December 7, 2006

Hi all, I’ve been so busy, getting sloshed and passing out every day getting ready for the holidays, I haven’t had time to do much of anything else. I am happy to report that my Christmas shopping is done, wrapped and under my tree and I didn’t even kill anyone. Or tell anyone off. Much.


I bought myself a purse a couple of days ago. Usually they’re filled with a bunch of crumpled up white paper but not this purse. This purse was special. It came with an air bag. Or a bag of air. Whichever you prefer. Now I’ve never seen this and thought it was quite funny that there is an actual company that fills up plastic bags with air and shoves them into certain products. I love that they feel the need to tell us with little cartoon pictures that, you cannot use this bag of air for a personal floatation device. Or use it as a life preserver for a baby. And it’s not allowed to be used for a pillow for an infant either. Party poopers.


I was at Walmart yesterday and there was a guy watering the fake poinsettas. I’m sure the people purchasing them, will be happy when they pick up the potted fake flowers and their clothes get wet. A lady stopped me in the shoe isle and asked me if I had the time. I didn’t have my watch on but had my cell phone with me, so I took it out of my pocket and told her what time it was. She looked at me and said, “I don’t trust those” and walked away. Okay, was there a full moon or what? Seems like all the crazies were out.


I must go and start my Christmas drinking baking seeing as I’m pretty much Betty Crocker when it comes to that. No really, I am. Just ask anyone who’s died from eating tried my cooking.

December 1, 2006

I don’t clean house on Friday’s. I do this instead. I even got my bf hooked. The tights are hot.

November 29, 2006

While watching tv today, I saw a commercial for a ‘weight loss’ procedure, that quite frankly scared the shit out of me. It’s called the Crap-Band ‘Lap-Band’.


I was on the phone with Karen and I asked her if she’d ever heard of it. She hadn’t. We both then went to the website and seriously dude, it was scary and laughable all rolled into one happy ball of confusion. When you go to the home page, a lion roars at you. Like, if you don’t do this fatty, I will eat you? I’m not sure who designed their webpage but it is, ah, well, how do I say this? Not great. And by not great, I mean crappy. Really, really crappy. And funny. And scary. And confusing. I’m amazed that this procedure was even approved. Musta been by fat monkey’s I guess.


There are ‘ports’ involved. Ports? When I hear the word port, I think of ships and water. I don’t think of people’s insides. This is one of the questions on the ‘FAQS’ page. ‘Do I have to be careful with the access port underneath my skin’? What? The port underneath my skin? That alone is baffling. In several places on the website, they warn you to NOT DRINK MILKSHAKES. Run for your lives people, because that is not normal. To never have a milkshake, is just not right. And to be warned about them? I mean, come on, sure if you guzzle milkshakes like they’re going out of style, well you might be entering into a shit storm sort of speak. Which leads me to my next point.


Speaking of shit, one of the warnings, is after the surgery, you may experience ‘dumping syndrome’. So let me get this right, you might shit so much it will be classified as a syndrome? Well hells bells, sign me up. You should see the risk factor page alone. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to do this. Below are some of the risks………



Ulceration
Gastritis (irritated stomach tissue)
Gastroesophageal reflux (regurgitation)
Heartburn
Gas bloat
Dysphagia (difficulty swallowing)
Dehydration
Constipation
Weight regain
Death…………DEATH. Hmmm, I think that might be a deal breaker. Just sayin’.


If you do decide to do this, you can go back to have your band either, tightened or loosened by having a big ass needle stuck in your port. Hmmm, a needle stuck in your port? Sounds kinda kinky, but hey, maybe you’re into that sorta thing.


Oh they say, on their FAQS page, that if you eat out, you should tell your hostess upfront that you can’t eat alot because you’ve had this procedure. Ah huh.


Hi, table for 2?


Yes please. Oh by the way, I have a port inserted in my gut and so I can’t eat alot and thought you should know that because they told me on the website, that indeed, I could go out to eat but that I should inform my hostess. BUT DON’T SERVE ME MILKSHAKES BETCH BECAUSE I MIGHT DUMP. OR DIE. OR SOMETHING.


Right. I’ll get your waitress.


I bet that person won’t get funny looks. Well they might because they have a port sticking out their ass. Or bellybutton. Or neck. Or face. I dunno.


