September 7, 2007

Me. Duh. You shouldn’t have had to even think about that. But if you did or are confused as to why I’m cool, lemme explain it to you.

I have my own fan club. Give your head a shake and smack your face hard. But even doing that won’t erase the facts…I have a fan club. Where did I get my own fan club? From creating it myself since I’m a loser the thousands of people who adore and worship me, that’s how. If you go HERE, you will see the fan club. My fan club. Sure you’ll find out my real name and stuff but how exciting is that going to be? Not very. I mean very.

I hope to have at least one 500 fans joined by noon. And it’s 12:07pm people. That’s how popular I am.

*Edit* Umm you have to be signed into Facebook to see the link I posted. If you don’t know what Facebook is, smash your head into a brick wall and pour gas in your eyes just for not knowing.

August 23, 2007

…I’m hardly modeling material either. However, someone named ‘Francesca’ seems to think I’d have a great career at modeling and is insisting I send ‘her’ a photo of myself. First off, I think ‘her’ is probably ‘he’ and not just any ‘he’ but a big, fat, greasy slob, at home, sitting in his skid marked undies, a huge beer gut covered in blackish-grayish hair, belly button lint overflowing, smelly pits, a piece of KFC in one hand and obviously typing with the other hand as all of this conversation is taking place on messenger. Unless he’s typing with his penis. Oh God, I just threw up a little in my mouth.

F: Hello, how are you?

Me: I’m fine, thanks

F:You remember me?

Me: Umm no, not really, sorry. Where do I know you from?

F: I find girls for modeling agency

Me: Umm oh. Well I’ve never been to a modeling agency so I highly doubt we’ve met.

F: You want model?

Me: Do I want to model? Sure if you’re looking for a 5ft 2in forty twenty-five year old who may look demented sweet for her age but I’m thinking I’m past modeling career status. Plus, really, I could be an ugly troll who lives under bridges and eats people.

F: Show me your looks.

Me: Show you my looks? Damn, I just packed them away. Ah, well, my picture is in the display box of my messenger, so you can see what I look like.

F: Oh you beauty

Me: Well thanks but I’m still pretty certain I’m not what you’re looking for.

F: You send me?

Me: Send you what? A donut?

F: You send me photo.

Me: Ya sure, I’m going to send you a photo. I’ll get right on that. And by right on that, I mean, when it becomes fashionable to pee on total strangers. Wait, how about when pigs fly?

F: I’m in Milan, you in Milan?

Me: Oh ya, I go to Milan all the time. I just got back this morning actually. I was on a modeling job.

F: You making fun?

Me: Making fun of you? No. That’s not my style. Like I would be sarcastic. Like ever. Especially with someone who says they are Francesca looking for ‘girls’ for ‘modeling’ from ‘Milan’, which all sounds totally plausible. And certainly since you think I’m modeling quality, why would I make fun of you? That would be fun rude of me.

F:I get back to you

Me: Oh I’ll be waiting with baited breath by the messenger! Be still my heart.

So betches, I might not be writing for awhile, you know, since I’m going to be in Milan posing n’ shit, while people take my photo while I look all pouty and stuff. Hey don’t be jealous, we can’t all be models.

July 19, 2007

That was my look when I opened my mailbox today and saw that I was a millionaire. Well according to the Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes people. However, after reading the fine print, I think they’re big, fat liars. I might sue them. We’ll see how the rest of my week goes.

Did I tell you it’s still hot here? It’s still hot here. Although today wasn’t quite as bad as it has been and I do have my ac in now, so really I shouldn’t complain about the heat, but since I feel like complaining about it, I’m complaining. Confused? Me too.

I think I have to walk to the bank tomorrow. How exciting is that? I don’t have a vehicle anymore….well, I mean I do but it doesn’t work. At all. So that’s just like not having one, therefore I must walk everywhere I want to go and since it’s summer break, I must bring my children along. You know, children, those small humans that you love with all of your heart and soul, the same ones who can annoy the shit out of you in 5 minutes flat. Ya those ones. I’ll let you know what kind of embarrassment they bring me, because you can bet your last dollar, they will bring it. It’s been broughten. Many times over.

I found out the other day that I have another photograph published in a new book. The name of the book escapes my frazzled brain but when I remember it or get the gumption to look it up, I’ll let you know. I’m sure you’ve got chills waiting. I know how to get you going. Oh ya baby.

