Cold Heartless Bitch

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I was at a board meeting last night. One of Monty's teachers also happens to sit on the same board.

Teacher: Monty is such a great kid. He's like a big teddy bear. People expect him to be rough and gruff because of his size but he's probably the most well mannered, kindest kid in the class.

Me: Why thank you! That's nice of you to say so.

What I meant to say: Did he pay you to say that? He paid you didn't he?


Board President: These expenses are covered by our funding agency so it's not an issue.

Me: Excuse me, can we double check whether those expenses are actually covered?  I don't think they are but I could be wrong.

What I mean to say: I spent six months working on the books for this damn organization and I know for a goddamn certainty those expenses are NOT covered. You're a fucking idiot that knows nothing and how you got to be president of this board is just a fucking mystery I'll never figure out. I also can't figure out how the rest of this board doesn't see what a fucking idiot you are. Then again maybe they do and perhaps they'll all go post on their blogs about what a fucktard you are just the way I plan to.


And in case you didn't realize what a heartless bitch I really am, I received this little gem in my work email this morning. The subject line of the email read, "T - I read this and immediately thought of you."

A woman was in town on a shopping trip. She began her day finding the most perfect shoes in the first shop and a beautiful dress on sale in the second. In the third, everything had just been reduced by 50 percent, when her mobile phone rang.

It was a female doctor notifying her that her husband had just been in a terrible car accident and was in critical condition and in the ICU. The woman told the doctor to inform her husband where she was and that she'd be there as soon as possible. She hung up but decided to get in a couple of more shops before heading to the hospital.

She ended up shopping the rest of the morning, finishing her trip with a cup of coffee and a chocolate cake slice, compliments of the last shop. She was jubilant.

Then she remembered her husband. Feeling guilty, she dashed to the hospital.

She saw the doctor in the corridor and asked about her husband's condition. The lady doctor glared at her and shouted, "You went ahead and finished your shopping trip didn't you! I hope you're proud of yourself! While you were out for the past four hours enjoying yourself in town, your husband has been languishing in the Intensive Care Unit! It's just as well you went ahead and finished, because it will more than likely be the last shopping trip you ever take! For the rest of his life he will require round-the-clock care. And *he* will now be your career!"

The woman was feeling so guilty she broke down and sobbed.

The lady doctor then chuckled and said, "I'm just pulling your leg. He's dead. Show me what you bought."


I'm not sure if the sender was likening me to the shopper or the doctor....both women obviously have their priorities straight.


Post script:

Inquiring minds want to know so I just went downstairs and asked the lady who sent me the email: "So which woman am I?"

Her response: " Oh sweetie, you could play either heartless bitch effortlessly".

Note to self - enroll in empathy self help class.

Attitude? Who Me?

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Think Tank Momma

It's Tuesday, time for Gratitude with Attitude brought to you by the snarkalicious Zgirl over at the Think Tank. Hop on over and link up or she'll stab you in the elbow.

The fruit of my loins seem to be doing everything in their power to drive their poor ole' mamma into an early grave, or a straight jacket. There are weeks I would hump the leg of the person that invented wine, seriously. Hey, wine is my valium. Don't judge.

Dear daughter, heart of my heart, love of my life, spawn of satan:

When I told you 6 million, 436 thousand times not to drink juice while using my laptop, did you think I was joking? Do you really believe your mamma just runs off at the mouth because she likes the sound of her own voice? Has it never dawned on you that your mamma may know what she's talking about and perhaps it just might be a good idea to actually do what she says sometimes?

I saw you taking a sip of the juice at the exact moment your brother cracked a joke about something he was watching on tv. The rest was like watching a bad movie in slow motion. Or like when you're having a nightmare that someone is chasing you but your legs won't move even though your lungs feel as though they're about to explode from exertion.

I watched as you valiantly tried not to laugh, smushing your lips together to prevent the juice from escaping, desperately trying to set the cup back onto the table so that you could cover your mouth with your hand (you know, you do have two hands, right?) Then I watched the juice spew from your mouth all over MY laptop. All I could do was stand in the doorway shouting "Nooooooooooooooooooo"

So thank you daughter. Oh it's ok really, who needs a numeric keypad (not this mamma who bought the damn laptop SPECIFICALLY for the numeric keypad). And being able to use the left click button...highly overrated, right?

Thanks for not listening,
Nurmerically challenged Mamma

Dear children,

Your mamma works damn hard. I go without designer shoes in order to ensure that you ungrateful little arsewipes darling loves have well balanced, nutrient rich food. When I served this the other evening (this is an actual pic of my dinner) -

and you looked at is as though I had set a steaming plate of this in front of you ...

(this is NOT an actual pic of my arse)

It makes me want to do this (this is not an actual pic...oh hell do I need to explain this):

I'll thank you very much to remember, there are two items on the menu in mamma's kitchen:

  1. Take it.
  2. Leave it
Thank you very much,
Mammas going to buy shoes and you can eat peanut butter

Kids Talk

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Snippets of conversations heard at my house over the last week. FYI, Monty is almost 18, Jimmy is 15 and Nora is 11.

I have never claimed to be a good mother.

Nora asks Monty "What did the guys (referring to kids from Grade 9...she attends a consolidated school) mean today when they were saying socks aren't just for feet anymore?" Monty looks at her, looks at me, spits soda through his nose and swallows his tongue which leads me to believe he knows what boys use socks for and now I need to go home and burn all of his.

My Ex once had his boss call him to see if Ex would go feed his dog. The boss was running late somewhere and apparently the dog was hungry. I know. Now our boys tease him mercilessly whenever the boss calls outside of normal working hours. They'll say things like, "Oh Dad has to go put wood in the fireplace for boss" or "Dad had to go tuck Boss into bed". Monty got home late from school the other day and when he got to his father's place he asked Jimmy, "Where's Dad?" Jimmy replied, without missing a beat, "Boss called, looks like there's trouble in Gotham".

Now, I can't get the mental pic of Ex dressed in a Robin suit out of my head. Gross.

Jimmy is lamenting the fact that his father is on him constantly about finding a job for the summer. So I suggest Wendy's or MacDonald's as the perfect spot for an almost 16 year old to gain summer employment. Jimmy explains to me that he can't handle the "pressure of working in the fast food industry". Those were his exact words. Obviously the poor thing has a delicate constitution.

At the dinner table the other evening we're eating a wonderful meal I had prepared on the bbq. The potatoes are overcooked on the outside but nicely done inside. This perturbs Jimmy. Like really bothers him. He eats the inside of his baked potato and then sits staring forlornely at the skin. After about five minutes of this he raises his head and asks: "What do I do with the skin, should I say a magical chant in hope that it disappears?"

No numbnuts, the compost bin is 4 steps behind you. I did not say this outloud. I worry about that child surviving in the real world.

You know you're a hard ass mother when you call your son from the kitchen and rather than responding with "What?" or "Yes?" he responds with, "Oh Mum, what did I do now?"

Let's All Hold Hands

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Okay first off, it would appear when you talk about penises (penii? can someone please clarify) and cunts you get new followers. Also, women like talking about penis.

So hi new followers.

