We're At Dad's That Week

On The Road Part I

2011-08-09T10:51:00.000-03:00

You asked for it....

We went on the road. I packed my shit up and off we went. I cannot explain to you how much I was looking forward to spending an entire week with trucker boy. Seven nights sleeping with him, seven days waking up to him, his face being the last thing I see at night and the sound of his voice the first thing I hear in the morning. We travelled 7000 km in seven days, 11 states, 4 provinces, $4000 in diesel fuel, I lost count of the cups of coffee after the 534th one...Maine, New York, Conneticut, Virginia, Penssylvania, North and South Carolina, and a few others that are just a blur of highway. I had my laptop with me. On the third night with him I wrote this:

Don’t judge a man until you walk a mile in his shoes. It’s a phrase we often hear used to portray the importance of seeing the world through someone else’s eyes. For the last three days, that is exactly what I’ve been doing. I packed my bag on Sunday, throwing aside the four inch heels, the well pressed pants, and the silk shirts, for denims, sneakers, t-shirts and anything that could be even remotely considered comfortable. Packing was the first challenge. I am what my friends call a “girly girl”. I enjoy painting my nails, wearing skirts, looking feminine. So to try and pack a duffel bag that didn’t include any of those things was a significant task for yours truly.

It’s 9:16 local time, M is in the bunk trying to get some sleep before a long day of driving tomorrow. I tried laying down and my body said, “Ummm yeah, it’s barely dark, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Rather than tossing and turning, keeping him awake, I decided it would probably be best just to get up. So here I sit. We’re parked at a rest stop on the interstate in Pennsylvania. I should be revelling in the fact that my ass is sitting here in Pennsylvania. I have travelled across 4 states today, I’ve seen the Hudson River, I have driven through the beauty of Conneticut and seen more of the country in one day than I have in 37 years.

Yet as I fired up the laptop, I kept my fingers crossed that I might be able to get an internet connection. Apparently there is a wi-fi connection available, I’m either out of range or the huge trucks parked on either side of me are blocking the signal. I feel disconnected. I should be lapping up this new experience but I feel completely disconnected from my life. It has only been one day since we entered the US and I shut my phone off, thereby terminating my connection with friends and family back home. I long to get on face book to see what everyone is doing, I long to text my girlfriends with updates.

Is this something that truckers get used to - this disconnection with normalcy and people? I suspect much like a physician needs to separate himself from a sick patient, a trucker would have to condition himself to deal with loneliness and being away from loved ones, all the while doing a job that gives you more than ample time to think about loneliness and loved ones. I cannot help but question what the fall out is to develop the ability to do such a thing, to compartmentalize the loneliness and missing. I see it in M, his ability to shut everything out but the job. It scares me. I asked him about this very thing. His reply, “It takes some getting used to, once you get used to it, you start to like it”. The man I love with all my heart likes being disconnected. It’s not an easy thing to accept.

And the next day....

So here I sit, in the passenger seat of a truck that’s hauling about 43, 000 pounds of peat moss, barrelling down Interstate 81 in Virginia at 100 km an hour . I have never seen truck traffic like this in all my life…keep in mind small town girl where a traffic jam is a tractor and 4 cars. We keep passing by fall out from the tornadoes that have been touching down through the states. I cannot fathom the fear, the sense of having your life literally torn apart.

And then we hit the Carolinas...

Summer has come to the south already. It’s 84 degrees (and snowing back home), everything is green, the sun is out and the scenery is absolutely breathtaking. It makes me long to get out and hike what are sure to be spectacular trails among the hills rising on both sides of the highways. M would have a stroke and gag me for the rest of the trip if I even suggested such a thing. A little over an hour before he needs to be at the customer gives us just enough time for a pit stop at the rest area outside Statesville. I grab the sleeping bag from the truck, and after getting cold drinks, I spread myself out on the green grass (still marvelling at the green everywhere) and M sits at the picnic table with his book. It’s nice to be away from the truck, if only for a brief time. And when he looks down and smiles at me from his perch on the picnic table...yeah this is the way life is supposed to be lived.
I am not sure yet how I manage to “forget” the 35 degree heat, or the lush, green landscape that spreads as far as the eye can see, but I do. The air conditioning in the truck isn't working and sleeping at night makes me feel as though we're trying to redefine the meaning of hell. I forget that I am in the south sometimes. Until a sales lady, a waitress, a fellow trucker speaks to me in that drawling, warm southern twang and I do a double take each and every time. I love accents, period. The southern accent with its rich, lazy mode of delivery makes me grin foolishly each time I hear it. I strongly suspect I’ll leave a small piece of my heart in this beautiful state. Oh and white gravy with southern fried chicken and that thing these people do with a potato all mashed with 400 pounds of butter....oh dear sweet jesus how do I get a weekly supply of that sent to Canada?

Then we headed back to Canada, through Quebec into Ontario and back east. The trip home is when things started going awry. No, that's not true, things started going awry when I was sitting beside the man I loved and felt lonelier than I have ever felt in my entire life. That happened on day 3. It just got worse from there....

Can You Ever Go Home?

2011-08-02T21:29:00.000-03:00

I go away for a day or two (ok four fucking months) and now we have mobile templates? Is this something I need? Oh my god I feel like the new kid in the class all over again.

I don't even know where to start. Or if I should start or just call it a day and hang up the sparkly red shoes, thank you all for your love, verbal kicks in the pants, the laughs you have given me and call it a day?

This blog, and me, myself, has changed so much from what it originally started as. I am alot more receptive to changing me than I am the blog itself. It is impossible to change one without changing the other, hence my lack of writing. My life is no longer about bitching (oh there's no fear I still do that a gazillion and four times a day) about everyone around me. It's become more. I don't know if that will translate or fit into this space here.

But there's so much I want to tell you, to share. And it feels safe to do it here. I am so clicking my ruby reds and saying, "There's no place like home". Do you want to hear about the total uber fuckedupedness that is my life right now? If nothing else it will make you feel better about your own. Can I come home now?

Can We Just Skip The Teen Phase

2011-04-09T09:11:00.000-03:00

Oh sweet jesus can we not just skip this part of the book?

As many of you know I have three teenagers. The oldest decided back in the fall that he didn't like his mother's rules and moved in with his father. He turns 19 next week, he graduates from high school in June, he has a girlfriend apparently and I have been excluded from all of it. People keep telling me he will wake up someday and realize his mother isn't the witch he has made her out to be. I am not so sure that day will come. In the meantime I'm missing some monumental life moments.

The youngest (Ms. Noreene) who turns 13 in June has her very first boyfriend. I cherish the fact that she feels comfortable enough to tell me about this. I learned of it the day SHE ASKED HIM OUT! Dear sweet jesus she's her mother's daughter. He calls every evening, he shows up at concerts and basketball games. I can't understand how he's still walking upright really as I've killed the poor little fucker in my mind about 236 times. He's a nice enough boy, polite and speaks in full sentences. She is so in love with him, in that 12 almost 13 year old way. I dread the day he breaks her heart and I have to try and convince her that life goes on. In the meantime I smile and nod when she spends 20 minutes telling me about what Connor said and did. I revel in her happiness while hating the fact that my little girl is growing up.

My middle child, who in typical middle child fashion, has never given me a day of worry in his life, got home last night at 1:10 am. Blink, Blink. Blink. What the hell? Does he have any idea how difficult it is to call off the hounds and the air search party? This morning he explained in a calm rational way that he had lost track of time. Went to a movie with his buddies, out for chinese food afterward and didn't bother to look at a clock. He stood in front of me explaining this as though we were talking about the weather. He apologized for worrying me and said that I don't need to worry. When my head stopped spinning on my shoulders and my body stopped twitching from anger, I explained to him that worrying is what mother's do. It is our job. We have union cards. His response, "Well mum I'm really sorry, but your obsessive compulsive disorder is your problem not mine". Do I laugh or slap him?

So yeah, I'd like a please pass go and collect $200 dollars for this phase of child rearing, please?

All anxiety and tongue in cheek aside, I realize fully that I could be dealing with so much worse. I have never had to pick my kid up drunk in a public place (sorry Mom), I don't worry about any of them drinking and driving or doing drugs (sorry Mom). I've never had to go into a hospital to sign waivers so they could have surgery because they broke an ankle falling down a set of stairs...drunk (sorry Mom). It could be alot worse. Hell, I have done so much worse.

On the boy front - I'm going on the road next week with him. Yours truly is hanging up the heels, putting on the sneakers and living in a truck for a week with a boy - who may or may not throw me in the Mississippi at the first opportunity. You just know there will be stories. What else will I have to do but blog about everything he says and does? There may even be pictures.

Being Happy With What You Have

2011-03-20T12:00:00.000-03:00

It's something that everyone struggles with in life. Being happy with what you have in your life rather than focusing on the things you don't have. It's usually material things, wanting to jet off on holidays but not having the financial means to do so. Salivating over those beautiful pair of Franco's that just came out last week at the shoe store (fuck me but they're beautiful) and knowing that if you buy them it'll be kraft dinner all around for the next month! The bigger house, the nicer car, the better job.

I find myself in the tenuous position of trying to be happy not with the amount of material things but rather the amount of love. For anyone that knows anything about the trucking lifestyle (and make no doubt that's exactly what it is), you know that time is money. If their wheels aren't turning, they're not making money. Trucker boy's schedule has him on the road for two weeks then a Friday, Saturday and if I'm lucky a Sunday home. During those two, sometimes three days, he has to spend time with his son, do any errands that need to get done and squeeze me in. To say it's a juggling act would be the fucking understatement of the year.

