December 21, 2007

I’m still alive, thus I’m not dead. I’ve been so busy and you’re wondering busy doing what right? I wish I had something exciting to tell you, but I don’t. I walked in the frigging cold today to get my nails done and then walked to the grocery store to pick up a bag of sugar. Don’t kill me because you’re bored.

Oh I guess I do have some exciting news…well exciting to me. I bought myself a laptop. A real one. I’m loving it. I, however, kinda messed up my husband’s Christmas surprise for me. He’d already bought me a laptop, but how was I to know? Anyway, he was cool with it and said he’d just return it and get me something else. He’s so sweet. But don’t tell him I said that. He likes to act all, “I’m not a big old softie,” so let’s just keep it between us shall we?

So who’s ready for the holidays and old big fat Santa to come down your chimney? I’ve been ready for so long I wish it was the new year already. Let’s get a move on. I’m dying to know what my kids got me. They’ve refused to give me any hints and I’ve curbed the desire to sneak a peek and ruin the surprise. I’ve been known to, in the past, to kind of open things and then rewrap them. You think my kids get excited about Christmas? They got nothin’ on me lemme tell ya. I just can’t help it. But, I’ve been in a 14 step recovery progam for Christmas present-a-holics and apparently it’s working. I’m reformed!

I’m still working here, and just because I’m sweet, I’m going to post a few links that you could click. It may or may not earn me a bonus but if you read my shiznat, I’ll be forever grateful. Not grateful enough to send you cash, but I’ll take youi out to dinner. What? We don’t live in the same city? Geez, picky aren’t you?

Who doesn’t love celebrity gossip? Everyone does, even if they don’t admit it. Below are some stories that I’ve written about and perhaps you’ll find them interesting. Or maybe you won’t. Listen I can’t entertain you 24/7.

A rapper named Pimp C died. I had never heard of him but apparently he was well loved to the rap loving fans.

Madonna’s new song, ‘4 Minutes to Save the World’ made it’s world debut. Will it be a hit? I wasn’t crazy about the sample played but who knows, maybe it’ll grow on us.

Britney Spears was nude sunbathing. I guess it’s a photoshopped picture, but hey, it’s still fun to make fun of her. It’s what I live for.

So there you go, some good Christmas reading. Merry freakin’ Christmas. Ho, ho, ho.

December 4, 2007

Is it just me or has customer service gone down the tubes? In the crapper? Down the shithole? I swear, that no one wants to help anyone anymore. Bahumbug!

I wanted to find out where a certain set of pictures were at a certain place that I normally order all of my photographs and I can’t believe how helpful the person on the other end of the phone was. By helpful, I mean she may as well have farted into the ear piece and told me what a bitch she is. Would have saved me alot of pissed-off-ness.

Hi, I’d like to know if my photos are in yet, please? I have the confirmation number for you.

I can’t help you.

Pardon?

I can’t help you, like at all.

Why not?

‘Cause I just can’t. Like can you call back?

Are you with another customer?

Um, nope. Like can you call back tomorrow?

Um, no I can’t. I’ve been trying for two days now to find out where my pictures are and it’s slightly frustrating when I can’t get any answers.

Ya, well, I totally can’t help you. You can call back tomorrow and talk to the manager.

Oh you can bet I’ll talk to the manager but for today, you are going to help me. Like now.

Oh. Um. Okay. I guess I can.

Super.

I give Miss Ihaveabigfuckingattitude my confirmation number and she enters it into their system.

Ya, like that number doesn’t work.

What do you mean it doesn’t work?

It says, it’s not valid.

Okay, are you sure you’re entering it correctly? Would you please try again?

Ya. It still doesn’t work.

Oh, well that might mean my order is there. I know once it’s been shipped, the confirmation number becomes void. Could you check for me? It’s an online order.

No, like I can’t.

Pardon? Why not?

This really isn’t my department.

This isn’t the photolab?

Ya it is.

You don’t work at the photolab department?

Ya I do.

I’m confused. If this is the photolab, you work in the photolab department, why can’t you help me?

I dunno. But like can you call back? Thanks, that’d be great.

*CLICK*

Are you kidding me? She was one of the most rude, inconsiderate,ignorant little bitches I’ve ever had to deal with. I tried calling back but no answer. I tried calling for AN HOUR. No answer. By then, it was 10pm and the store was closed. Steam was rolling outta my ears. Big time.

I head to the store the very next day, and go straight to the photolab and there’s a young guy working at the counter. I tell him that I think my order is in but that the dumb little shit that was working the night before wasn’t very cooperative so I wasn’t sure. He found my photos in less than a minute. They were in a carton beside the cash register. It took all of my strength not to go behind the counter and ask (the very friendly dude) where the twit from previous night was because I was going to hurt her. Real bad.

It pleased me that my photos turned out, so I guess I’ll get over it. Or not. However, if I ever encounter that “I like totally can’t help you” I may just have to punch her.

November 28, 2007

A couple of Sassy haters commenters at my new job site, told me today that I should stop trying to be Perez Hilton. I wasn’t aware that I was trying to be an overweight, blue haired man, but gosh, thanks for putting me in check. Plus he’s got a penis (I’m assuming) and I don’t (fact). As well, we all know that Perez is such a great writer and oh so funny. That’s sarcasm incase you missed it, by the way (they didn’t get it, so I’m helping them out). I, apparently, am not allowed to use sarcasm, because, I guess Hilton invented it? Ya okay. I’m older than PH, so if anyone invented sarcasm, it was me.