For the newbies here is a point form bio:

  • 36 year old mother of three who doesn't really fit into any "box"
  • kids are almost 18, 15 and 11 and though I leave them on doorsteps and make them push my car out of the mud, I do love them, like alot.
  • I work hard, I play harder
  • I have an Ex who spends most conversations with me just shaking his head - he never did "get" me
  • Ex has a girlfriend who has lived with him for 7 or 8 years. On a regular basis I find myself wishing terrible things on her, like raging STD's. I aspire to being a better person, really I do.
  • Oh my god, how could I forget...I curse.
  • Current relationship status - you know on facebook how they have "it's complicated" and when people use that as their relationship status you think to yourself, "Who the hell are you kidding, how complicated can it be ya drama queen?". Yeah's complicated.
  • Likes include wine, good friends, food, coffee, laughing, summer, shoes, wine, blogging (obvious), reading, sparkly things, when my kids say inappropriate things, did I mention wine?
  • Dislikes include bad hair days, fugly shoes, snow, stupid people, mosquitoes, june bugs, sullen teenagers, my ass, rotten bananas.
  • I'm not religious, I'm not political. Both make me want to gouge my eyes out. Religion is the cause of far too many civil wars. Politics is the cause of both world wars. How is either a good thing? It's the last time you'll ever hear me mention either on my blog. Having said that, (wouldn't want to start a riot two days in a row) some of the people I love most in real life are both religious and political. Bygones.
Anything else you want/need to know. Just ask. Seriously I'd love to answer your questions because I'm a bit of a narcissist. Don't be shy. Shy people don't last long around here.

To everyone who has stood up for me over the past two days, I have one thing to say...where the hell were you when I was getting the snot kicked out of me on a regular basis in junior high?

Seriously, thank you. I feel loved. To honor your loyalty I plan to toast each of you with a glass of wine to this weekend. It will be an ordeal to drink that much wine, really it will, but that's a cross I'm willing to bear for you. Feel special.

And can I just say one more thing? Thank fuck it's Friday.

Apparently I'm the "C" Word

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I was bound to piss someone off at some point. I accept that. Not everyone "gets" my humour or agrees with what I have to say. That's fine. Broad shoulders and all that.

In the comments on my last post I was called a bitch, small minded, mean, pitiful and a cunt.

Not bad for a day's work, right?

The bitch I'll accept.  Hell I've called myself a bitch.

The others, no. I can't go gracefully into the dark night without responding. You don't know me, therefore you can't know from one post (written in humour) that I'm small minded, mean or pitiful. It's not my fault you have no sense of humour and need to remove the stick from your arse. I am one of the most open minded people I know. I'm all about letting people be who they are. If I don't agree with who they are, or I don't like it, then I simply don't associate with those people. In the case of the blog world, I simply don't read them. If they write something I don't agree with and ASK for my opinion, then I give it. I give it with respect and courtesy. I don't call them names or tear them down.

I'm not mean. Unless you cross me. Then all bets are off. Would it be reduntant at this point to say all bets are off?

As for the cunt. This guy knew how to hit a woman where it hurts, right? There's not a more distasteful word you can call a woman in the English dictionary. This guy was also apparently born with several birth defects and took my post as poking fun at disabilities. My sons were both born with physical deformities. I spent most of my early childhood looking like the bride of frankenstein due to a car accident. The post wasn't poking fun at anyone but the starter dick I slept with and he deserved to be made fun of not only for his small penis.

Ok that was me being nice. Now the gloves come off.

Sweetheart, I'm really sorry you were born with a small penis. It must make life rough for you. I empathize, really I do. However, when you proceed to go and attack EVERY ONE of the women who left comments on my've gone to far. Do you believe you're hurting them by writing cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt on their posts. They just delete you like the pesky little shit fly that you are. So dude, fuck off.  Take your small winkie dinkie dick and stick it up your arse. Seriously dude you have way too much fucking time on your hands and really you should take up macrame or something.We should all cry for you because you have a small penis? Get a fucking life and while you're at it grow a pair.

Do you know what really pisses me off? The fact that I wasn't making fun of men with small penises. I was making fun of men with small penises who think they're gods gift to women. I don't go around flaunting my stretch marked stomach and expecting everyone to bow before my greatness. No, I hide that shit using whatever means possible. I stuff it into spanx so goddamn tight that I'm required to carry an oxygen tank in my purse just to make it through the day. I don't pull it out and expect some guy to blow it. Blow it? Get that oscar myer weiner out out of my face dude.

As for my commentors who have had to endure this fucktards blasting them on their blogs. I apolgize to you, really I do.

Last word...who has it? Ahhh that would be me because your ass has been blocked minidick sweetheart.

You Call That A Penis?

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Starter penis.

Think about it.

While you think about it I'll tell you I can't take credit for such a gem. Tracie over at Stir Fry Awesomeness posted today about how she met her hubby. She uses the term starter penis to describe a former boyfriend. I fell off my chair laughing.

It got me thinking about a few starter penises (penii???) I've had stroll through my life.

Guys, when we say that size doesn't matter and you believe us...yeah you probably shouldn't. We're boldfaced lying. Ok maybe it's just me. We've already established I'll burn in hell.

It must suck to be a guy with a small penis. The starter penii (yes, there have been more than one) that I've encountered ALWAYS come attached to guys that don't realize they're sporting a starter penis. What is up with that? I mean if it's barely the length of my damn pinky finger, I'm pretty sure you shouldn't be waving it around like you're the damn reincarnation of John Holmes.

One particular starter penis comes to mind (it really is the perfect term and I giggle just using it). I was 26, he was younger.... 23 maybe? Anyway, we had dated several times and when we finally got around to doing the horizontal mambo it was, shall I put this? I felt as though I should be handling "it" with a pair of tweezers rather than my hand. Handle with care? Oh my god I get grossed out just thinking about it.

Of course I couldn't wait until the following day to give all the gory details to my best friend. (Oh guys, if you think your performance in the bedroom isn't critiqued among the girls, think again. What? You're offended by this, too bad so sad.). Anyway, we were laughing at discussing his "challenges" (burning in hell I tell you) and girlfriend then said to me:

He shall forever more be referred to as amputee.

Yes, yes she did. Worse yet...we did refer to him as amuputee (behind his back of course, it would just be wrong to say it to his face).

No, I didn't go out with him again.

Yes, I was shallow like that.

Yes, I'm still a bitch.

But I've grown up, I swear.

Now, tell me your starter penis stories, so I don't feel like such a ruthless bitch. If you're lucky maybe I'll share my "Aqua Man" story. Oh yeah baby, I knew how to pick 'em.

What Do You Mean My Use of The F Word Is Inappropriate?

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I swear...alot. I know, you're shocked.

However, I do no swear at work. I do not swear in the company of certain people (you know, those people that have sticks shoved so far up their arse they couldn't remove it even if they wanted to). No, I'm not saying swearing makes you cool. Sometimes life deals you a hand and the only way to really express how you feel is to go "FUUUUUUUUCCCCCK" and then plunge in head first to try and rectify the issue.

My point is, I know when my potty mouth needs to be reigned in. There are certain places and time in life where one must act like a lady.