So I'm having to relearn my entire way of thinking. Anyone that has been reading this blog knows that I have a tendency to be a tad bit selfish, just a wee bit. Tiny little intsy wintsy bit. Oh hell "It's all about me" should be tattooed across my ass. Learning to share at the age of 37 is quite an eye opener let me tell you.

He was home last weekend. Arrived on Friday, I picked him up at 10:30 Friday night. We got back to my house and I made chicken wings at 11:00 at night. He read parts of my blog while I puttered around my kitchen. Yes, you read that right, I let him read my blog. No one in my real life even knows I have a blog, except for him now. We went to bed around 2am and back up again at 9am so he could get back in town to spend time with his son. I had to work on Saturday afternoon and he texted me around 3:00pm. "What are you doing for dinner?" I hadn't given much thought to it. I knew I'd have to throw something at the anklebiters and essentially replied as such to him. He replied back, "Why don't you let me make dinner." So I picked him up at 5:00, he hopped in my car with grocery bags in hand, came to my place and cooked a delicious mushroom chicken linguine for the kids and I.

I'm learning to cherish those small things. Watching him putter around my kitchen, being thankful that he's there and would think of cooking dinner for us, knowing that he has a million other things on his mind. I watch his hands move as he cuts up vegetables and I'm enthralled. He kisses me on the forehead as I stand against the kitchen counter and I smile as though someone has handed me a pair of Loubitins. The Dual Mom of a year ago wouldn't have been thankful for those things. I see these changes in myself and they scare me. Change is scary. I find this wellspring of patience where he is concerned and I marvel at where it comes from. The kids see the changes, Mom is a little less edgy, smiles alot more, is much more patient. I question whether I'm losing a part of myself or simply growing. The edgy, take no prisoners, don't fuck with me or I'll eat you for breakfast woman that I've known all my life wouldn't settle for stolen moments and being grateful to have her man cook her a meal. Hell no, the woman I've known all my life would demand to be picked up at the door, wined and dined at a nice restaurant, showered with compliments and endearments, put on a pedestal and make damn sure it's a pretty one. So where did this other woman come from? Was she always there hiding, waiting for the right love, or is she settling because of love?

I went on a short trip with him in the truck. Yep, your's truly whose idea of camping is renting a 30 foot camper complete with air conditioning and full bath spent 24 hours in a truck and loved every minute of it. What the hell? No bathroom facilities, no running water, curled in a bunk for a quick nap on the side of a highway. Peeing in public bathrooms at truck stops. Who is this woman? He sleeps in short 3-4 hour periods. We arrived at his first delivery stop at about 4am hopped into the bunk, set the alarm for 7 and drifted off to sleep. When the alarm went off he hopped into the driver seat, I mumbled something incoherent and drifted off back to sleep. He drove around, making his deliveries while I dozed in the bunk listening to the sounds of him working. About 9:30am I hear, "Do you know someone that might like coffee?" I pulled myself out of the warmth of the bed, hopped into the front seat of the truck, blindly groapped for the coffee sitting in the holder and looked at that beautiful face smiling back at me saying, "Good morning baby" and I can't remember ever being happier. What the hell?

We drove for another 12 hours, stopping for bathroom breaks, naps and food. Driving down the highway, watching the world go by, singing together at the top of our lungs (have I mentioned how badly I sing) and I was happy, deleriously so. What the hell?

Seat covers - that's what passengers are referred to in the trucking world. Apparently I make a good one. My passport application is completed and ready to go. I've decided to take a week off in the near future and go out with him. It requires a passport because he does runs to the US. How much fun will I have blogging from the open highway people!?!

I need to learn how to accept the happiness without overanalyzing. I need to convince myself that it's ok to be happy when I sit and remember how he wakes up in the morning, looks down at me with just one of those beautiful blue eyes open and whispers, "Good morning love". Or how it makes me feel safe when he reaches for me in the middle of the night to wrap his arms around me. I need to let go of the crazy thought that I'm somehow less because I love this man with every fibre of my being. I love loving him - and I need to accept that that doesn't make me weak.

I May Be Dancing In The Rain Yet

2011-03-09T20:11:00.000-04:00

If you love something set it free, if it comes back to you....

It came back to me. Now before you start banging your head against your keyboard and screaming, "Nooo DM please don't tell us you took him back," let me tell you the story.

Oh brief interlude, your comments have made me smile, laugh and cry. I cannot thank you enough for caring. Reading your comments at 3am got me through more than one lonely night. One of the best was from GB Girl. She wrote: If it makes you feel better, I've been flipping off every truck driver I see on the roads. Just in case it's him.

Oh hun I had wonderful mental images of perplexed truck drivers wondering what the hell they did to piss off that crazy bitch. It made me grin from ear to ear. Sorry to say you missed him though, I asked.

In my efforts to forget my broken heart I've been keeping busy. There's been lots of wine drinking, spending time with friends, texting those near and dear (you know who you are), did I mention wine drinking? Yeah I have been pretty much pie eyed shit faced drunk for two weeks. A week and a half ago, I'm at a dance with a girlfriend having the time of my life. Sober. For some reason that I can only call fate, I wasn't drinking. I got home at 2am and sat down to check email and a text came in on my phone.

"Decided not to dance huh?"

Remember I deleted his contact info off my phone. It took me several seconds to recognize the number and then it dawned on me who it was...the blue eyed boy. My heart immediately went into the 160 bpm range and my breathing stopped momentarily.

My reply:

"I was out"
Him: Ok
Me: Where were you?
Him: Insert club name
Me: I see
Him: Insert club name for you?
Me: Nope.
Him: Ah k have fun?
Me: Yep

Fuck that, I wasn't going to make this easy for him. At this point he said:

Ok, I'll leave you alone now.

And I asked, "M, why are you contacting me"

"Because I miss you and I miss us"

My breath caught in my throat and I had to close my eyes against the searing pain that coursed right through my heart.

My reply: "You do?"

"Yes"

Me: "And what do you want me to do with that M?"

Him: "Nothing. I'm sorry I bothered you."

And then I lost it.

No M, you don't get to do that. You don't get to text me at 2am and then just pull away and shut down. Goddamn it no.

Him: "It's what I am"

It went back and forth for another 5 minutes. I finally asked if he would talk, if I went and picked him up if he would talk to me, open up, explain to me what the hell this was. Then he asked me if I was going to hit him.

So I went and got him and we talked till 6am in my car. There's the fate I mentioned earlier. Had I been drinking that night, there's no way the rest of the night would have happened.

He admitted to not being able to communicate. He admitted to being angry at me because I asked things that he had no answer for. He admitted to being scared. When he held my face in his hands and said, "TM I love you" with tears in his eyes and more love than I have ever seen in a man's face, I was done for. I wrote before about how much I longed to hear those words.

Leather helps the forgiving process. This is what he landed with for me on Monday evening. He said he saw it and thought of me. That I would need it this summer when he gets the bike out.

He won't call it a "I fucked up and here have some really nice leather as an apology for my jack ass actions" present. No, he won't call it that. It's because he saw it and thought of me. Mmmmmkay baby, I'll let you have your delusions.

I may be making a colossal mistake. I may be setting myself up for more heartache than I can possibly imagine. But right now, right at this very moment, I am brimming with happiness. This man has a selfish streak a mile long, he lives in a world, works in a world where his own wants and needs are the number one priority. Oh I'm not delusional enough to think that I am in any way, shape or form going to change him. He is however trying. There is no doubt that I feel completely and utterly loved. I asked him why he contacted me, why he came back. His response, because I love you. That is enough. For now, that is enough. It may not be enough tomorrow or next week, but right now I'm happy. So incredibly happy and loved.

If two months down the road he pulls away and shuts down, I'll rage and rant and stay drunk for several weeks, and I'll cry on my virtual friends' shoulders and I'll call him every version of rat fink bastard that I can think of ... and I'll have known what is to date the greatest love that I have ever had in my life. I'll have the memory of his arms wrapped around me as he whispers "I love you" into my hair. I can't walk away from that without giving it another chance, I can't spend the rest of my life wondering if it might have worked had I the courage to try again.

So here I go again.....

A Rolling Stone Gathers No Moss

2011-02-22T21:48:00.000-04:00

And so it ends.

Officially, and perhaps more importantly, with the answers I needed to - if not mend my broken heart - to at least partially fill my need to make sense of it all.

His text today, "I can't give you what you need, what you deserve. It will hurt less to end it now than in six months time. Sometimes love isn't enough."

"You cowardly son of a bitch", was my reply.

Then I went vaginal, he went silent and I said goodbye to my blue eyed boy. He was never mine, I see that now.

So after more than two weeks of radio silence I have my answer. I'm trying not to dwell on the thought that keeps running through my head....he simply didn't love me enough. It's what it all boils down to, but I can't dwell on that.
I typed all of that without crying. Progress...

I deserve a man that loves me beyond reason.
I deserve a man who will fight tooth and nail for my love.
I deserve a man who stays awake just to watch me sleep.
I deserve a man who is constantly willing to remind me how lucky he is to have me.
I deserve a man who when he says I love you, doesn't attach a dozen conditions to that love.

And I won't settle for less, no matter how much I miss his smile. It amazes me that even though he broke my heart, every little piece of it still loves him.

Silver Linings and Fucking Snow

2011-02-08T23:24:00.000-04:00

Fucking snow.

Fucking fucking fuckity fuck fucker fuck snow. Bastard snow I curse you with every fibre of my being.