I get such a kick out of people who get all bent outta shape about celeb sites. They get all defensive and act like they actually know the celebrity and take it personally. I get paid to write about celebs and if I feel like making fun of them, well guess what? I’m gonna do it. To date, I’ve been called a retard, incompetent, a woman who MUST be married to a black man (still trying to figure out what that’s supposed to mean), been told I should marry Paul McCartney if I love him so much (um, nope I don’t), been SCREAMED AT (you know, hollered at with caps on) for being a “Britney hater,” told to stop being so mean to Celine Dion’s son because he has long hair-that’s all I said, was that he has long hair and my own son has long hair and gets called a girl all the time, so bite me.

I’ve been told I suck, I’m a loser and now, I need to stop trying to be Perez. My heart aches, oh yes, for real. And by my heart aches, I say bring it. I could care less, what you think of me because quite honestly, you don’t know me. I will say that I’ve received MANY nice comments, telling me how witty I am and those people are obviously the smart ones. Very smart. Call me, we’ll do lunch. So to the people who like to trash me and my stories. Yawn.

In other, exciting news, is it the new year yet? I feel like I’ve been in the Christmas time warp because we’ve done everything so early this year. Our tree is up, shopping done and wrapped and under the tree, and since I don’t do any holiday baking, that’s just one more thing I don’t have to do. And yet, it’s not even quite December and I’m wondering if Christmas is over. I may start a holiday countdown or something. Wait. Nah, that’s too much work. I got things I have to get done, like not being Perez Hilton.

April 1, 2007

Oh ya baby, I’m a home owner now! I’ll expect now that I’ve given you the good news, that you will be planning my party. You know, the one that I thought you were throwing for me a few days ago but didn’t happen. Remember? The party where you ship me precious gems, cash or other fabulous prizes. Come on, you know you remember. Right? I’ll give you a few minutes to wrack your brains.

So the month of April will be our last month of paying rent and making someone else’s mortgage payment. Booh-yaaaah. Now we’ll be paying our own and although it’s hard parting with hubby’s my money, at least it’s going towards something with my name on it. We have been moving stuff in this weekend and will continue to do so over April and will move in sometime near the end of the month. I’m not sure exactly what date, it’ll just depend on how things go (and ah, how many of you come to help me, geez). We have to go over today and do some things and I spent the day cleaning the house yesterday. I’m not a fan of dog hairs in my cabinets or leftover mac and cheese on my stove, so that stuff had to go.

I do have some kind of sinus issue going on now too. I think it’s because of the previous owner’s dog. I like dogs but I can’t be in a home that has too much dog hair floating around in carpets, balled up in corners and generally laying all over the place. I could barely breath in the house yesterday and it’s been many many years since my allergies have surfaced, so lucky for me they’re back. And by lucky, I don’t really mean lucky. I hope you know that.

Well I’m off to get showered (hopefully with diamonds biatches, get crackin’ and get my shiznat in the mail) and then off to get more house stuff done. Isn’t moving fun? No. Fun is when you punch a clown in the groin.

March 31, 2007

To the person who Googled, ‘my poop came out grey’, seek medical attention immediately. I’m not a doctor, although I play one sometimes at home, I am pretty sure poo is supposed to be some version of brown tones. Not grey. Maybe you shit out your brains, which, if that’s the case, I think you could be in serious trouble. I’m just sayin’.

I’ve sprained my wrist I think and it hurts like hell. If I move it a certain way, it shoots this funky pain up my left arm and actually makes my jaws ache. Maybe that’s why I’ve had this lingering migraine for weeks. I’m not sure. Or maybe it’s the booze. Who knows right? Yes I said I sometimes play a doctor at home, but not all the time, so dammit, I don’t have all of the answers. Do I look like Super Woman to you? Oh. I do? Well spank my ass and call me a bisquit. No, wait. Butter my butt and call me Judy. Hmmm. Spank my butter and punch me in the face? I can’t remember the exact phrase right now, I’m running on empty and I’m tired. And cranky. And hungry. And a big ball of emotions. And I’m old. And I’m still hungry.

I should really go make supper but something’s stopping me. It’s called I DON’T FUCKING WANT TO. I was sure I hired a chef but he must have quit. Maybe because I paid him in used buttons and leftover chicken drippings. Talk about fussy. Hard to find good help these days.

Sigh, I’m leaving now. My kids are playing behind me and they’re very loud and kind of annoying and remember I mentioned I’m cranky? Ya. I will go see if I can get myself invited someplace for supper. I’m not sure how that will happen but I’m sometimes magic, so we’ll see.

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.

February 10, 2007

Oh.My.Gawd. I’m so totally a grownup now! I’m on my own domain. My own. Can you even believe it? Okay, so I’m like the last person on the planet to get their own domain, but humor me here, mmmkay?

I have to thank my bestest friend eva, Karen for making this a reality. Remember how I mentioned she spoiled me? Well this was it. All I had to do was make some graphics and she did all the hard part, like BUY IT (Gosh she’s swell!), code it and do all her fancy schmancy magic and voila, here I sit, staring at my blog because I’m so in awe of it. It’s so weird to type ‘dotcom’ but I love it. And by love it, I mean, I freakin’ love it.

We’re (and by we’re, I mean Karen, I’m just sitting on my ass looking crazy pretty) still working on little stuff so things might be a bit funky so like don’t hurt me. Thanks. I’m such a happy camper right now. Not that I like camping per say, but you know what I mean. Oh and feel free to stare, I am.

I’d also like to thank Emily for adding extra plug-ins so Karen could make the switch, transfer, move over, whatever the proper term is, and thus making me happy. So anyone who makes Karen happy to make me happy, makes me happy. Huh? Anyway, I’m happy.

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.