Except when I'm stressed, like really stressed, I swear without realizing I'm doing it. Some people have tics, some people drink, others suffer from gastrointestinal issues when stressed. I curse at the most inappropriate times when I'm freaked.

Take for instance when a cardiologist tells you your mother needs triple bypass surgery, "Well FUCK me." probably isn't the most appropriate response and I can guarantee it will earn you a raised eyebrow from the doc.

Last year I did a brief (6 months) stint as an Executive Director for a non profit organization that's mandate is to promote trades and technology to high school students. Long story short it involved a National conference with over 1200 delegates and participants and yours truly organizing it. So during the week of the conference I was working 20 hour days, I had my crackberry surgically attached to my ear, and I was tired by day 4. Like dog tired. So when the Executive Director from another province said to me on day 4 "We haven't seen you at the evening get togethers" I really didn't mean to respond with "I don't have time for fucking pajama parties". I really didn't, it just came out.

When a pediatrician tells you your son, who is ONE day old, may have a brain impediment because of the port wine birth mark on his face you probably shouldn't respond with, "Are you fucking serious?" Yeah, because pediatricians joke about that shit ALL the time.

When you have a roomful of pediatric neurosurgeons/neurologists (no, my kids haven't always been the robust healthy little fuckers they are today) tell you they have no idea what's causing your three year old daughter's neurological system to shut down - responding with "Oh dear mother fucking sweet jesus"  - ok I get a pass on that one. What was I supposed to do, cry?

See? Extreme stress equals inappropriate use of my potty mouth. Fuck seems to be the word of choice with me.

How do you handle stress?

Permission to Whip Me Granted

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You give me awards and I ignore you. Really I don't know why you put up with my shit. Seriously though, it's not because I don't love them (what narcissist woman doesn't love recognition) it's because, it's because.....errrr......ummmmm...well .... oh look a pony.

I have no reason. I suck. Feel free to throw things.

And if you didn't feel like throwing things at me before, well you will by the time you get to the end of this post. I expect to lose all but three followers by the time I'm done.

Deep breath....aaaaannnnnd here we go!

From Gundiva at Just Another Perfect Day and  J at Boobies and Babies gave me this one.  Go now, check out both these women.

Gdiva and I have been dubbed honorary Mom's by Tink, which would make us lesbians. I'm not sure how I feel about that but hey what's another child when I have three all ready.

J is a new reader and if you don't follow her I strongly suggest you do so. Today she admitted to having fake boobs. Balls .... this woman has balls!!!!! She'll also give you hell about not painting your toenails. Who doesn't need a good swift kick in the arse every now and again?

This one makes me go teeeheeeee because I am such a trouble maker! Stir the pot and walk away. Of course it's all done in the name of fun, right?

Don't know Linda? Go now. Do not wait on this one. You will never read a classier broad. She once wrote about a fancy schmanzy dinner she went to where the hostess proceeded to dine in her underwear. You can do that sort of thing apparently if you're filthy rich. Linda reminds me of my mother, it's one reason I love her.

Jen at Pieces of Me gave me this one. Appropriate considering the number of times in the run of a week I want to punch someone in the throat.

Jen is another new read for me. A New York gal (which makes me tres envious) that takes some beautiful photos. Stop by and say hi to her.

Terry at Oh 4 Petes Sake and Tina at Awaiting Tranquility. Terry actually passed this one along to both Tina and I and then Tina passed it along to me again. We need a spreadsheet people!

Terry aka Queenshit (so dubbed by yours truly) swears almost as much as I do. Gives her stardom in my book. And really.... "Holy fucking monkey balls"? The english language is a beautiful thing people.

Tina's a relatively new blogger so stop by and say hi to her.

Corrie at Just Because My Pickle Doesn't Talk gave me this one. She actually gave me a choice of three and I chose this one because I'm a slacker. I have no idea who Otin is...really we do we care? I'm sure he's a wonderful person.

Again, stop by and say hi to Corrie.

Quixotic at Quixotic Life passed this along. What would the life of a blogger be if not for the comments? Well we'd spend alot of time talking to ourselves. Not that that's a bad thing.

Speaking of comments, I've gotten some doozies over the last little while. It's often the replies to my replies that get really interesting. Take for instance this:

"LMFAOOO! Oh god!! that IS quite the image isn't it...see, it COULD happen...just sayin! When I go out--you can guarantee the coroner will want to dabble in necrophilia."

Any idea who said it...I`ll give you a hint. She`s one of the ladies above. And I did receive her permission before posting it here as it was an email and not a comment on a post.

Are you tired yet. There are rules and shit I`m supposed to do. Oh look the sun is shining.

Thank Fuck It's Friday - The Second Edition

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This post is for Ian over at Daily Dose of Reality. He's a new reader, I'm a new follower to his blog. Those much smarter than me (I mean you Duckalicious) have been reading him forever. I never claimed intelligence. Anyway, he left this comment on my man hating fuck all men last post:

HELL YEAH I AM HERE! The Pimp Daddy of the CCWA in da house!!!!!

Any other dudes up in here? Hope not cause this place ain't big enough for two pimpz!

This of course intrigued me because I`m all about befriending mentally unstable unique people.

Than he left this on last Friday's post:

Thank FUCK it's where's this Friday's post? What the fuck is going on here?

I have an idea.
 Make all these peepz over here vote for you.

What say you?

Do I need whip all deez ho's into shape?

Don't make me crack da whip and break out dis pimp hand!  It's  Friday.
Don`t ask me what he`s talking about, he`s mentally unstable speeeecial.
So Ian, to honor you here's a Thank Fuck It's Friday post. And you damn well should feel honored. You feel honored, right. Yeah I know.

The sun is shining and it's 14 degrees. I just spent happy hour (it's never just an hour) with my boss, hunky program manager, and K (one of my nefarioius shoe drinking friends). Happy hours make me....well happy. To the point where I have to leave my car in town and get a lift home.

I feel like taking my shoes off and playing in the mud, lord knows I have enough of it in my driveway. I`m thinking this is the wine talking and it`s probably not a good idea to go play in the mud.

This week has been much improved over last week. It feels like spring. You can feel it on your face and smell it in the air. I don't know about you, but this time of year fills me with hope more so than any other season. It's the time of year people shed their winter coats and break out the open toe shoes and I'm all about the open toe shoes. This time of year invigorates me.

So in honor of my new found energy, I'm thinking it's time to wax my legs. I know you care, right? Seriously, is it just me or does anyone else become a bit of a sludge during the winter? I was thinking of having the hair on my legs "done",  you know, a few highlights....perhaps a bit of layering reminiscent of the 1980's.  Yes, it's that bad. It's gross really. Don't judge me. Please tell me you get a little European during the winter.

This morning I attended a "session" on image, first impressions and dressing in the workplace. Did you know when you meet someone for the first time - it only takes them 7 to 11 SECONDS to form an opinion about you as a person, and it's based solely on your physical appearance and the way you dress? Unfair as it may be, it's true. And we all do it.