I punched in my weight, height and age to see if I might qualify for this procedure, and this is the message I got:


Based on your BMI (bowel movement index? Like I’m gonna give them that info!), you do not qualify for LAP-BAND® System surgery at this time. Well darn it. I was so looking forward to getting my very own port. Makes me sound rich. Hey ya’ll, I got a port now! A freakin’ port!


Anyway, I say lay off the cake and pie, walk a little, work out a little and you can avoid THE PORT. Just my little piece of advice for the day. I’m nice like that.

November 25, 2006

My daughter is 6. And she has a cute nose.
Here we have a bead. A pretty, purple, plastic bead. Lovely isn’t it?
Here we have a certain scenerio. See where I’m going with this?


My child decided yesterday, while her mommy was having a nice little chocolate induced coma sleep cat nap, she would put a shiny, purple bead up her nose. Why you ask?


Mommy, there’s a bead up my nose.


What? Slightly groggy from nap


There’s a bead up my nose.


What? A bead? Huh? Is the house on fire?


No mom, there’s no fire. Just a bead up my nose.


How did a bead get up your nose?


I put it up there.


Why on earth would you do that?


Well, I didn’t know it would actually go up that far. Rolls her eyes, hands on hips.


Oh, I see. Roll eyes right back.


Doctor mom gets a flashlight and tweezers, thinking, well, how hard can this be? I look up her nostril and sure enough, waaaaay back there, is a bead.


Explain to me again why you did this?


It’s a purple bead mom, very pretty.


Ah huh. Why?


I’m not 100% sure. I tried to get it out myself but all I did was push it further in there.


Ah huh. Fantastic.


I try unsuccessfully with the tweezers. We did the holding the one nostril closed and blowing. Nada. Tried the hold the free nostril closed, while mommy performs an inpromptu mouth to mouth session, nothing. Well Miss thought that was funny. Funny, mommy didn’t think any of this was funny. Funny how that is.


My bf Karen, told me to pour 8 gallons of baby oil or olive oil in her nostril, lay her back and then sit her up and it would slide out. Ya that home remedy didn’t work either. Oh and she did change the 8 gallons to maybe 4 or 5 drops. She thought the 8 gallons might be overkill. Wink.


My husband arrives home, I tell him the good news, that we have to head to the ER. That’s what every couple wants to do on a Friday night, sit in a waiting room for hours with your child because she stuck a jewelry making product up her sniffer. I called the ER and the nurse said that we would have to come in but she recommended us finding a clinic that’s open late and that they might be able to remove it there. She told me the ER was backed up and our wait time would be hours and hours and hours. Super. I eventually found a walkin clinic that was open near our home and off we went.


We arrived and waited about 40 minutes. The doctor came in and said he could certainly try to get it out and that he had a pretty good batting average. So, like you do this often enough that you have a batting average? What is wrong with kids? Geez, they’re so immature. Anyway, after about ONE MINUTE, Doctor Amazing fishes out the dreaded purple bead and we heave a huge sigh of relief that we will not have to sit in an ER waiting room until dawn. He asks us if we want the bead. Ah, that would be a big fat no.


My daughter has vowed never to do this again. Oh, and that necklace making kit I bought her for Christmas, is SOOOO going back to Toys R Us. Ha!

November 21, 2006

My husband and I and kids went to a restaurant on Sunday evening. It’s a place that we’ve driven by many times but never eaten there. Apparently, so we’ve been told, they have a very yummy Chinese buffet (along with some Canadian dishes). We decided to check it out.


We go in, and wait to be seated. As we’re looking around, we see an empty booth near the back and decide we’d like to sit there since we’re with the 2 younger kids and a booth always suits us well.


The waitress comes over and I ask her nicely if we could sit at the booth.


No.


No?


No. It not empty. It’s clearly empty, unless Mr and Mrs Invisible are dining out.


It’s not empty? I don’t see anyone sitting there.


No.


No we can’t sit there or no, noone’s sitting there?


No.


Alrighty, moving on, we follow her to a table that’s crowded in amongst other tables and there’s no room to move our chairs, or to have a decent conversation since it’s so jam packed in this one area. There are about 30 other tables she could have sat us at but no, she crams us in at the table from hell.