Why yes I am sick of the snow, how could you tell? It's been snowing for the last 693 fucking days. It's like snowfuckingpalooza and let me tell you it's getting old fast. I'm sure if I went back in my archives I'd probably find an almost identical post at this time last year. One where I threatened to punch all the skiers in the vagina and shove their poles up their arse. (No offense to any of my darling readers who might enjoy such a passtime).

At this moment I am stuck sideways in my driveway. Don't ask me how I ended up sideways...I am just THAT good people. It is 11:07 and my day is just NOW ending. I have been on the go since 6:15 this morning. Stab me in the face please.

My heart is still broken but let me tell you cursing like a crazy psychotic bitch who's forgotten to take her meds certainly makes me feel better. That and your comments. You guys are just the best damn bunch of people in the world. I say so so it must be true, right?

It was two weeks ago today that he told me he loved me. How do you go from that to this in two weeks? I don't understand. I just sit here and try to make sense of it all ... and no matter how many tears fall or how much I think - it doesn't. It doesn't make sense. I sent him a text yesterday morning, it said "I love you, I miss you" and he ignored it. He has never ignored a text I've sent him.

So the rat fink bastard has been deleted from my fucking phone and at the first opportunity I'm going to bitch slap the fucker like he's never been bitch slapped before. I'll take pictures and share with you.

Excuse me while I get another kleenex. I've cried so much over the last four days my fingertips are shrivelled up. One would think the amount of wine I've been drinking would keep me from getting dehydrated.

He's not a rat fink bastard. Truth be told if he were to walk in my door right now, I don't know that I wouldn't just fall into his arms like the lily ass bitch that I am. But he has been deleted from my phone. Every loving text, every sweet nothing, every picture of sunsets in New Hampshire and his smiling face have been deleted. They are all gone. My heart shattered in a million pieces doing it but it was the only way I could keep from contacting him. I don't have his number memorized. No number prevents me from making an ass of myself. I do have some pride left.

So the continual crying has stopped. Now it's just moments where I'll be driving along feeling part human again and I'll have a vivid flashback of something he said, or the way he looked at me and it's like someone punched me in the sternum. When does that stop?

The silver lining, I bought a pair of pants today in size 5. Size 5 people!!! I haven't worn size five since I was ....well probably five years old. Now before you go apeshit on my ass and tell me I'm not looking after myself I need to tell you this is what happens to me when I get stressed like this. It's happened twice before; when my mother died and when I left my husband. I rate my stress level by the amount of weight that falls off me. This would be a quadzillion and one on the richter scale. But I'm wearing a size five...GO ME!!

I will be ok, I will be ok, I will be ok. Fake it till you make it, right?

Should Have Left The Wall Up

2011-02-06T18:56:00.000-04:00

I have managed to reach the ripe old age of 37 without having my heart broken. It's not an accomplishment I'm proud of and one I can no longer claim.

He broke my heart.

Now before the blogging world bands together and you all hunt him down and rip his testicles out let me explain. We'll see if I can do it without short circuiting my keyboard with my tears.

I went into this relationship with my blue eyed boy knowing what he does for a living. Knowing that he drives a truck and is gone 90% of the time, and LOVES what he does. I knew all that, and yet I fell in love with him anyway. My bad....

I also went into it with a little voice in the back of my head that said, from day one, he's going to hurt you. He says and does all the right things, but somehow someday he's going to hurt you. I put duct tape over the bitches mouth and buried her deep under my happiness.

It came to a head this week. I was looking forward to him being home on Friday. I was sooo looking forward to seeing him after two weeks. On Thursday he texted me that they had turned him around back to the states and he wouldn't be home. I went vaginal on him (that phrase comes from an amazing lady, I can't take credit for it). I was hurt, and angry and I needed him to assure me that he would somehow figure out a way to make this work, that he would do something, anything to ensure that we made this relationship work, that he wanted it to work as much as I did. He couldn't, or wouldn't. I think it's more wouldn't. I can't accept wouldn't. I can't be in this relationship feeling as though I'll always come second. That I'm the one who will make all the sacrifices to ensure the relationship grows.

So on Friday I sent him a text that I needed him to stop driving for 10 minutes and focus on us. I needed him to talk to me. He didn't respond and I haven't heard from him since. This may sound very strange to you and abrupt. It doesn't surprise me. My blue eyed boy loves to have control, he does not deal well with demands. I made a demand and he chose not to respond to it. His lack of response says so much more than any words ever could. I can't be with someone that has such little respect for us, for me.

It could have turned out so differently if he had somehow just shown me that I was important. That we mattered. I'm a firm believer in actions speaking louder than words. It's easy to say I love you, showing it isn't as easy. Never make someone a priority in your life when you are just an option in theirs. I can't be in a relationship feeling as though I'm an option. I deserve more than that.

I had no idea I could cry like this.

You know the crazy thing, I keep expecting him to pull in my driveway and wrap me in his arms and tell me he loves me. I know in my head it won't happen, but my heart keeps hoping.

The memories are killing me. He would call me and sing to me when I couldn't sleep. His smile when he walked in the door after not seeing me for two weeks made my heart sing. The total feeling of safety and love that washed over me when he put his arms around me. The way he made me laugh. I miss picking up the phone and hearing "Hi baby" in that beautiful baritone voice. Falling asleep with his entire body wrapped around mine. Those blue eyes that I lost myself in. I miss him so much. I miss all the things we're never going to have.

Goddammit it is not fair. I want to stamp my feet and rage at the fates that brought him into my life to hurt me like this. I can't because no matter how much I hurt right now, no matter how much the memories are killing me, I wouldn't give them away even if it meant stopping the pain.

He once said to me, "I want to dance with you in the rain ." I'll never get to dance in the rain with him....

On The Road Again

2011-02-02T13:19:00.000-04:00

Things I've learned from dating a long haul trucker:

Soon has many a varied definitions - it could mean anywhere from an hour to four days

Cell phones are a mans best friend

Lot lizards are NOT an amphibian that you would buy as a pet for your nine year old

It is possible to send and receive 548 pages of text messages in one month

The name of every state along the eastern seaboard...and how long it takes to cross it

The weather forecast a week ahead for above mentioned states

If you're travelling behind a transfer truck and you can't see his/her mirrors, they can't see you

Google maps is my new bff

Receiving a text that says "I'm in (insert name of obscure town, village) and ok" will brighten your day and ease your mind unlike anything you ever thought possible

The bunk of a truck can be quite cozy...just sayin

Long haul trucking isn't a job, it's a lifestyle. Eighty percent of society has a totally warped idea of what that lifestyle entails. I know I did.

Those of us not driving transfer trucks are called "4 wheelers" and for the most part, we drive truck drivers nuts

Cowboy boots are incredibly sexy on the right man

So is a 4 day scruff

It is possible to miss someone so much it takes your breath away

It will also take your breath away when you see that someone walk toward you, after being gone for 23 days, with a huge smile on his face. When he crushes you in the biggest hug imagineable...priceless.

Driving for two hours to spend the night in a truck is not outside my realm of possibilities

Taco Bell is a food group...apparently

It takes more than the length of a football field to stop a truck when it's hauling an 8 thousand pound trailer. So if you're passing said trailer on the highway - make damn sure you don't pull in front of him abruptly. Think crushed beer can.

Most truck drivers don't drive when they're tired, they have no desire to make crushed beer cans out of your vehicle.

EVERYTHING you buy, own or eat, was brought to you in a truck.Think about that.

Cell service between the US and Canada blows hairy monkey balls.

It is possible to love someone so much, that receiving the text "Good morning baby, I love you" will make you smile like a fucking lunatic that's ready for the funny farm for the rest of the day.

I know what a turbo booster is - file that one under info I never thought I'd have.

I have it within me to relish the thought of living in a truck for two weeks, without running water, bathroom facilities or a coffee maker. If I'm coming through your hometown can I stop and borrow your shower?

I have patience, not saying limitless patience. Just saying I can hear I don't know or we'll have to wait and see without wanting to rip the face off of the person saying it to me.

Errrr...Ummm Hello?

2011-01-31T18:00:00.000-04:00

Crazy lady steps to the microphone, head hanging with shame and a faint blush tinging her cheeks. "Hello?"

So I'm not blushing, but yeah hanging my head with shame, just a wee bit. I logged on expecting to have four followers left. To my surprise, I've only lost about 10 of you. This tells me one thing, you people never clean up your blog lists! What the hell is wrong with you? I haven't opened my blog since my last post. Seriously. I also didn't realize how much I missed this until.....right now. Putting these words out there knowing that some of you will read and respond and I'll respond back and we'll insult each other and you'll offer your words of wisdom and then I'll read all about your crazy antics and your dysfunctional lives and boy have I missed this.

I'm baaaccccck she says...as Satan shudders with fear.

I have stories!

But really it's the new man you want to hear about isn't it? C'mon you know it is.

Yes, he's still around. Yes, I'm still deliriously happy.

Yes, I'm in LOVE. I'm fucking in love people. I know, you're as amazed as I am right? In love like I didn't think it was possible for this hard, blackened heart to love.

So be prepared because I'm going to bore you to shit with stories of the blue eyed boy. After I catch up on what everyone has been up to. Must go read.....

Oh I'll be back, I promise.