One of the latest crazes in fashion is this little gem:

Spanx for men. It's about good goddamn time.
You see, since the dawn of time, women have been trying to hide their body flaws. Back in the days of the corset, a woman would not be seen outside of her bedchamber without everything tucked, tied and pinched within an inch of her life. Why do you think they had "fainting" couches and smelling salts? Because women couldn't BREATH 90% of the time and were forever fucking passing out all over the place.

With technological progress being what it is, we're now in the era of Spanx and high wasted panties (that are so unsexy it doesn't even bear thinking about). My point is, women have always suffered for the sake of that elusive hour glass figure. Whether we do it to ourselves or feel a certain pressure from society to conform, the pressure is real, regardless of where it comes from. Men, mehhh they just let it all hang out. Beer gut, who gives a fuck? Fat ass, oh well deal with it. No hair, too bad so so sexy. They don't care, or it seems as though they don't care.  And it's not fair dammit. *stamps foot and pouts*

Now it's your turn men. Because do you know what? That beer gut peeking out between the buttons on your shirt....yeah that shits not attractive. I have had three children. It does things to your body. I mean it DOES things to your body. My belly isn't the result of beer, it's not the result of laziness (ok maybe a bit of laziness, but alot of it's not, my belly was damn well hard earned) Yes, your woman may love you, but that's because she sees beyond the hairy beer belly.

While I`m on my man bashing why the fuck are you the way you are you make me want to punch you in the throat you ass goblin turd burglar (thanks Ian) rant, lets talk about body hair. Again with the double standard. I feel as though I should hang myself for having a bit of hair on my legs. Men, mehhhhh they`ll let their eyebrows grow down to their upper lip and be completely ok with it. That there above, in the pic, yeah wax that shit. It`ll hurt so bad you`ll wish for the sweet release of death, but so does not having sex and I can guarenfuckintee with that much hair you ain`t ever gettin any. So if you're a man, and you have a beer belly, and think it's ok..... that shit just ain't sexy dude. But I`m sure your woman loves you anway. And really, that`s all that matters. The love of a good woman ( and she is indeed a good woman) makes everything ok.

Am I vain (for some reason my question mark key is not working so for the rest of the posts there will be no questions). Perhaps. Don`t get me wrong, I see beyond the beer gut and the eyebrow hair long enough to braid. I have some ugly ass friends that I would give my life for. Hell, I`m no beauty queen....please I`m sitting here thinking about layering the fucking hair on my legs. It`s the double standard that drives me completely around the fucking bed. Whose fault is it, because I need someone to blame.

Apparently Ian does dishes and laundry. Go read his stuff. It`s just ok, really. You know, if you`re bored and have nothing else to do. You might chuckle, just a little bit.

Happy Friday everyone.

I Think Your Control Group Is Skewed

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The following article was copied from

Men said they spent 13 hours a week on household chores including cleaning the lavatory, taking out the rubbish and changing the bed linen.

But 60 per cent of the 1000 men questioned said their efforts were unnoticed by the woman in their lives because they did not like to make a fuss.

Almost half said they felt women were more prone to showing off about the amount of housework they take on.

The task most men said they did was taking out the rubbish – with 85 per cent claiming credit. Carrying the shopping bags was the second most popular chore among men, with 80 per cent saying they take the weight off their wife's shoulders.

Food shopping came in third place – with 78 per cent saying they are responsible for restocking the fridge each week.

The research by Dove, the beauty brand, found men spend 4.7 hours a week on housework as well as 1.5 hours on DIY and 6.9 hours on childcare.

Paul Connell, brand manager of Dove Men Care, said: "Our research shows that modern men are becoming more vocal about the contribution they make in the home, and the popular stereotype of men doing nothing around the house is no longer accurate."

Join with me in laughing hysterically.
They did not make a fuss? The Boyfriend once folded a blanket before leaving my place and EMAILED me to make sure that I noticed that he'd folded the blanket.
Carrying the shopping bags is considered a chore? Huh..
Ok give it to me straight. Do you agree, disagree, does your man expect a Nobel Peace Prize when he manages to put his socks in the laundry basket?

Holy Blogging Batman

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What's in a number?

I'm not a stick to it kind of person. You see, my brain has a tendency to work much faster than any human body possibly could, unless of course I was Iron Man or Superman. But if I had a preference I would defiinetly be Iron Man...only with better shoes. See what I mean, see how easily I'm led down the garden path? What was my point? Oh lack of sticktoitness.  I have a tendency to come up with really braniac awesome ideas and after a day or two they bore me. I guess that's my problem, I get bored easily. At last count I had 46 unfinished knitting projects in my closet. In May, I'll go out and buy HUNDREDS of dollars worth of flowers and plant half of them, leaving the other half to wither and die in the sun. Hell, I would have given the kids away long ago if society didn't frown on that sort of thing. So I find it absolutely unbelieveable that this is my 100th post.
I could tell you 100 things about me but I'd you would get bored around number 27.

So what shall I do to commemorate this monumental occassion?


I could post a pic of me but that scares me.

My first post was October 17, 2009, almost 5 months ago. I received my first comment on that post a week after I posted it, from Aunt Juicebox. I immediately shit myself and was tempted to ask AJ to marry me but realized neither of us is a lesbian so that probably would be a doomed relationship. It amazes me that people read my mindless blatherings. No, I'm not being bashful. It amazes me. Half the time I think, "Are they making fun of me?"  Do ya think I have issues? Me? Scoff... I could tell you what being bullied in Junior High does to a person`s psyche...I mean bullied like coming home with a black eye bullied. If your kid is a bully, punch them in the throat, starve them on a regular basis and tell them to fuck off. It fucks kids up well into adulthood to have things like that happen to them. I go again.

For hell`s sake could someone please keep me on track.

Last week I received another comment on that first post, from My Mercurial Nature. She stated:

I started reading and soon realized I should start at the beginning. Thank you for a great, funny, child-sharing (which mirrors my life in a few ways), blog! It is the first of its' kind that I've found, enjoyed, and ignored my kids over. Love that!

Blows my mind that people would ignore their kids to read this stuff. Then I think of how little it takes to make me ignore my kids and well....sigh.

ToniB was my second commentor. Anyone that reads her knows that she has been on hiatus for the last forever and I would bitch slap her if I could. Then I got this comment from her a few days ago:

As I was reading, I was thinking, "She needs a hairdryer!" Thank fuck you found one! Ha!

Thank fuck indeed, and thank fuck you`re back. (And I totally just broke a promise to myself not to swear in this post)

Queen of Feisty (or Fesity as she was for a LONG time) was the third commenter.

Then on Dec 2 I posted my Oxymoron Much post. I received this comment from Zgirl:

Oh you fucking suck. That was a triple dog dare if I ever heard one. Fuck! YOU SUCK! Big Harry Monkey Balls.

DAMN! I am in. And, I hate you.

And I fell in love again. How could I not?