It’s 10:38pm and my kids are still up. I’m not quite certain why but I know I must get off of this contraption and place them in their beds. We’ve been together for 14 hours and I think that’s my limit for the day. They’re driving me insane darlings and need their beauty rest and mama needs a stiff drink and a massage to watch her toenail paint dry.

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.

June 30, 2007

Do you know what today is? Ah it’s day 3 of summer break for my kids. I mean it’s also Saturday and they’d be off school anyway, but when Monday rolls around, they are not going back. They will be with me 24/7 until September. Is that even legal? I’m going to look into that.

I bought them a pool for passing their respective grades. Not a big inground pool because well, we live in a huge city with small yards but as yards go, my back yard is decently sized, although not huge like it would be if I were living in the country. Am I rambling? Get used to it. These are the yackings of a crazy person now, who will clearly show you just how nutso she is over the course of the summer. Anyway, the pool is an 8 foot round, that is just the right size for them. They love it. And that’s all that matters right? Hell no Right. I get to say to people now, when they call me, ‘oh I’m sitting by the pool’, makes me sound so shee shee pooh pooh and who doesn’t want to sound like that? And who doesn’t love getting splashed when your kids jump in the pool and your really juicy romance novel gets all wet and soggy? You’d have to be a stone cold bitch not to love that aspect of it. It makes me want to jump right in there and strangle join them. Is it September yet?

Did I tell you my arms fell off? No? Well they did. This weight training crap is for, well weight trainers but I continue to do it anyway. I’m not planning to get all muscle-y and get big bowed legs and smother my body in orange day glow tanning spread/oil/cream or anything like that, I’m just doing it……..why the hell am I doing it? I’m going to have to check with my assistant on why I’m doing it. Wait, I fired that cow. She was trying to steal my husband and then I kicked her and she died and then she came back to life……….wait, I think I might be confusing my situation with that soggy, wet, juicy romance novel that I was reading before my kids ruined it. I’m drunk relaxed. Oh the joys of summer break. And by joys, I mean torture joys for real.

My gf Ang and her girls came over yesterday and I made lunch for everyone. Noone died by eating my cooking, which, I think is a good thing. We sat out by the pool, looking all sweaty sexy, while our kids played and splashed and splashed and splashed some more. Did I mention we got splashed? We loved that. I know I did. It’s my favourite thing ever. Well besides typing this whole shit load of sentences with my tongue because my arms fell off. I’m resourceful like that. And I do have a strong tongue. I have proof. My dentist told me that awhile back….let me regale you with that story.

I had an appointment with a new dentist, so I had a thorough check up and they did some xrays and afterwards, my dentist went over the xrays with me. As he’s showing me the different pictures of the inside of my mouth (which were super hot by the way because it could have been the inside of an octopus because no regular person can make heads nor tails out of them anyway) and he points to a particular xray and says, “see that?” Sure I saw it but I had no idea what I was looking at. He told me it was my tongue, which, and I quote, “I had to fight with that thing the whole time I was in your mouth. You have a very strong tongue”. Ummm awkward. What does one say to that? Gee thanks doc, I work that baby out like there’s no tomorrow. I mean who doesn’t want a strong tongue? It’s come in handy for me since I’m typing these days with it because MY ARMS FELL OFF. See how life works out?

I have to go get dressed now. I’m going shopping for sleeveless shirts because my arms fell off and why would I need shirts with sleeves? Just a waste of material. Plus I need a drink, since my tongue has had a great workout typing all of this and I want to keep that pink monster in ‘tip’ top shape. ‘Tip’. Get it? I’m not in my right mind punny.

June 12, 2007

…since sliced bread. That’s what this piece of bread is:

What the hell kind of bread shape is that? Oh before I go any further, this will be riveting writing people, so be forewarned. I can’t help it if I’m brilliant.

So anyway, the bread shape. What is it? Who makes bread look like that? I mean this is 2007 last time I checked and hello, can we not make bread look like bread? What kind of pan does one have in order to make the bread come out looking all haphazard like that? I want answers dammit! Does the bread have a yeast infection? Oh feel the pun, soak it in. I was going to make a sandwich but now I’m sorta afraid to. What will my tomatoes think? Oh no bitch, you are not putting us on THAT piece of bread. My tomatoes will riot. They’ll throw themselves at me up on stage. Okay, well, I’m not up on stage but you know what I mean. My mayo will throw up on itself, begging me not to spread it on that slice of bread. Listen darlink, you vill not spread me on dat piece of nasty white,all misshapen an’ shit. No way. My bacon (if I had any) would be pissed that I would be placing their fat ass on that sick looking bread. We fried ourselves in our own grease for you and this is how you repay us? By putting us on your ugly bread? You suck. See how this would go? It would be awful and I just don’t think I can do that to my toppings or myself. Oh the horror.