Girl Meets Boy Part II

2010-11-22T10:37:00.000-04:00

I arrived first at the restaurant. We had agreed to wait for the other in the lobby. I watched him as he walked up to the restaurant. His size held my eye, as it had the night before, until he stepped in the door and looked at me and that’s when he smiled. Dear sweet jesus is all I remember thinking. How is it possible for a simple smile to hit me in the solar plexus like that? The next thought was do I stare at the smile or the eyes? Those incredible, piercing blue eyes that shine unlike anything I have ever seen before. This was going to be one helluva fun evening. As luck would have it, the restaurant was full. He quickly decided we wouldn’t wait, but rather walk up to another restaurant. As we’re walking, he crosses behind me to walk along the side closest to the street. I gave him a quizzical look and asked what he was doing. He proceeded to tell me that it was a chivalry thing, back in Victorian times it was considered good manners when walking with a lady, to walk on the outside to prevent her from getting covered in shit should someone happen to lean out their window (I’m paraphrasing here…he said it much more eloquently) to dump their latrine bucket. You can guess what went through my mind, “Is this guy for real?”

This guy was interesting. I was not expecting interesting. Good looking, charming, funny I was expecting, interesting was a different ball game all together.

We got to the restaurant, ordered dinner and chatted. The usual vital stats were exchanged, talk of our respective jobs. No matter how hard I tried, my eyes were constantly drawn to his mouth; I desperately hoped he didn’t notice. After dinner, where I, like the idiot that I am, ordered the hottest dish on the menu and then carried on as though my mouth wasn’t burning like the deepest bowels of hell, we walked up to the coffee shop and went for a walk around town. We talked about his son, childhood memories, blah blah blah. Short term memory, I don’t remember everything we talked about – he would. I do remember him telling me he was going on the road for 2 weeks the following morning. My immediate thought, “I can’t let him go before I know more” so I suggested a drive and he quickly agreed. I’d love to know what he was thinking at this time, perhaps I’ll ask him.

Most of you know I drive a boxy little car. I told him we could take my car and he could drive. He asked, “What kind of car do you drive?” With a devious smile I replied, “You’ll see”. Keep in mind the poor man is 6’1”. He was a good sport about folding his legs in four and pouring himself into the driver’s seat of my car. We drove aimlessly. I remember both of us singing along to the music, I remember grinning like I hadn’t grinned in a long time. I was relaxed enough with him to have my feet planted on the dashboard as he drove. I was completely comfortable with this man. We drove to the beach where I fully expected him to wait five minutes before making an attempt to get me out of my clothes. Again, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

We walked down the boardwalk to the water and stood there talking. He put his jacket around my shoulders because I was cold, and he stood freezing in his tshirt. He spoke of not liking the ocean, how it made him feel lost. It was in incredible night and the roar of the surf was almost deafening. We walked back to the car and sat in the parking lot, at the beach, talking. After almost two hours, he asked me to hold my hand up. I did and he pressed his hand against mine, and then closed his fingers around mine and ASKED me if he could kiss me. It’s about goddamn time, I thought. When I responded yes he ever so gently pulled me to him and kissed me.

When that first kiss ended he said: “One of those isn’t going to be enough” At that point a tiny tiny crack formed in the six inch veneer I’ve managed to cover my heart with over the last three years.

We kissed like a pair of teenagers in the front seat of my car for hours. We would stop kissing, he would put my face between his hands and then we’d kiss some more. At one point around 3am, he suddenly turned the music up, opened all the windows, got out of the car and came around to my door and tugged me out of the car. He wrapped his arms around me and we stood under the moonlight dancing. I don’t think my feet were actually touching the ground at this point. It was one of the most incredibly romantic things I had experienced in a really long time and I just wanted to stop time. I wanted to remember every detail of the way he smiled down at me, the way his arms felt around my waist, and how we seemed to fit so well together. My lips were sore when we finally stopped at six am and I felt as though I had been hit by a freight train, if it’s possible to feel really really good after being hit by a train.

I had told him earlier in the evening about my troubles with Monty: the accident, my bone deep fears, the grandmother buying him a car, Monty moving in with his father. As we drove back to town that morning, a news story about a teen getting killed in a car accident that night caught my ear. As I reached over to turn it up he said, “It happened in the western part of the island”. He knew without me saying a word….

Prior to dropping him at his truck, in an effort to be cute, I tried writing my cell number on his hand only to discover I was so damn tired I couldn’t remember what my cell number was. He had me call his cell. We parted ways with a long kiss in the parking lot. I hopped in my car and drove away. I’m not sure if I was out of the parking lot before I got a text from him, “Wow” is all it said. When we had been chatting the day before I had asked him what he was looking for and his response was, “I just want to make a connection you know?” So I responded to his text with one of my own, “Click”.

What followed was the most intense two weeks of my life. How is it possible to miss someone you’ve known for less than 24 hours? Miss him I did; with an intensity that forced me to sit and analyze my emotions for hours on end. He told me that first Monday evening that he was twitterpated. I didn’t get the Bambi reference and he explained it to me. It was like being on a roller coaster that went from absolute terror to sheer joy in 2.5 seconds…every damn five minutes. He felt the same way. We sent hundreds of text messages to each other, spent hours on the phone. It was one evening, a few kisses, how did that equate to what we were feeling? It wasn’t possible, was it? We were blowing the evening out of proportion in our minds; it had not been as intense as we remembered it.

By the following week I had a small part of myself convinced of exactly that. I had to spend three days at a conference and though we communicated back and forth as much as possible, I had convinced a part of myself that I was overreacting. That I was being silly acting like a teenager with a high school crush. Then he sent me a text on Wednesday, saying that he would be home on Thursday, a day earlier than expected. The wait was over. It’s a mighty damn good thing I was driving a van load of ladies home the next day…the 5 hour drive kept me from going absolutely insane with the thoughts that were running through my head.

At 7:30 that evening he pulled in my driveway. I stood waiting for him on the deck, and as I watched him walk toward me I knew that I was a goner. Cupid had hit with flawless aim. Deny and lie to myself all I wanted, whatever this was between us – it couldn’t have been more real and was every bit as intense as I remembered, if not more so. Then he looked at me and smiled, and my world dissolved so that it was only him. The kiss made me close my eyes in pure ecstasy.

We spent Thursday, Friday and Saturday night together. We fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

As I sit here writing this there has been another weekend spent together and he’s back on the road. In the month since we’ve met, we’ve logged over 4000 text messages back and forth to each other. His smile, the sound of his laugh, the way he looks at me, his touch…it all has me enthralled. I don’t recognize this woman; this soft, mushy, romantic woman isn’t the hard ass bitch I’ve known for 37 years.

I’m scared shitless and excited all at the same time. The fear is sometimes overwhelming. It’s all too much too fast. I did not want this. I wasn’t looking for love, or the one, or a heart stopping romance. I wanted light, casual, and meaningless. None of those words can be used to describe the last six weeks. I have had to force myself several times over the last two weeks not to walk away out of fear. He scares me, what I feel scares me. I’m counting sleeps until I see him again for fuck sakes people!! He sends me texts before I go to bed, “Good night ma petite”. I think of him and smile.

And that is what has been keeping yours truly away from the blogging world as of late. I hope you can forgive me!

Girl Meets Boy

2010-11-19T15:10:00.000-04:00

As many of you know, since my break up in June, I have been hell bent on having fun and living life to the fullest. Dating, dancing and drinking with every man that peaks my interest, committing to none of them. Of course it’s all been done in the most responsible manner possible (she says gleefully, tossing her hair over her shoulder).

A “relationship” a “fixation” a “thing” was at the very bottom of the to do list. I was not looking for anything beyond casual and actually ran from it with a couple of dates. Live for the moment had become my new modus operandi. The energy and dedication required to make a relationship work wasn’t something I wanted to commit to.

And then he came along, tipping my world on its’ axis.

I have been using an online dating site for a few months. I have had a few great conversations, a couple of interesting dates, nothing serious. Almost five weeks ago (I can’t believe it’s only been five weeks) I was out with a friend at a dance club. We were up on the dance floor shaking what our mammas gave us when I spot a really tall guy standing by the bar. His height caught my eye and when he turned around his eyes shone from across the room. I’m not being a drama bitch here people, the blueness of his eyes could literally be seen across a dark, crowded bar. I recognized his face from a profile on the dating site (small community) as someone that I had traded casual messages with. So at one point during the evening as I’m walking down to the bar, I met him on the stairs. Never being one to let an opportunity pass, I turn my head; look him directly in the eye and smile. He hesitantly smiled back and kept walking. Ok, I thought, not interested. No big deal. Not every guy is going to fall at my feet in a trembling pile of lust, right?

Anyway, the night proceeded. I drank too much, was kissed by a girl on the dance floor while her husband stood by laughing and fun was had by all. In my drunken wisdom, when I got home that evening I sent him a message, “Hey, you wouldn’t have been at the (insert bar name) tonight, tall guy, black leather jacket?”

He replied the following morning: Yes, I was. I am guessing you were there as well. Did you enjoy the band? Have fun?

Me: You have a great smile. lol Yes, we passed right by each other and smiled.

We proceeded to talk about music, favorite foods, pastimes, kids. I asked him if he remembered me, described what I was wearing and he responded:

I think I actually remember the exchanged smile. lol --- Its not often I make eye contact in a bar, but you looked right at me! What could I do?

Yeah, that’s me, always the brazen one.

He asked if I was sorry I had smiled at him. I replied that I wasn’t, not at all. His bashfulness intrigued me. It was contradictory to his physical appearance – tall, rugged, cowboy boots, leather jacket. The email messages turned into an instant messaging session that lasted about three hours. Around 5:30 he asked me to have dinner with him. He quickly decided on where to meet (loved the take charge attitude) and a time. I agreed, expecting to spend an amusing evening with a cute guy, have a few laughs and a story to tell the girls the next day.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Stay tuned for part II. Ohhh c’mon..you don’t think I’m actually going to give it to you all in one dose do you?