Then I fell in love again (yes I`m a whore)...with Noelle:

god dammit. this is my first time here (adrienzgirl sent me) and i already don't like you. dammit, dammit, dammit. i had to go outside and smoke before i could reply...i had to ponder what my response would be. i had to i want to get off my ass and walk? do i want to eat healthy? do i want to buy new clothes? no, no, yes. whatever. i'm in...i guess

And then there was Mad Woman, and Gun Diva, Tink, Duckalicious  (my whoreness kicked in and I fell in love with her too), Vinomom, Kat, Monique Surferwife, Lee, and on and on and on. If I haven't named you personally it's not because I don't love you, it's because I've drank too much wine and listing all of you is too much for my alcohol laden brain. How 'bout I just send you money?
And I found this world, that accepted me. Accepted my tendency to swear like a truck stop whore, my tendeny to be self-effacing, my mom fails, my life fails, the good with the bad. You don't judge, you don't  ask if I`ve lost my mind (though I`m sure you wonder), you don't ask why I did one thing instead of another. You just accept. I need to tell all of you, that acceptance, it means more to me than I could ever express to you using words from the english language. Perhaps if I spoke swahili...

Now I have a secret to share with you. No one in my real life knows about this. I`m going to write. According to my Mum I was seven the first time I said that. I`m 36 now. I would say it`s about time. So I`m going to write a personal essay and submit it here. I throw up in my mouth just thinking about it.

Here`s where you come in. I have two stories in mind. My mother`s death was a harrowing experience. I fought for 19 days with medical professionals to simply allow my mother to die. Death is not simple. I would like to write a personal story about euthanasia in today`s society. The second story....two weeks after I left my husband I went to Amsterdam and fell in love/lust. I left that love 7 days later. It didn`t end there. I think I need to write that story. Which one would you rather read and who wants to be my editor?

How dysfunctional is this post anyway? Hell, it's my party and I'll be dysfunctional if I wanna.....

Cheers, to each and everyone of you. Thank you, for allowing me to be me.

Thank Fuck It's Friday

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I should have taken pictures because this story would be so much more damn powerful with pictures.

I was scheduled to speak at an awards ceremony last night. I rushed out to pick up kids, rushed to the pizza shop to pick up pizza for supper and rushed home in an effort to get back in town to my speaking thingy on time.

In my rush, I failed to notice that my driveway became a large bog of soup yesterday while I was at work. This is my car.

I bought this car last spring because it's red. What? Doesn't everyone purchase a brand new vehicle based solely on the fact that they get off on the color? It's red. It has 18 inch tires. You see, I live on a dirt road, my driveway is quite long and it is also dirt. What happens to dirt in the spring? If you guess it turns to mud you would be correct. The 18" tires were supposed to make living on a dirt road a bit more bearable. Yeah...not so much.
I got stuck in my driveway. I had 20 minutes to get back into town to my speaking thingy and I was buried to the axle in mud. My boys pushed and pulled and cursed and looked like mud zombies by the time they were done ...all to no avail. There was no way I was making it to the awards banquet, I called the organizer and we were able to get someone to fill in for me. So in all my infinite wisdom, I decided to leave the car, the ground still freezes at night, therby allowing me to get out in the morning.

Oh you had no idea I was a fucking idiot? Well now you do.

So this morning comes, the car isn't moving. As a matter of fact, the front tires aren't even spinning now, the car is buried that deep. I turn around and eldest son is on his cell phone, TO HIS FATHER. The same father that had to stand in his underwear two days ago while I ranted and raved at him. Monty is calling his father to tell him that I'm stuck, can Dad come get them for school? Dad comes in, and brings a chain with him. Ex drives some type of truck, don't ask me what it is, it's not red so I really don't care. He tries to pull my car out of the mud. My car isn't moving. I need to call a professional.

I call tow company: "I'm an idiot. Please send help." Tow truck will be there in 20 minutes.

I call work: "I'm an idiot. I'm stuck in mud, I will be late." Boss sympathizes and then laughs hysterically.

Tow truck comes and it takes him longer to write out the bill than it does to actually tow the car out of the mud. To a grand total of $100 dollars. Don't worry, I have a money tree growing in my backyard.

So I get in the car and drive out of the driveway waving lovingly to tow truck guy and blowing him kisses. As I drive down the road, I realize the inside of the door is covered in mud. I need to get rid of the mud because it's yucky and it will end up on my jacket. I pull out a cloth from the glove compartment (yes, while still driving) and open a bottle of water (still driving) and proceed to try and wet the cloth (still driving). The water runs off the cloth (still driving), between my legs and all over the seat of the car. As I drive down the road I can feel the seat of my jeans as it becomes wetter and wetter. At this point, I am one hour late for work. I can't turn around to change my clothes. I'm angry, broke, frustrated, wet, and muddy.

Please keep in mind I am a fucking idiot.

I arrive at work and walk into the building with my purse covering my ass. I walk into a friend's office; she is sitting there talking with another instructor. I turn around and ask, "Is my ass wet?" The immediate side splitting laughter that reaches my ears indicates that it does indeed look as though I've lost all control of my bladder and should be forced to wear Depends. Other instructor dude (who is blushing when I turn around so you just know he was checking out my flat, non-existant ass) is a computer electronics instructor and guess what computer electronic instructor dudes have? Hairdryers aka heat guns.

So girlfriend dries my ass with the heat gun. Because that's what friends do. Of course this is happening in instructor dudes office, while the ENTIRE class of students are wondering what the two chicks are doing with the heat gun. She now refers to me as "hot cheeks".

I swear, I couldn't make this shit up.

There is a VERY large glass of wine waiting for me at 4:00pm.


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I left the house this morning at 6:45 and intentionally left my almost 18 yo son sitting on the patio of our locked house. It was early, it was cold. It was that or murder him.

Monty and I very rarely fight. When we do argue, it's over him bullying his sister, or laundry. I am so incredibly sick of fighting over laundry at 6:30 in the morning I am very close to braining the little christer and burying him in my backyard. It's the same goddamn argument EVERY SINGLE TIME. He doesn't bring his laundry to the laundry room, I refuse to go in his room, his laundry doesn't get done which results in not having clean clothes. It's simple fucking math dear son of mine....if a than b.

This morning was the proverbial straw that crippled the damn camel. After 10 minutes of screaming and roaring the likes of which I'm sure scared woodland creatures within a 5k radius, I told him to put his goddamn pj's on for all I care and get the hell in the car. We (the other two quacking children and I) started walking to the car and Monty is standing on the step. I turned and asked if he was coming. To which he replied "No, tell Dad to come and get me".

Dad lives 20 minutes away, if Dad is required to come and get him Monty is going to miss the bus and Dad will than have to drive him to school.

I said, "I'm counting to five Monty, if you're not in the car I'm leaving without you. You will sit on that doorstep for the remainder of the day, in the cold, with no food. This is not an empty threat. Think about your next move very carefully". I counted to five and he stood there, stubbornly glaring at me.

I turned on my heel, got in the car and drove away.

The kids get on the bus at their father's house. I normally drop them in the morning, pick them up after work. Ex and I rarely see each other unless we need to discuss something. When I arrived this morning I went barreling into the house and Ex was just coming down the stairs. I immediately started:

"That goddamn son of yours is going to drive me into an early grave. Do you know where he is right now? Let me tell you where he is? He's at home sitting on the goddamn doorstep because he's too damn lazy and pigheaded to make sure he has clean clothes for the morning. He gets that damn pigheadedness from you. Well let me tell you one thing Ex, I am through treating that child like he's a child. He's 18 damn years old and it's about damn time he started taking a little bit of responsibility and and and ...