What you having?


We’d like 2 buffets please and my husband is going to take our daughter up to see if there’s anything that she likes and if so, we’ll be ordering a third buffet. My son won’t be eating here, he’s not into buffets. She stands and looks at me like I’m sporting, oh, 4 heads. I asked her if they have chocolate milk.


Chocolate milk?


Yes, I’d like to order one for my son if you have it.


Milk?


Yes, chocolate milk please.


Milk?


Yes. Chocolate. If you have it?


She then writes a giant C on her order pad.


I guess C is for chocolate?


My husband and daughter come back to the table and she decides, there’s nothing that she wants from the buffet, so as the waitress is still standing there staring at me, I ask her if we could see a menu. I’m thinking maybe they have a children’s section to order from.


Menu?


Yes please.


You still want buffet?


Yes, my husband and I do but we’d like to see if there’s something we could order for our little girl.


So a menu?


Yes. Please. Good Lord.


So she of course hands me a booze menu.


Ah, this is for beer and wine.


Yes?


I’m pretty sure I’m not going to order beer OR wine for my 6 year old. I was thinking more along the lines of say, a grilled cheese sandwich or some mac and cheese.


It a menu.


Yes, with licquor in it. Not anything suitable for a child in grade one.


She storms off like I asked her to shit on the floor and then dance through it. All I asked for was a bloody menu. She comes back and throws 2 menus down. One would have sufficed but hey, double the fun, double the pleasure. I take a quick peek through it and there’s nothing there that Maddy wants. She decides she’d rather just wait and have a sub after we are done eating. We tell her that’s fine.


Pyscho Waitress comes back with Ryan’s chocolate milk and throws the order pad on the table in front of us and walks away. Ummm, what was that for? And apparently our waitress DIED because she never came back to our table again. We did catch a glimpse of her here and there but she never came back once to ask us how our meal was or if we wanted a refill of drinks, nothing. We had wanted to order a drink for our daughter but that didn’t happen. Apparently, we were the invisible family.


We finished our meal and noticed the big sign hovering over the buffet. It stated that any food we didn’t eat, we would have to pay extra for. WHAT THE FUCK? I’m going to have to pay for my scraps? As we’re chomping down on our chicken bones and beef gristle (’cause there’s no way in hell I’m paying for that), we decided, we would not be dining there again. Just as we’re licking our plates clean, some man comes over and asks us how old our kids are. Huh?


Why do you need to know how old our kids are?


To charge you.


Charge us? For what? Having kids?


Yes. They pay by how old.


They pay? What? I’m on tv again right?


Yes. For buffet. They pay by age.


Okay, listen, they didn’t eat the buffet. Only my husband and I did.


They pay by age.


Right. I understand but they didn’t eat the buffet, so………….


I get your bill.


Super. We left there picking chicken bones out of our teeth, confused and vowing to one another, that we’ll stick to McDonald’s and Subway. Geez.

My husband and son went to The House of Tools the other day and were telling me about a certain product. It’s called the Caulk Master. Interesting. I’m not sure that’s the best name for a contractor’s product but hey, I kinda like the sound of it. I can see me going into the store now and asking for one.


Hi, I’d like a Caulk Master.


Ah, err, ummm, whew, is it hot in here or what?


Listen Mr Sales dude, are you gonna give me a Caulk Master or what? Because I can go elsewhere if you’re not able to provide me with a Caulk Master.


Ah, no, listen, I’m a Caulk, err, I can show you the Caulk Master, right this way.


Now, how big is the Caulk that comes with it?


It’s, err, a, pretty big, you know, there’s lots of caulk.


Good. Because there’s nothing worse than not getting enough caulk. I hate when that happens. You’re getting all ready to caulk and bam, not enough caulk. I like to have lots.


Ah, sure, right. Can I show you the Caulk Master?


Absolutely! I’d love a demonstration on how to use the Caulk Master. That would be fantastic!


So maybe the next time hubby is heading to the House of Tools, I might just saunter along and see what this Caulk Master is really made of. Ha!

November 16, 2006

November 15, 2006

I love pink. I’m sure even a braindead shrivelled up fart could figure that one out. It’s not rocket science. Anyhoo, I’ve been searching and searching for a pair of pink boots, that are not high heeled since I need something practical for walking while intoxicated my daughter to school.