I Used To Have A Handle On Life, And Then It Broke

2010-11-01T10:31:00.000-03:00

A bend in the road is not the end of the road… unless you fail to make the turn.

Or some such shit…..

Another good one: Live each day so that when your feet hit the floor in the morning Satan shudders and says, “Oh shit…she’s awake”

I’ve been doing a bit of living like that. Have you missed me? I didn’t mean to disappear. I have been so wrapped up in living that my blog just got pushed aside like the ugly stepchild. I know, I know, feel free to reprimand me.

So do you want an update – all two of you that are still here?

On the home front – you’ll remember the last time I wrote Monty and I were having issues. He hasn’t spoken to me since the second week of September. My heart breaks when I think about it so like all well- adjusted members of society I just don’t think about it. Though he’s almost 18 years old I’m just about at the point where I’m going to physically force him into the car with me and hold him there until he talks to me.

Here’s the kick in the ass folks. My house….since he chose to stay with his father all the time, my house has never been so peaceful. I didn’t realize how much he stirred the pot and kept things in a constant state of turmoil until he wasn’t there doing it any longer. Nora and Jimmy never fight, they actually play together. There is no bickering or arguing or sullenness. It’s like I suddenly have a different family and it kills me to admit what a shit storm my darling eldest caused on a regular basis. I sat the other evening looking at old pictures. The kids were 9, 7 and 3. I sometimes long for those days when my children looked at me as though I hung the moon and stars.

Work – still doing the two jobs, some weeks working 70 hours a week. It makes me tired just thinking about it! How is it possible to work that many hours and still be fucking broke? I just don’t get it.

Romantic life, oh jesus where do I start? So much has happened since we last spoke. I get giddy just thinking about writing it all down. I’m a 37 year old, separated, hard ass, mother of three – I’m not supposed to be damn giddy people! Twitterpated even! I’ll write an entire post about the cause of this twitterpation soon.

So yes, I’m alive, all is relatively well and I miss you guys like crazy.

An Anne Landers Moment

2010-09-16T10:22:00.000-03:00

As many of you are aware, I've joined an online dating site. It's rife with lunatics and 21 year olds looking for their Mrs. Robinson. I actually added an addendum to my profile last week that said, "If you're under 25 years old, please don't message me. I'm sure you're a great guy, but I have no desire to be your Mrs. Robinson. Don't know who that is? Google it".

Yeah it's that bad.

I work at the senior management level of a community College in a relatively small area. People love to talk. Our front page news includes articles about emails sent by the wife of a local politican. Yes, THAT small. We have no crime to speak of so what else are people going to talk about really? I'm going somewhere with this, give me a minute.

I'm very aware of what I do and say - and how it reflects on my employer. No one at work knows I'm a member of an online dating site. It would fuel the gossip mongers for days. No, I do not have an inflated ego, I just know how people talk. I have no desire to be gossip fodder for the crowd in the staff room.

So last night I'm online surfing through profiles of various men and I get an instant message. I respond and we go back and forth for awhile. This guy is CUTE and YOUNG - 27. This puts him 10 years younger than me. I have not figured out where my boundaries are with regard to dating and age. Is 27 too young for an almost 37 year old woman? I don't know. But we're chatting and there's no harm in that, right? This whole online thing is hit or miss. I sometimes get IM'd by guys who will sit there expecting me to carry the entire "conversation". That doesn't fly with me. Or guys who are so incredibly boring that my eyes bleed and I cannot fathom how they would actually hold a conversation in real life. This guy wasn't like that, he zinged the replies back as quick as I fired them out. He had a biting sense of humour which always attracts me.

And then I found out he's a student. Not only is he a student - right at this very fucking moment he's in a classroom beside my office. I saw him walking by earlier this morning. It was bound to happen, right?

He asked me to go for a drink this weekend (he moves fast which I like). I had to explain to him that I work at his College. That I wasn't sure if I was comfortable going out with a student. I couldn't even give the poor guy my first name, considering the fact that there's no one else in the organization with my first name. He has no idea what I look like and here I am checking him out as he walks by my office. I must admit it kind of amuses me. He was surprisingly ok with my hesitation, he seemed to understand it.

There are just so many pitfalls that this could lead to, me becoming the top item on the gossip circuit being just one of them.

What do you think? Is 27 too young? Am I just asking for trouble by going for a drink with a student? To my knowledge there is no policy against staff socializing with students. That does not mean there isn't an unwritten policy. I don't know, it's never been an issue in my world. Up until now. If I wasn't in the position I'm in, I probably would not give it a second thought. But I am.

Did I mention he's incredibly cute and funny?

Football and Roundabouts

2010-09-14T15:16:00.000-03:00

Playing along with PINT for the first time since it moved to it's new home over at That One Mom's. Click above if you want to play too.

This is me trying valiantly to look at the positives in life.

I'm considering trying to convince a doctor to insert a permanent IV so I can start mainlining wine 24 hours a day.

Finally...Recognition for the Diversity of This Word

2010-09-12T11:04:00.000-03:00

Watch it. If you don't laugh I'll refund your money.

The Ongoing Saga of the Teenage Driver

2010-09-10T07:07:00.000-03:00

I need you to talk me off the ledge because I'm about fucking ready to jump.

It has not been two weeks since Monty almost killed him and his brother. It will be two weeks this Saturday. I'm still having nightmares.

When I went to pick the kids up from their Dad's Wednesday night only Jimmy and Nora came out to the car. Where's Monty? Jimmy explains that Monty is staying at Dad's for the night because Dad is taking him to look at a car.

crickets

blink

blink

crickets

So I sat there pondering what to do. Do I go in the house and force my 6'2" -200 pound, 18 year old son into the car? Yeah, I didn't think so either. Do I sit there waiting for Ex to get home and have a calm, rational discussion with him about this? Judging by the way my blood was pounding in my veins I'm not sure how calm or rational the conversation would have been.

So I left. I took the two kids ~~who I won't be writing out of my will~~ home and proceeded to worry, stress, and fume for the rest of the night. By yesterday morning, I had myself convinced that I was overreacting. They were, after all, just going to look, right? No harm in looking. I knew Monty didn't have nearly enough money in his account to purchase any type of vehicle so no harm no foul, right?

Keep in mind I have told you countless times I'm very good at deluding myself.

A million dollars to the person that can guess what was parked in Ex's driveway yesterday morning when I dropped the kids ~~that I don't want to hang from their fucking toenails~~ off. That's right, a sparkly, rust colored, four door Sunfire.

blink

blink

blink

In the house I go. Did you hear the results of that conversation clear across the country? That's what I thought....

Let me tell you something about Ex. He does not argue with me. He does not raise his voice, he does not shout, he does not get emotional. It makes me want to punch him in the fucking face. Goddamn fight with me would you!!! What ensued was without a doubt the worst fight I've had with Ex and Monty. They do not understand my fear, they do not understand my anger over not being consulted about this purchase, they do not get that as a mother, it's my god given fucking right to be hysterical at the thought of my son killing himself because he's too arrogant and cocky to drive defensively.

As I stood there looking at the two of them I realized I was fighting a losing battle. Monty is his father's clone, it was like arguing with two Ex's. It gave me chills. In their mind, it's absolutely necessary Monty has a vehicle (I know, makes no good goddamn sense to me either) and I am the irrational, overprotective mother.

Accept the things you cannot change? That's always been a difficult pill for me to swallow. So I left Monty with his father. Not only because of the car issue but because I'm tired of being treated like a second class citizen by my son. I'm tired of being told that I don't know what I'm talking about, that my opinion does not matter, and that essentially I'm stupid. I know all teens think their parents are stupid. I know this. Thinking it and saying it are two different things. I don't have to listen to it in a house that I work two fucking jobs to pay the mortgage on.

Yeah, I'm angry. I'm hurt. I'm frustrated.

But mostly, I'm scared. I'm scared of when (not if) that phone call comes, or worse yet it won't be a phone call, it will be a knock on the door telling me my son isn't coming home again.

It's not an irrational fear (is it?). I feel this to the very core of my being. It's a sense stronger than anything I've ever had before in my life. And it scares me. He tempted fate once, what if he's not as lucky the next time?

Ok, you can proceed to talk me off the ledge now.

Miscellaneous Crap You Probably Don't Need to Know About

2010-09-08T11:27:00.000-03:00

I think I've finally stopped shaking from the near death experience of my boys. Working 14 hour days on last week kept my mind from constantly focusing on the accident. It did not however keep me from seeing the truck everytime I closed my eyes which in turn made me not want to close my eyes. It's difficult to sleep when you don't want to close your eyes. So no fucking sleep, which makes me a little crazier than normal.

The only thing that kept me going on was knowing that I had 5 whole fucking days off with no work whatsoever. None. Zilch. Zero. And boy did I make the most of those days.

I've pretty much pickled my liver and my body is crying out in protest for sleep and non-alcholoic fluids. We all know yours truly loves her glass of vino but I rarely imbibe in more than a glass or two. I think I drank a whole fucking vineyard last weekend. There were large quantities of wine consumed on the beach until 5:30 am. A spontaneous date with motorcycle boy saw the two of us heading to the beach at 10:00 on Thursday night - memories that I will have with me when I'm old and shitting myself in a seniors home let me tell you. Laying on a blanket with a gazzillion stars overhead, the sound of the surf pounding against the shore, vino in hand in the company of a beautiful boy who makes you laugh until you want to pee. Those are good times people.

There were large quantities of wine consumed on the dance floor of a club, where I danced until I looked as though I had been at the beach. There were large quantites of wine consumed while sitting at my place watching movies. I seem to be really good at making up for the fact that I've lived for almost 3 years as a nun.