And it went on and on. Not my finest moment. Nor am I proud.

Ex is just standing there nodding his head. "I'll go get him and take him to school." This just sets me off again because it's exactly what Monty wanted. Ex - (who I will admit is MUCH more level headed than I will ever be) explained to me that it would not be a "pleasant" drive to school for Monty. He said he would "talk" to him. That boy is in big trouble....Ex rarely talks, but when he does, watch out.

To give Monty credit, he's a good kid. 98% of the time he will do whatever he's asked to do with no question. I will admit to having a bad week and I will admit to flying off the handle a little too easily.

I left Ex's and about 10 minutes later realized that the ENTIRE time I had been standing there ranting like a lunatic...Ex was in a t-shirt and underwear. He was in his underwear and I did not even realize.

So now not only do I have to apologize to my son for exploding this morning (there will be no apologizing for leaving him on the doorstep, he deserved that). I also need to apologize to Ex for making him stand in the doorway for 10 minutes in his underwear.

Epic Mom fail. Is it Friday yet?

Pardon Moi? You Smelled Me?

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About nine months after ex and I broke up I started dating. To say that I was making up for lost time would be an understatement. One might even say I had a lot of “wild oats” to sow (how does one sow wild oats?) I dated a lot. I had a lot of fun. I had zero interest in finding a “relationship”. I was 27 years old and just out of an almost 10 year relationship.

There is a certain type of man totally drawn to women who have no interest in relationships. These men are fun, adventurous and a bit whorish. They were full of tacky pick up lines that made me chuckle. They would woo you with insincere flattery all the while thinking they were going to get them some of that. I didn’t really care. They made me laugh and they looked good, those were my pre-requisites for a date, at that time in my life. Shallow? Totally, but I think I deserved a few shallow years.

One of the guys I dated was a bouncer at a local club. So McYummy…hmmmm, sigh…oh yeah, where was I? Ok, so we were seeing each other in September 2001. I only remember this because I remember spending nights sitting on my couch until the wee hours of the morning watching coverage of 9/11. Let’s call him Chris, because that’s his name. Chris and I spent about 3 months dating off and on. If I had nothing else going on on a Friday night, I’d email him and say, “Hey, what’s going on after work?” He’d email me back, “Not much, pick me up at 2:00am?” and we’d hang out until the next morning when I had to pick kids up or he had to go home and sleep. Ok, let’s be honest here….he was my boy toy and this would be a prime example of a booty call.

As boy toys are prone to do, we drifted apart. I can’t remember if he got bored with me or if I got bored with him. One of us got bored. He worked at the club where the girls and I often went on Saturday nights. It was a big place and I very rarely ran into him. One evening after being at the club, I came home and checked my email before hitting the hay. An msn message popped up from him. The conversation went like this:

Chris: You were at the club tonight.
 Me: Yeah I was. I didn’t see you. How did you know I was there?

Chris: I smelled you.


WHAT? What the hell… he smelled me? I’m thinking to myself … I so do not stink you fucker. Just because we’re not “seeing” each other anymore does not give you the right to lie about me you bastard. You wait until the next time I see you you’re gonna regret that remark. If you think I’m scared of you just because you’re some big bad bouncer you have got another thought coming you son of a bitch I am so goingtokickyourasssixwaysfromSunday.

I answered:

Me: Excuse me? You smelled me?

Chris: Yeah. Have I never told you that? (at this point I’m hyperventilating with anger and yes, mortification) Whatever it is you wear…it smells really good and it’s quite distinctive. You smell really good, you always do. You’re the only person that smells that way. So yeah, I could smell you. I didn’t actually see you, but we must have been in the same area around 12:30 because I could smell that distinct smell…whatever it is you wear.

I used to wear body lotion with ylang ylang. It did have a very distinct smell. But for this guy to be able to pick it out in a CLUB FULL of people. Holy hannah the man was a damn fox hound (in more ways than one). We were indeed in the same area at 12:30 because I had been on the payphone calling a friend, which was also where he was at the time.

I really thought this guy was full of shit and just hoping I’d be flattered and ask him to come over. I didn’t (and don’t) flatter that easily. Two years later my former boss (who was a good friend, female and straight) said to me, “Whatever lotion it is that you wear, you need to stop. It smells so good it makes me want to lick you. I walk into an office and I know if you’ve been there before me because I can smell you.” Huh, I guess my former boy toy wasn’t full of shit after all.

So I used to smell. I do not smell anymore. They discontinued the line about 3 years ago and I have not been able to find the same stuff anywhere else. Trust me, I’ve looked

The Award Post That Wasn't

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It's Friday! Can I get a whoop whoop? No? Allllrighty then....

So guess what I'm doing right now? No, I'm not at work. Guess. Can't guess? Ok, I'm lying in bed (with laptop obviously) drinking coffee and reading blogs. Storm day people....storm day with the kids out at their father's house! Holy crap does it get any better? After blogging I may have a nap.

A few of you commented that you would like a link to Tink's blog. For anyone interested in reading Nat's (Tink) response to the dickwad that left the nasty comments on his blog you can find Nat's response here.

My almost 18yo son and I had a conversation last week about a party he was going to Friday night. The "host" of the party was my son's 17 yo friend. When I asked him if their would be liquor at the party he replied, "Yes." hmmmm I asked if there would be girls (which in my mind is a greater evil than liquor). He replied, "Yes". I gave him the drill about drinking and driving and being responsible. He's almost 18 years old, I have to hope that I've taught him right from wrong, I have to hope that he hears his mother's voice in his head when he's tempted to do something that could harm him or someone else. Plus he's outgrown the cage I've kept him locked in for the last 5 years. Guess you have to let them fly at some point, right?

The conversation than moved into talking about the fact that Monty will be 18 next month. Being that I'm only 28 it's really quite amazing that I have a son who will be old enough to vote next month. We talked about the fact that he'll technically be an "adult" in one month. He then said to me, "That means I can pretty much do whatever I want, right Mum?". We were in the car. I turned my head and gave him "the look", to which he replied, "Aaaaannnnnd maybe not......" The two kids in the back were gleefully chanting, "You're getting the death stare, you're getting the death stare."

My kids scream and cover their ears when I talk about safe sex and condoms. I can't say the word "period" in front of the boys without them gagging and whining, "Stop Mooooommmmmmmm". In response to the fact that there would be people of the female persuasion at this party, I said to Monty, "If you're going to have sex, you damn well better be using a condemn, I will cut your penis off if you make me a grandmother at 28." His outburst of gut wrenching laughter was hardly warranted. What? I can so pass for 28. He responded with, "Mom, you haven't been able to pass for 28 since you WERE 28, and you get that threatening to cut your son's penis off could be construed as mental abuse?"

How the hell did he learn the word construed?

They are not as old and worldly as they would like everyone to believe. They are definitely not fooling me.