I had found a pair on Ebay that my bf Karen found for me. She was bidding on the same boots (in a different size). They were adorable! But we both lost out since there was a bidding war and the boots, which started out at around $9 bucks US, ended up being like $45 US plus shipping. Whatever people, you can keep them for that price.


Today, as I’m shopping for booze healthy food for my family, I take a swing over to the footwear section. Sitting there, almost beaconing me, are a pair of pink suede boots, that are very similar to the ones that I had seen on Ebay. My heart starts beating fast (stop snickering), and I slowly walk up to them, as if not to scare them away. Then I decided I should run incase some other freak for pink boots, wants them and snatches them away before I even get to feel them. Stand back people, I will fight you for them.


I pick one up and smell the suede. Gosh it’s a great smell isn’t it? Anyway, my next dilemma is, what if they’re not the right size? I mean there was only one pair sitting there all by their lonesome. I slowly turn the boot upside down to see if there’s a size on the bottom. Yes, yes there is. It says 5. Size 5 girls. Jackpot! I love having feet small enough to wear a girls’ five. It gives me so many more options. Well, not that I’m going to buy Dora footwear anytime soon but you know, they have other great styles that are suitable for an old bat a stylish 75 year old 30 something broad. Aren’t you thrilled for me? Aren’t ya? Huh?


Well I must go spray them with suede protector and walk the walk in my pink suede boots.

November 9, 2006

……..I swear I’m not going to beat a dead horse but I just have to make mention of my new pink hat again. I know I spoke of it just last night but listen, this is huge. Huge.


I was waiting for my daughter to get out of school today and one of her peers, a girl from another class walked right over to me and said, and I quote, “I really like your hat”.


Ummm hello? A 6 year old, who doesn’t know you, walks right up to you and just out of the blue says that, do you know what that means? Knock knock. I’m cool. Cool. I never get tired of saying that. I bet you want to punch me in the neck never get tired of hearing me say it. I mean come on, kids are sharp these days. That little sweetie could point out a heavily medicated lunatic a fashion diva a mile away. I bet she ran home to tell her mom about the old broad trying to look hot and not succeeding pretty mom who is clearly only about 25 and has super fashion sense. Sigh.


In closing, although it was a cold, shitty weather day, it was warm in my heart, hearing that I still got it from a 6 year old. (Listen, I’m gonna take compliments where I can get them, ya hear? So do not rain on my parade.) Thank you.


Did I mention I’m cool? Okay, fine, I’ll shut it. I don’t feel like getting my teeth punched in tonight. Thank you to all who said I looked nice in my pink hat. Even though, you were most likely drinking, I still appreciate it.

I have a few obsessions. Nothing weird, like wanting to lick giant clown noses or anything like that. Purely innocent, I assure you.


I’ve always loved boots and shoes. Like who has enough footwear? Not me. I could own 500 pairs of shoes and boots and never get sick of buying more. I also love watches. Yes, yes, yes, I only have 2 arms and thus, why would I want to own more than, say, 2 watches? Doesn’t matter that I can’t possibly wear 43 watches at once, I just can’t stop buying them. You can’t make me.


I am a purse freak too. I just got this super leopard print purse off of Ebay and it’s so glamorous and that is totally appropriate for me since I’m famous and all. Gotta look the part you know.


My new thing, however, is hats. I love hats. I’ve always loved hats but never would buy them for fear of looking ridiculous. I know what you’re thinking. You do look ridiculous ass monkey. And perhaps that’s true. However, I’m at a point in my life, where, honestly, I just don’t give a shit. If I want to wear a hat and I think it looks good, even though people are surely making fun of me behind my back, so what? I’ll just drop kick you with my drunken karate moves super powers and then you’ll fall to your knees, begging me for my autograph. I’m that cool.


And speaking of hats, I bought a new one today while shopping with a crazyass bitch dear friend. Then after we shopped, we ate at Montana’s with another one of our lunatic wench dear friends. They both said I looked wonderful in my new hat. Nevermind they were sloshed blinking alot when they said it.


Anyway, happy Love Thursday. And if you want to wear a hat today, get drunk first go for it!