Of course none of this helps me forget the huge, angry, black bruise that covers my boy's chest and stomach. The image would not leave my mind, even though he was out at his father's house.

I partied like this knowing that yesterday, the world must right itself on it's axis once more. The early morning routines have started again. It's time to be the responsible drill sergeant who manages time in micro-seconds rather than hours. The start of another school year (both at home and work) brings with it the ridgid routine we as Mom's must follow to ensure our kids have the food they need, clean clothes, drives, homework, and projects completed. Yeah I know kids always need to eat...but during summer holiday if supper isn't ready until 7:00 rather than 6:00 it's not the end of the world. If there's no clean clothes for the morning well they just wear their pj's until noon. What? You don't let your kids wear pj's till noon?

It also means the influx of a brand new group of 1600 students at work. It means instructors will be back from summer holidays. It means alot of chaos and trying to make alot of people happy when I just want to stab ~~almost all~~ a few of them in the jugular with a pencil. It means the end to days of the boss coming into the office at 2pm and saying, "Let's close up for the afternoon". Sigh

This school year will see my oldest child graduate from high school and start another chapter of his life. I imagine him crossing that stage, knowing how much work and tears it has taken for him to get there, and it gives me goosebumps. I'm so incredibly grateful that he is alive to turn the page.

Nora came out of her room this morning in her new jeans and t-shirt and my mouth fell open in complete astonishment. Nora is 12 and over the summer she's completely lost all traces of her little girl physique. At 5'5" she's just a hairs breath away from being as tall as her mother. Her face has thinned out and she has these beautiful cheekbones. She has an ass. When did my little girl get a booty? When did her life stop being about dolls and giggles?

Time, please slow down. Just a wee bit. Kthanks.

I'm A Witch or Self Fulfilling Prophecy? You Decide

2010-08-30T09:24:00.000-03:00

Do you remember this post. Probably not. It's the one where I went on like an irrational nutbar about my 18 year old getting his license. I have been told by countless people in countless different ways over the past two months that I need to gear down on the worry about the boy driving.

Yeah well fuck all of them because I was right.

Saturday noon I'm reading email, drinking coffee and deciding whether to go for a run or go shopping. My phone rings, the caller ID shows a name I don't recognize. I normally don't answer the phone unless I recognize the name...something twigged at the back of my neck and for some reason I answered this call.

Me: Hello (said in my phony office voice)
Stranger: Hello this is (insert stranger name). Your sons have been in a car accident.

Before she could get "They're ok" out of her mouth I was throwing up in the kitchen sink.

Sometimes it's no goddamn fun at all being right.

So I get directions to where they are after making this poor woman assure me I'm not going to drive up only to find their heads detached from their bodies. I assure Nora that everything will be ok, call their father, and hop in my car.

They are on a back road about 10km from the house. As I pull up both boys are standing on the side of the road. There are two guys standing with them. The truck.....

The truck almost snapped in two. The engine was practically sitting in the front seat. The airbags deployed, the front tires were sideways. It was a culvert that stopped the truck. A fucking culvert. And my boys were standing their alive.

The story I got out of the boys is that Monty had the window open and a bug flew in the window. As he tried to swat the bug out of his face he jerked the wheel of the truck, the truck went off onto the shoulder of the road and he couldn't get it back under control. They went into the ditch, travelled about 15 feet and hit a culvert.

There's no doubt in my mind he was speeding. You don't do that much damage to a vehicle if you were only travelling 60 km an hour.

According to the tow truck driver - if they hadn't of had their seat belts on I'd be planning a double funeral today. I don't think he realized that I had already played that whole what if scenario through my head a dozen times. That I would spend the rest of the weekend seeing that truck every time I closed my eyes and playing the "what if's" through my mind.

Both boys were white as ghosts. Monty had somehow scraped the shit out of his arm, Jimmy had a severely bruised chin. Monty is devastated over the loss of his new found freedom. He's too young and too stupid to realize how much worse it could have been. He was lamenting the loss of his truck yesterday and I looked at him and said, "M how much worse would you feel right now if we were burying your brother?" Perspective boy....perspective.

It scared the shit out of Jimmy. He was very quiet all weekend and I would force him every once in awhile to talk about it. If you've ever been in a car accident you know how frightening it is to know that you're going to crash. I can't imagine how it feels to a 16 year old. I wish I could somehow take the memory of it away for him.

Everyone keeps telling Monty- a truck is replaceable. As long as I fucking live and breathe that boy will not own another vehicle before he's 30....at least. Going out to buy the bubble wrap and duct tape today to insulate the two of them against further catastrophe.

You Can Thank Me Later for Making You Cry

2010-08-28T12:06:00.000-03:00

So yours’ (your’s yours…which one is right Zgirl?) truly received an email. I know, astonishing right? Anyway, the email was from a dude named Denny Chapin (Denny, let me know if you object to my splashing your name all over my blog). Anyway Denny is involved with this place. It’s a website that gathers and links information on addiction for states all over the US. He said he stumbled across my blog while doing some research (me thinks I may post too much about wine drinking) and he said in his email to me:

I was impressed by your expressive and unabashed voice; it's great to read a few honest, 'all-out' posts every once in awhile (seems harder and harder to find these days). Your kids also look like a ton of fun (and work, hah)!

Oh you know compliments will get you everywhere with Dual Mom, right? I’m still wondering if “expressive and unabashed” is his way of saying I’m opinionated and swear too much? So of course after these flattering words he wanted something (don’t they all). He asked if I would place a link to his website Arizona Treatment Centers on my blog…dude even offered to pay me. Crazy right! I declined. In my response back to him I said “My blog is the one thing in my life that is completely about me. I don't do it to pay the bills, or for the benefit of the kids. I do it because I love to write, I love to make my readers chuckle once in a while and I love the feeling I get when I know I've made someone smile.”

However, Denny’s mission strikes a chord with me and I agreed to do a post highlighting his efforts. Since I'm all about serving my community and making the world a better place (don't laugh arseholes) here goes nothing.

You see, I wasn’t always the fierce, strong shit kicker that you all know and ~~put up with~~ love. I’m the product of a severely alcoholic, abusive father. Don’t get your tissues and sympathy cards out yet, I’ve obviously lived to tell the tale and besides severe issues with letting my walls down it hasn’t altered me too much.

But when I sit and think about it…when I really sit and think about it…it still makes me sad.

My father was a wonderful man. He was warm, caring, beautiful, strong - when he was sober. When he was drunk, he was angry, hurtful, god so angry. I remember the anger most. You know how people talk about wonderful childhood memories, memories of doing fun things with their parents/siblings. Memories of great holidays and loving times spent with family. I don’t have those. I have memories of being afraid, knowing that it’s Friday night and that Dad got paid. At 5, 6, 7 years old, I have memories of being afraid. Because when Dad was drinking, home was not a fun place to be. My most vivid childhood memory was of my 18 year old sister’s going away party. She was leaving for Toronto to go to school. The night before she left my father got drunk and threw my aunt across the room because she said something that made him angry. I was 8. The aunt in question had cancer at the time. Those are the childhood memories I have.

He went for treatment after that. He spent 3 weeks in an addiction facility. When he came home he was a new man. God I remember that month he was sober. I remember not being afraid, for the first time in my life. A month, he had the strength to last a month before he relapsed.

Children of alcoholic parents blame themselves for their parents addictions. If I was a better child he wouldn’t drink. If I clean my room he’ll come home sober. If I make him laugh he won’t need that beer. It is without a doubt, one of the most incredible fucking burdens you can place on an innocent child.

My mother finally found the courage to kick him out of the house when I was 11 years old. I remember it vividly. The last straw, so to speak, was him leaving me on the couch the day I got home from a tonsillectomy. My mother was working a night shift, left me - thinking Dad would be home in one hour to look after me. He came home, grabbed his beer, gave me $5 to get treats (yeah because that did me a lot of fucking good when I couldn’t eat asshole) and left to go drink with friends.

When he got home the following day I remember my mother standing at the counter peeling potatoes. He came in the door and she said, without looking at him, “Your bags are packed in the bedroom, get them, and get out. I’m not arguing with you, you left our daughter to potentially choke to death on her own blood, get your goddamn bags and get out. If you don’t I’ll call the police, but right now I’m not sure if I’ll call before or after I use this knife”. He came back in after taking his bags to the car, “I need my boots.” he said. I went to the closet and got his boots and rushed them to him. I wanted him to leave that badly. I was 11 years old and I couldn’t wait for my father to leave.

I remember it like it was yesterday. This man had terrorized my mother for over 20 years. There were times she feared for her life and the life of her family. And she finally found the courage to stand up to him.

Go Mom!!

He moved to another province after that. He would call periodically when he was drunk. Ranting and raving about how much he loved us. As we grew up we stopped taking his calls. The last time I spoke with my father was 3 days after my mother died. I was 22. He called, not knowing mom had died and started into his drunken diatribe. He called my mother a bitch. I responded, “Mom is dead, as far as I’m concerned I have no parents. Do not ever call me again because as far as I’m concerned, I’m burying both my parents today.”

Dad has eight grandchildren he’s never met. He has four grown children he hasn’t seen in over 20 years. He has an entire family filled with loving, awesome people that he’ll never get to know or love, or be loved by. Because he loved alcohol more. He’s 70 years old and has an entire family that would love nothing more than to love him, have him here with us, have him as a grampy to our children, but he made that impossible.

It was not my responsibility as a child to make my father want to be sober. It was not my fault. It was not my fault. It was not my fault. How many times do I have to repeat it before I believe it?