Next month, my oldest child will be the same age as I was when I found out I was pregnant with him. I can't put into words how that makes me feel. It makes me proud that he's such a wonderful young man.  I look at him and think of the possibility of him becoming a parent and it breaks my heart. I can't help but wonder if my own mother felt the same way when I told her on my 18th birthday that I was pregnant. Did I break her heart?

Another conversation with my boys as we're getting ready to leave the house one day last week. It's 6:30 in the morning and Monty and Jimmy, standing side by side against the kitchen counter, are trying to convince me to go out to the gaming store at lunch and trade in a couple of their Xbox games for a new game that is out. I look at the games they want to trade in and I said, "I just got this game for you guys like 3 weeks ago, you're trading it in already?" To which they responded, "Yeah, we wrapped it." My mouth falls open, my eyes bug out of my head, and I shit myself. "You wrapped the damn game in three weeks..........jesus guys, do you think that might be indicative of the fact that you're spending too much time playing video games?" Monty looks at Jimmy and says, "What does indicative mean?"

I can't win.

This post was going to be an award post (I've gotten some awesome ones over the past week). I guess I got sidetracked.

Have an uber wonderful weekend everyone.

PS. Robert Downey Jr. is presenting at the Oscars this weekend....maybe he'll do something take off all his clothes? Hey, a girl can always dream, right?


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Do you feel as though you have the right to judge others? Sounds like a retarded question, no? Think about it for a moment. Obviously you're free to think what you think as we all are, but as a blogger do you feel as though you have the right to verbally judge another blogger for his thoughts, ideas, or way of life? If someone posts something you don't agree with do you feel as though it's your given right to critisize this person publicly on their blog? Or do you just click away and let bygones be bygones?

I know, you're wondering what could possibly have me up on my soapbox now. The possibilities are endless right? Trust me, I'm about to tell you and if you're here reading I'm assuming you want to hear it.

There is a young man named Nat or Tink as you may know him. He blogs. He's super young, like 21...a baby, right? He also has one of the oldest souls and kindest hearts I've seen in a young person in a long time. He writes shit that leaves me sitting with my mouth hanging open because I find it impossible to wrap my head around the fact that he's only 21. The other day, he received this comment on a post he did some time ago.

You need to simply stop whinning and stop being a baby bitch. Why dont you Soldier up and take your life lessons. I have no sympathy for you at all. You are just a young kid that enjoys complaining. You think its such a big deal that you deployed into Iraq...No sympathy here, son. Stop being a crying bitch.

This asshat then proceeded to leave a second comment:

SFC Smith said...

Your picture on your front page looks stupid. take it down and be a bit more modest and humble about yourself and your ego...

I'll give everyone a moment to digest those two things. I on the other hand did not take that moment, I saw red and fired off this:

Mr. Smith (and I use the term Mr. very loosely),

Why does he need to stop bitching? Has he sent you a personal invite to his blog and begged you to read his bitching? If he has than yes indeed, he should retract that invite. But I'm thinking he hasn't invited you to read anything he's written. You're here of your own free will (fancy thing that free will). So YOU need to fuck off I think.

Nor did he ask for your sympathy. Again, you are more than free to have your thoughts, as he is free to have his. What you do not have the right to do, is judge him for his thoughts which he chooses to express on HIS blog. Again, fuck off please.

The picture, did he ask you to look at it? Did he ask for your opinion? Say it with me everyone....NO HE DID NOT. So guess what Mr. Smith fucktard, FUCK OFF.

Nat is a beautiful young man with a kind heart and a good soul. Not all people can say the same. Yes, I include you in that category of those with a black heart and a tarnished soul who props up their own sense of self worth by tearing others down.

So once more, with feelilng...FUCK OFF Mr. Smith.

So what's my point here besides the portrayal of my hair trigger temper? I guess it's this. Mr. Smith is free to think whatever he wants about Nat's post. Does that freedom include a right to insult and tear down someone on their own blog. It's a public forum, right? So does Nat, or any of us for that matter, by posting on a public forum, forfeit their right to be treated with respect and dignity?

Also, I'm doubting my own rational at responding the way I did. Should I have let bygones be bygones? One might consider my response dramatic, and I suppose it is. I hate drama and will go to almost any end to avoid it. Bullying? Yeah I'll take that one on with guns blazing and attitude to spare. You see I instinctively stood up to what I see as bullying. This man is basically bullying someone that I have a deep respect for and I couldn't just click away. Should I have clicked away and simply disengaged?

The comment "baby bitch"... Nat is gay and he makes no apologies (nor damn well should he) for it. So the whole thing in my mind is veiled gay bashing, which is just so totally fucking wrong on so many levels. That's my opinion, and being that THIS is my blog, I feel free to voice it.

Honest thoughts, ideas and opinions on the issue? Honesty is always welcome here, opinions differing from those I have are also MORE than welcome. Outright personal insults and bullying, yeah that will probably be met with just a wee bit of ire.

It goes without saying, I have THE most respectful commentors. :0)

Soapbox over.

It's A Small Small World - The Rest of the Story

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Ok folks, just let me clear away the snotty tissue and pieces of lung I’ve managed to hack up and we’ll get to the second part of my blogger meet up story.

So Menomom and I decided to meet Friday for lunch at a local Thai place. Remember Friday when Mr. Fucktard ruined my morning? Yeah that Friday. So it was an UBER important day right? I had to make a good impression on Menomom. How does one do that when they don’t have time to wash their hair in the morning or pick out a blogger-meet appropriate outfit? Oh the pressure.....

We emailed several times during the morning as the actual time wasn’t nailed down. Menomom had to make arrangements for the little one and after a bit of back and forthing via email we decided on 12:30.

I arrive at the restaurant and feel as though I’m going to throw up. I expect to hurl chunks at any moment. Seriously? Seriously? I give presentations in front of crowds of people. I can speak off the cuff to a group at the drop of a hat. I can bullshit like nobody’s business. Dual Mom does not get nervous. I just wanted to run and hide I was so nervous about this meeting. Here’s the thoughts as they ran through my head.

Oh dear, what if she hates me.

Oh crap, what if I drop food on my shirt.

What if we have nothing in common?

What if she smells bad? What IF I smell bad?

What if I say something that pisses her off?

What if she tells the whole blogging world that I’m a big loser with bad hair?

What if she doesn’t like me?

I hang my head with shame at these thoughts. You see, I may appear to have a very fuckyou attitude, but deep down, I, like most people, really do want people to like me. There I’ve said it, it won’t be uttered again.

There was a lady standing in the restaurant when I entered and I smiled timidly her way. She proceeded to scowl at me and throw eye darts my way and I just prayed it wasn’t Menomom. Nope, not her.

As I stood by the door of the restaurant I spotted an SUV pull in the lot. And there she was coming in the door. Huge smile and really large, beautiful, brown eyes; that was my very first impression. I also wondered why she didn’t look as though she wanted to hurl chunks.

We hugged and as we walked up to the counter to place our order she said it. The thing that made the butterlies go away and assured me that this was going to be better than ok. She said, “I feel as though I’m on a blind date”. I laughed. What else could I do, tell her I felt like I was going to throw up all over her? (Yeah,that’s how I felt Deb)

She then asked me if I had the Lose It Bitch scale in my purse. I so wish I had of had the LIB scale in my purse.