I think I’ll write to the bread place and complain. Like get your pans fixed and make bread that looks like bread. Guess I’ve got a busy day ahead. Where’s my pencil?

June 5, 2007

….that some crazy lady would run into the back of my heel with her shopping cart and then she’d laugh and point and half walk, half run away? Who knew? Not me. Lotsa nutjobbies out there people.

Also, who knew that the very short lady at the grocery store would be yelling, ‘hey you’ a whole bunch of times and low and behold she was yelling at me? I didn’t know. When I finally clued in that she was motioning for me to come over to the end of the isle where the faceclothes and towels are, I walk over, while pushing my shopping cart because, hello? I’m a CUSTOMER not an employee. Ya, and I WASN’T wearing a name badge OR a uniform but sure, I can see why she’d mistake me for that ‘hey you employee’ in my denim capris and pink tee shirt and hair in a ponytail. I guess I can’t help it if I look knowledgable about everything. The price I pay.

Anyway, she gets me to go to the end of the isle where there are stacks of faceclothes on sale for $2.34 for a bundle of 12. She points to the sign, which by the way, there were many signs up not just one and they all said 12 WASHCLOTHES FOR $2.34. Plain as day. She looks at me kinda crazy-ish and says, ‘well’? Well what lady? I shrug my shoulders and then look at my watch to let her know I’ve got way more important stuff to do than stand here and watch her be all looney. She then asks me how much these things are? The washclothes? Yes she says. I said, well it says on the GIANT bright orange sign that they are 2 fucking dollars and 34 fucking cents. I didn’t say the fucking part but I was sure THINKING it. She then asks me ‘but how much are they’? Oh Lord. Let’s try this again shall we? They’re two dollars and thirty four cents for FUCKSAKE. Again, I didn’t say the fuck part but I was thiiiiinking it. She looks at me and then at the washclothes and then back to me and says, ‘you people really need to put up better signs for prices’. Then she walks away all huffy. I know, I’m such a crappy NON EMPLOYEE for not having the proper signage up so my NON CUSTOMERS can see what they have to pay for the NON products that I don’t put out because I don’t work there. Gah. Is this like the whole my doctor isn’t my doctor but is my doctoer kinda scenerio, ‘cept I’m now considered an employee of the grocery store I shop at but I don’t get a pay cheque but I do get shit on by customers? I LOVE that.

And who knew that a certain bank which will remain nameless because I might get fired from there because I don’t work there but talked trash about them and then I’d be out a job that I don’t get paid for, and that would suck………but I digress….anyway, a certain bank can’t get their act together and keep our files straight on a certain issue which I will not mention for fear of the universe turning on it’s axis kinda deal and I would feel really guilty if I somehow turned everyone’s world upside down. Oh isn’t that punny? Get it? Ya.

Did you know that I was going to take a shower today but instead I took a bath because I wasn’t going to wash my hair because it looked kinda pretty all flat and stuff since I flat ironed it and my hair is very thick, never gets greasy so I don’t really have to shampoo it every day or it would be like straw? You didn’t know? Well I just told you BUT here’s the kicker. I decided after I got all dressed after my nice bath, that I would clean my bathroom because as some of you may know, I clean my bathroom just about every day because I really like a clean bathroom, anyhoo, as I was bending down to pick up a piece of paper on the floor, which had kinda sorta fallen in behind the toilet, so I therefore, had to sorta kinda squat down and reeeeeach in behind the said toilet to retrieve the piece of paper (I swear I WILL get to the point) and the toilet seat was up and my hair is very long. REALLY REALLY long and guess what? Some of my hair was in the toilet water, which techinally was fresh water, well as fresh as toilet water can be I suppose but still, ewwww. So that means I had to wash my hair because the thought of walking around with toilet water soaked hair ends just kinda sorta creeped me out. Now I must go finish drying it and then maybe flat ironing it if I feel like it, which I kinda sorta don’t feel like. Who knew?

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 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.