So if you know someone in your life that has an addiction, I truly believe as an adult, you have a responsibility to try and help them. If that person has children, then know that those kids are going through a shitstorm of really gross emotions, even if they don’t show it. No one in my life knew what I was going through, teachers had no idea, friends didn’t know. I became incredibly adept at hiding everything. As I sit here typing this at 36 years old, the thought of my father doesn’t fill me with love, it still makes my heart race with fear.

So yeah, addiction is an incredible monster to try and fight. I get that. But aren’t the people who love you worth the fight? That’s the question I still struggle with. Why wasn’t I enough? Why wasn’t our love enough?

I was a great fucking kid Dad. I was funny and smart and I loved you so much. I’m an even greater adult, my bloggy friends say so. You are missing so many awesome things in life. YOU threw it all away.

Please, please, don’t ever force your children to be asking themselves those same questions. If you or someone you love has a problem with addiction, get help, just do it. Please.

Those links in case you missed them the first time:

Arizona Treatment Centers
All Treatment

Office Dynamics

2010-08-25T09:11:00.000-03:00

My boss just walked into my office, handed me this and said, "Here this is for you." He chuckled and walked out to his meeting.

I'm surrounded by smart asses.

Is that a condom she has on her head?

JM2C or Just My Two Cents - For Those of Us That Speak In Full Sentences

2010-08-24T09:16:00.002-03:00

When did this freaking become a blog about my dating life? How the hell did that happen? I blame it on you, and you....oh yeah and you had a part in it too.

Seriously, since the blogging world has become my go to when matters near and dear have me stumped I need your help.

You see, I suck at online dating.

There I said it. Hi I'm Dual Mom and I suck so badly at online dating. Is there a support group? Like suck dirty monkey balls I'm that bad.

Let me back up a moment and say a few things non boy related. My middle anklebiter turns 16 today. Why yes, I was 14 when I had him. Ok not really, fuck. While I'm glad my kids are growing up into semi well adjusted, non serial killer types, every birthday makes me nostalgic for the days when they were small and I didn't really like them that much.

And school starts in two weeks. What the hell? Yesterday, my daughter presented me with a list of all the "things" she needs before starting Junior High. Yeah, junior high, I know it made my fucking head spin too. So now I'm going to have to work the corner every night for the next two weeks just to get her half of the things on her "needs" list.

Ok onto the dating segment of the joke that is my life.

I joined an online dating site. I know, right?

Because I'm a smart ass my profile includes details regarding my internal debate over the whole cat lady/cougar scenario, the fact that acronyms drive me completely around the fucking bend (it's YOU not U people) and boys with beer bellies need not apply. Not that I have anything against beer bellies, some of the most wonderful guys I know have bellies, however, I'm in the shallow, vain I just want you to be pretty segment of my life and that's what I want. I make no apologies for it. I also state that if you can't start a sentence with a capital letter we probably won't have much in common.

Bitch, right? Mehhh

Anyfussybitch, for your reading pleasure I have saved some of the messages I've received to share with you. It's all about you people...it's all about you.

This one came from a 29 year old male who's profile included a picture of him drunkenly hanging off of two females (at least I think they were females), and his passtimes included (and I quote) "haning out wit freinds and drinking"

hi i no what a cougar is lolol but what do u mean by the cat lady thing. r u a cougar

I wanted to respond: c'mere till I chew your fucking head off and do the whole world a favor.

I get the whole millenial generations need to simplify everything to fit into 60 characters or less. But when someone explicity states that acronyms drive them crazy and capital letters are a must and yet they still send THAT type of message, there's bigger issues there than just a need for simplicity.

I've received multiple messages that said:

hi, wanna chat

About what, your lack of proper punctuation, or the fact that since you just sent me a message trying to get my attention and you used THREE FUCKING WORDS, chances are the chats going to be pretty onesided. And I'll want to stab my eyes out with a fork because you don't use capital letters or punctuation.

So here's where I need you to weigh in. Should I just get over myself and stop being so critical about the proper use of the english language, should I embrace the u r's and brb's and AWHFY and CWYL? Should I learn to live without question marks and proper punctuation?

One more thing, did you know there's a text acronym for oral sex? I know, I didn't really need to know either.

A Tale of Body Snatchers?

2010-08-19T00:52:00.000-03:00

I think I know myself pretty well. I mean obviously there are days I like to delude myself into thinking I'm a calm, nice, rational person but really, it's bullshit. Even more so lately. I think I've been possessed by the spirit of some Lolita that's forcing me to hit on complete strangers in parking lots. I think I need an exorcism.

Hold onto your hats for this one people. Aren't you glad Dual Mom's single?

So yeah, I hit on a complete stranger in a parking lot. Ok, truthfully I didn't really hit on him. I commented on his bike (after checking out his ass as he was bent over said bike). I told him he had a nice ~~ass~~ bike. Totally innocent, right? He asked me if I "ride" (oh look- there goes my mind rolling into the gutter) and I explained that I leave the driving to those that know what they're doing but that I did enjoy riding shotgun.

He then said, and I quote, "I have an extra helmet, want to go for a drive?"

I don't shock easily. After I picked my fucking jaw up off the floor I sort of stuttered and may have actually spit on him in my efforts to get words to come out of my vocal chords. Oh yeah, Dual Mom can impress the boys with her suave comebacks and spit. But really, what's a girl to do? It's 28 degrees, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, I've worked 42 hours in three days, I've been up since 4am and I'm single. I didn't even give myself a chance to talk myself out of it, I mean how completely fucking moronic is it to hop on the back of a bike with a total stranger? Yeah, he's cute, he's got a smokin ass, and he obviously appreciates the finer things in life (he is driving a Harley after all) but still....moronic with a capital M people.

So I locked my car, put on his helmet and what followed was probably one of the best evenings I've had in a very very long time. It was obvious that he was an experienced driver. Both ex hubby and ex boyfriend had bikes. I've spent my fair share of time on the back of a motorcyle. This guy knew what he was doing. So as we're driving across the bridge into town my sunglasses go flying off my face. He leans back and asks me if I want him to turn around and all I can do is laugh. I have my arms wrapped around this beautiful strange boy, I'm riding on the back of a Harley and I'm laughing with complete and utter abandon.

We drove and drove and drove. Fuck I think my hair was even blowing like you see in one of those corny commercials. Every few minutes he would turn his head slightly to ask if I was ok. He told me his name, I told him mine. He's chatting with me whenever we pull up to a light or stop sign, whenever we slow down for traffic. He asks if I'm scared (pffff scared? I hop on motorcyles all the time with strange men), he tells me that he's been driving motorcycles all his life, he asks me what I do, he asks me if I'm single, (ha pretty sure if I wasn't I would be after my little escapade). All I can do is sit there dumbstruck, with this shit eating grin on my face. I'm staring at his hands as he operates the gears. He has a beautiful silver watch on his left wrist and his hair curls beneath the rim of his helmet.

We laughed at the absolute insanity of what we were doing.

And you know what? As I sat on the back of that bike, with my arms wrapped around beautiful strange boy (did I mention how much I liked having my arms wrapped around beautiful strange boy), I felt free. I mean, I've heard people say how they "felt such a sense of freedom" but I never understood what it meant. At that very moment, I was free and I have no words for how glorious it felt.

When you have children as a teenager, you're freedom is cut very short before you have the knowledge and means to really enjoy it. Any mother out there knows how children have a sneaky way of infiltrating into our lives and souls. We live for our children. They are the very substance of our existance from the moment they are placed in our arms, and often well before that. This evening, I was just a woman. I was a woman on the back of a bike with a complete stranger and I have never felt more free.

He took me for nachoes and beer. Seriously. We ate nachoes and drank beer at an outdoor restaurant. I had two, he only had one. We laughed. My sides hurt from laughing. I told him I was recently single and had joined an online dating site (more on that later). He teased me that I wouldn't be able to keep them all straight, that I'd be mixing up names and vital statistics of all my paramours (his word). He suggested the proper thing to do was to get a white board and start a flow chart. I laughed until tears rolled down my face.

Then we walked around town because he said he wasn't taking me back on the bike until I walked off the beer. For an hour we walked, laughing some more. We stopped and he bought coffee and we walked more, talking as though we were the best of friends. We stopped and listened to an outdoor jazz concert. It was surreal. I wish I could describe how it felt, the craziness of it mixed with the sheer joy.

We exchanged contact info. I hope to hear from him again, but if I don't I have to tell you I won't regret a minute of it. He gave me one of the best evenings I've had in quite awhile...and yes, I include the evening spent with boy toy (more on that later too).

As he drops me at my car, he gets off the bike and unstraps my helmet all the while smiling at me (yeah, the shit eating grin was still on my face).

He hugged me before hopping back on his bike and riding into the sunset. A real, genuine hug.

I think someone should pinch me because I have to be dreaming, seriously.

Do's And Don'ts of Being A Houseguest

2010-08-17T00:45:00.000-03:00

Consider this my PSA for the week. I swear to fuck my head is going to explode and brain matter is going to come spewing out of both my nose and ears. As you all know the famille is home (insert long, drawn out, hyena like scream). I've written before about my sister, and the time she came home and both she and her daughter had lice and she thought I was overreacting when I sprayed everything with 120% proof insecticide and washed the bedsheets twenty eleven times a day.

So do's and don'ts of being a proper houseguest.

Do

Pick up behind yourself, and your daughter. Yeah, the 11 year old's underwear on the kitchen floor? Pretty fucking sure it's going to get shoved down her throat.

Wash the dog shit (or what looks like it) off your feet before curling up on your hostess's couch. Better yet, how 'bout washing your entire body? What a concept, I know.