She ordered Pepsi with full sugar and proceeded to look at me sideways daring me to say something. I knew she’d probably throat chop me if I said anything. I ordered diet and kept my mouth shut. We spent two hours chatting and laughing. I couldn’t tell you what we chatted about – the blogging world, our own reasons for blogging, kids, weight loss, life.

She has what I like to refer to as a very subtle sense of humour. She’ll say something straight faced that has you pissing your pants laughing. This is totally different from my sense of humour. I tend to beat people over the head with it just to make sure they get the point.

She’s very much like her writing, if that makes any sense at all.

Life is about experiences right? A great life, in my mind, is about the culmination of great moments. It was a great moment meeting up with Deb.

We had a glass of wine together Saturday evening before I rushed off to a work function. I just wanted to sit in her beautiful home on her comfy couch drinking wine for the evening. Drinking wine in the presence of good company is one of life’s finest treats. I did make a mental note never to invite her over to my 1100 square foot home, being that she called her place “small”. (Yeah, pretty sure any home with THREE freaking bathrooms Deb can’t be called small you kook).

And she just sent me an email offering to bring me chicken soup. I think that about says it all, don’t you?

Now go over here and read Deb's take on it!

Tuesday's Thanks

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Think Tank Momma

It's Tuesday. Time to be thankful for the opportunity to provide the one fingered salute to all those people, places, things that have managed to piss you off over the last week. When you're Dual Mom, half the challenge is deciding on which ones to choose! Want to join in the fun (make no mistake, it's fun)...stop over at the Think Tank and hook up!


To The Person Who Took Out the Electric Pole on my Road last Friday,

Thank you. I really do feel the need to share with you how you fucked up my day last Friday. You see I have a RIGID schedule I follow in the morning. Any deviation from this schedule puts the screws to my entire day, sending me into a complete tailspin where I froth at the mouth and fucks fly everywhere. Well, Mr. Fucktard, when you hit an electric pole at 2:00am on Friday morning and unbeknownst to me, knocked out power in my area you succeeded in doing just that. I opened my eyes at 6:30 am, my feet hit the floor and I screamed, “Dammit dammit dammit…..KIDS get up we’re soooo freakin late.” Fifteen minutes to get myself and three kids ready and out the door? Yeah pretty sure that’s not happening in this lifetime. I swear it was like watching the Tasmanian devil in action.

Then, THEN Mr. Fucktard, on my way to dropping the kids off there’s a detour in place because a highway crew is STILL cleaning up the mess you made while taking out the electric pole. Can you feel my frustration? Oh and there were lots of police looking for you. Apparently you thought it would be a banner idea to flee the scene of the accident. Obviously you were well enough to scamper away from the mess you made. What does that tell me?

Well Mr. Fucktard, that tells me there’s a 99.9% chance you were DRUNK AS ASS when you hit that pole at 2:00 am. Tell me how unsympathetic I am to assholes that drive while drinking; being that yours truly was almost killed by a drunk driver at the tender age of 3? No sympathy here and I’m pretty sure I’d beat you over the head with the electric pole given the slightest opportunity. Then I’d give the pole to my kids and let them beat you over the head with it for forcing them to endure psychotic mother in the throes of one of her ohdearjesuswearelatehurrythehellupIdonotknowwhereyourdamnipodis mornings.

One Pissed Off Mama

PS. I apologize if you’re of the female persuasion. If this is the case, please amend all salutations to Ms. Fucktard.


Dear Sore Throat and Cold,

It’s been 14 months since I saw you last. I can't say I've really missed you much. I must thank you veryfuckingmuch for your recent visit. Please, please please just leave quietly and there will be no hard feelings. If you can’t go away, at least steer clear of my ears please. Why just last week my ENT guy had high praise for me and my ears. You know very well if you pay a visit to my ears than I’ll be required to pay a visit to my hospital, and really…no one wants that. Plus my ENT guy, yeah he’s away for the next 6 weeks so if you infect my ears I’m pretty much screwed. Do you know what happens when I try to get some other doc to suck the crap out of my ears? Yeah, it's not pretty.

I’ll give you lots of sleep, and vitamin C and chicken soup, just step away from the ears, please? Seriously. You can a kidney (I only need one), a piece of liver, a lung? Just leave the ears alone.

Thank you,
Can't breathe, can't smell, can't taste, can't sleep, can't hear.

It's A Small Small World

Brought to you exclusively by Dual Mom on
I started blogging to bitch about the “other woman” in my kids lives - Ex’s girlfriend. I had been reading some “stepmom” blogs for awhile and thought blogging would be a stupendous way for me to try and see things from the other side of the fence. Go way back in the archives if you want to read about this. Ironically enough, my writing has sort of morphed into something else and it’s been quite some time since I’ve written about my fondest dreams for this woman to come down with a raging case of Pox/STD/parasitic bowel disease frustrations with this woman.

Then I started getting comments. I responded to the comments. I discovered all of these hilarious writers who made me spew coffee on my keyboard , who could brighten my day with a tale of their own ineptness or various mommy fails (I’m totally laughing with you ...not at you). My last post was all about my plan to meet these fabtastic people should the opportunity ever present itself.

Karma/fate/destiny is a funny thing.

On that very post I received this comment:

MNM: I didn't know you were Canadian too!! I assume west of Montreal, I live in the Maritimes!

No, as a matter of fact, I’m not west of Montreal – so I responded:

Me: WHAT? No you're not!!!!!!!!!! Me too! Holy shit where are you?

For those that don’t know, the “Maritimes” includes four provinces, some of them fairly large. I never in a million years saw what was coming next.

MNM: FUCK OFF! I’m in xxx. (Which surprised the hell out of me because this blogger does not curse often)

ME: LOL I'm pissing myself laughing right now. You know, being that we're BOTH from the same small town we probably know each other!!!!!!!!!!!!! This is hilarious Deb. We're so going for drinks!!!!

MNM: I grew up somewhere else so I don't know that many people, not like I would if I had grown up here so we probably don't know each other but drinks sounds great! Where in the hell are you ? I live on "this" road.

ME: Holy fuck Deb...I'm literally 4 blocks from you right now at "work". I jog on your street on a regular basis in the summer. I probably drive by your house ALL the time.

MNS: OMG, I know someone you work with, we bought our house from "him"! WTF!!!!

ME: I know that house!!! Seriously? I'm dying here, this is just too weird. I was just in "his" office talking to him. I've been IN your house!! Is it crazy that I'm excited that a fellow blogger actually lives in the same city?

And so it goes. What’s the chances that on the same day you blog about your desire to “know” some of your fellow bloggers, what are the chances that on that very SAME day you discover one of them down the road....literally? In a house that you have been in, which she had purchased from your boss. The chances are probably about as slim as the chances of me winning the lottery (I so fucking didn’t by the way).

The whole thing made me giddy. Oh my god I get to meet a fellow blogger!

So the big question was – what the hell do I wear?

Want to check out Meno Mom’s side of the story? It's HERE!

Did we meet? Damn straight we did. She refers to it as a “blind date” and that’s exactly what it felt like! Check back tomorrow for the details.