks she’s a martial arts expert. Ya, there’s only enough room in this household for one incoherent lush martial arts Ninja and that’d be me. You can click HERE if you want to see the pictures in their full glory. I mean, I’m not going to make you click there, I’m just trying to be helpful. Can’t accuse me of not not trying to be helpful. I think. I’m not sure what I’m saying. Listen, just click if you freakin’ want to, and if you don’t, have another hit off the pipe. Or eat some icecream. Help an elderly lady across the street. Punch a clown in the groin. Whatever floats your boat.

July 15, 2007

I don’t know how this happened, but my oldest son turned 20 yesterday. That’s so weird because, I’m like, only thirty something twenty four but I’ve heard of miracles happening, so let’s just chalk it up to one of those situations. It kinda sucks that I couldn’t spend the day with him but he’s 3000 miles away so that sort of makes it hard to just drive over to see him. We put some cold hard cash in his bank account and he was going to go shopping and maybe to a movie. I want to go shopping and to a movie. Where’s my cold hard cash in my bank account? Hmmm? I don’t see anyone forking over any for me. I’m pretty sure I sent out a memo. Perhaps you didn’t get it. Slow mail day maybe.

We are still in the midst of that, HEAT WAVE thing but my fabulous husband put in our air conditioner yesterday and now, I’m actually kinda chilly, BUT that is in no way a complaint. If you should hear me bitch moaning about being chilled, kick me in the neck and call me ungrateful would ya? Help me remember how much I whined for the past week and a half about how hot I was. And not hot as in ‘fine’ but hot as in, I have a bad rash. Ah, well I don’t have a rash but I’m just using that as a reference. Trying to make a point is all.

I’m supposed to be getting ready to go out but I’m really enjoying the cold air in here (see, being grateful, all is good) and I am scared to leave my chilled lair to venture out in the heat but the thought of shopping (which I think we might do) is such a pull. I LOVE to shop. I really should have been born rich. I would so make a good rich person. Not a snotty rich bitch, because those kind of rich people suck ass but a nice, cute, friendly rich person, who would take her friends shopping whenever they felt like it. I’m not sure if it’s too late to marry for money. Let me talk to my husband and get his imput. I’ll get back to you on that one.

Remember the Speedy Gonzales icecream truck man? Well he was ’round yesterday and my daughter had to put on her fastest running shoes and do the 100 yard dash to catch the guy. I might have to go tell him how to run his business. Slow=more icecream sold…Fast=not as much icecream sold and pissed off children. Take it into consideration buddy. Try it my way for a week and we’ll compare notes later.

Brrrr, it’s………..wait, not going to say it. Grateful, be grateful, be grateful. See how grateful I am for my ac? Okay, must run now (no not to catch the icecream dude) and get off my lazy ass and get dressed dash out the door because I’m allll ready to go. I will be back to do my ‘Sassy Sunday Searchstring’, that I know you all look forward to. Unless aliens take me and want to do an anal probe but this back door is closed for entry, so not sure how much fun they’ll have with me. I know you’re thanking me for the 411. I’m so very helpful like that. Chalk full of information for the masses.