Don't

Allow your child to walk around the house carrying your hostess's laptop by the screen. What sort of fucking neanderthal does that?

Wait until your hostess gets finished working a 14 hour day and then tell her you're too tired to make up the air matress for your daughter to sleep on. Oh and you probably shouldn't FUCKING STAND THERE AND WATCH as your hostess inflates the air matress, digs out the linens and makes up the bed. You know you're just asking for an elbow to the jugular bitch. You'll find yourself out in the woods with the rest of the damn wildlife.

Don't fucking sigh when your hostess tells you she gets up at 6:00am to get ready for work. It's just too fucking shitty pants for you if the noise of your hostess making 1420 pots of coffee so that she can stay awake to work another 14 hour day wakes YOU up in the morning. Proper etiquette does not entail you then lamenting about the fact that you want to sleep in especially considering you've been off on holidays all fucking summer.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkk where's my gun?

Oh and let's not even talk about that goddamn skinny arse brother of mine, who each and every year manages to have a blissful, sister- free summer. Bastard.

Feel free to send your questions regarding proper houseguest etiquette to losingmyfuckingmind@sisterhoodofthetravellingpants.com

Fawk You Friday

2010-08-06T13:03:00.000-03:00

I'm playing along with the fabulicious Boobies today. Click above if you feel like joining in on the fun. Nothing is more fun than flipping the bird to those that piss you off, in my humble opinion.

To whatever it was that caused a huge gaping hole in my tire. I fucking love getting up in the morning only to discover that my front tire is completely flat. Know what's even more fun? Having to tow your car to the dealership to the tune of $125 smackers. The cost of replacing the tire was just icing on the cake really.

To the mosquitoes that seem to feel that my yard is the only place in the neighborhood adequate enough to set up housekeeping and multiply....fuck you. It's wonderful to sit in the livingroom watching my neighbors frolic on their deck in the evening, knowing that were I to step forth outside my house, I'd be carried away to neverland by you blood thirsty motherfuckers.

To my well-meaning older sister, who sent me an email saying I sounded "stressed and sad". Really? I can't imagine why I would sound stressed or sad. After all I have your visit to look forward to, I'm broke, I'm working two fucking jobs and I'm still broke and you need mussels and won't share your prozac. You'll land here full of piss and vinegar wanting to jaunt off to do this and that thereby making me feel bad because I can't frolic with you because I can't seem to gain entrance into the same fairy tale universe where you reside. (Pity party for one, anyone? It's ugly, I know.)

To the grass on my beautiful acre of property that won't stop fucking growing. Do you see the mosquitoes? Do you know how hard it is to cut you with the fuckers flying in my eyes and mouth? I look like I have a severe case of tourette syndrome with my head jerking everywhere and waving my hands ceaselessly in front of my face, all the while cursing FUCCCCCKKKK every two minutes.

To the doctor at the walk-in clinic who told me my blood pressure was high and attributed my chest pains to stress, then proceeded to advise me to "reduce the stress in my life" and to folllow up with my family doctor. Oh sorry, I didn't mean to spit on you as I laughed hysterically in your face. That's some funny shit there doc...reduce the stress in my life. You've got a magic wand stuck up your ass that you can wave? You obviously read that little sheet on your clipboard with my stats very carefully, you know, the one that indicated I DON'T HAVE A FUCKING FAMILY DOCTOR ASSHAT. Let's not talk about the fact that I pay almost 46% of my yearly income in taxes, a large part of which is supposed to go to health care so that we as Canadians have such frivolous things like family doctors.

To my coffee maker. For dying on me this morning, leaving me to fall to the floor in an oscar worthy show of hysterical tears and blubbering mass of emotional despair. Why, oh why this morning of all mornings?

Is it a bad thing that I'm seriously considering drinking at 12:30 in the afternoon? Do I need an intervention? Have I asked that question before? Never mind, please don't answer.

No worries folks. This too shall pass, right? RIGHT? I have my health. Wait no, apparently I don't. I have three beautiful children. Ummm well no, they're really not that cute anymore and quite frankly full of attitude that is fugly. I have a wonderful job that I love that pays the bills, well no not .......ahhh fuck it.

I'll be back later with a list of all the sunshiny, glorious things. After a drink or two....

I Love My Family But Is It Really Necessary for You To Visit?

2010-08-03T23:25:00.000-03:00

Lice story here. I know you're all dying to read it.

Hey, can I come stay at your place for a few days? I shower, I swear.

Why? Why Do You Have to Be an Asshat?

2010-07-30T23:33:00.000-03:00

Please be forewarned - I've had several (okay 5) crantinis and I'm mad as hell.

Break-ups aren't fun. I mean you never hear anyone say, "You know, just for shits and giggles I think I'll break up with my partner tomorrow". Unless of course you're a psychotic, narcissistic asshole and then all bets are off.

Though I have several narcissistic tendencies that scare the shit out of me when I dwell on them for too long, I'm not psychotic. I have the papers to prove it. My recent break up was the result of months of sleepless nights, agonizing conversations with myself and friends and alot of deep deep soul searching. It broke my heart to end the relationship. I hurt him. I don't like hurting people unless they deserve it.

Ex-boyfriend has been emailing me for the last week, hounding me to tell the kids about our breakup. He argued that they had a right to know. I argued that I was their mother, and as their mother I had final call as to when to tell my kids. The kids have not seen him in over 6 months. They have long ago stopped asking when they would see him again. Ex sent me an email today telling me that if I did not tell them, he would. He talks to Nora quite frequently on Facebook about farmville (don't ask...that's a whole other issue) and ipods.

This afternoon I'm in the kitchen and I hear Nora shout, "Mom...what the hell is going on?". Nora shouting is one thing, Nora saying hell means that something of an apacolyptic nature has happened. She comes out to the kitchen with the laptop and shows me Ex's facebook page. He has changed his status to "Single" and put "blank is now new and improved, 100% Dual Mom free".

Blink blink.

So I'm essentially forced to explain to Nora what has happened. You can only imagine how your's truly likes being forced to fucking do anything. Son of a bitch.

Wait it gets better.

My sister in law called me this evening - "Have you seen Ex's facebook?" I said that I had, that he's angry, hurt and lashing out. There was silence on the other end of phone. SIL said, "Wow, I can't believe you're being so diplomatic about this". Wait what? Long story short I check fb only to find that he's essentially had a full on conversation with my daughter about our relationship on FUCKING FACEBOOK for all the world to see.

So I fired off this in an email:
Do not speak with Nora about our relationship ever again please. I have no problem with the two of you discussing farmville or ipods but I will not have my personal life displayed for all the world to see on fucking facebook. I haven't been 14 in a long time and have no desire for this type of display. I thought you were alot more mature than this.

And I get this back:

So the point of your note is that you're pissed off that I did exactly what I said I was going to do. I was no secret that I was going to let my friends know on Friday. (So the only way he could let his friends know about our break up is via FB?) It was no secret that if your kids asked I would tell them the truth. (They would never ask about our relationship unless something provoked them to ask) I'm really not sure what the problem is here.(The problem, you limp dick fucking asshole cocksucker is that your using my children to hurt me) You had advanced warning and now you're embarrassed. To bad. What bugs you is not in any way or form my problem. Be angry at yourself.

So here's the thing. I'm not going to post anything disparaging about you online and I have not done so. (Ummm how is it not disparaging to have a conversation with my 12 year old daughter about our relationship online you stupid fucking bald bastard) That's as far as it goes. I do this for your kids. (You do nothing for my kids...you do this because you know the only way to hurt me is through my kids because I stopped caring about you a long fucking time ago) Not for you. At no time will I lie to your kids if they ask me questions about this.Feel free to send more email demands to see what weight they have with me.

Here's the thing, I get anger. I get that he's angry, I do. But this, this is just beyond anything I ever thought he'd be capable of. I did not want this breakup to end in our slinging names and insults. I'm obviously not going to respond, it's exactly what he wants. However, if he continues to use my daughter to get to me, he's going to wind up with his penis shoved down his throat, and not in a feel good way either. I will fucking hurt him like he's never been hurt before.

Bastard, you would think he'd know after 8 years not to fuck with me. Who's going to bail me out when I'm arrested for assault?

Share A Spoon Salad Style

2010-07-29T10:59:00.001-03:00

You would never know it from my rapidly expanding midriff, but I love me a good salad. Pair it with a glass (or six) of a light white wine and you have yourself a perfect summer meal. So I'm playing along with Zgirl and posting not one, but two salad recipes. No need to thank me, I live to serve. Should you be inclined to want to play along also, just click the pic above and all the fabtabulousness of the one we know as Zgirl shall be revealed to you.

Ok enough bullshit, on with the salads.

First off we have a thai mango salad. If you are a lover of sweet and spicy than this is a dish for you.

Ingredients:

This recipe serves 6 people. Or if you're like me who loves thai food it serves 3.

1/3 cup chopped peanuts
2 unripe mangoes
1/3 c fresh cilantro
2 tbsp lime juice
4 tsp sugar
4 tsp fish sauce
1 tbsp vegetable oil
1/4 tsp chili sauce or hot pepper sauce
1 sweet red pepper, thinly sliced
1 cup thinly sliced red onion

Throw it all together and hope for the best.

Kidding

Toast your nuts in a skillet (that's what she said...sorry I couldn't resist) - about 6 minutes.

The mango part is important. Don't be getting all slipshod and buy ripe mango. You'll fuck the whole recipe up. The mangoes need to be UNRIPE people. Firm, not squishy. Got it? So peel the mango and then cut it into thin (I repeat thin) strips. If you know how to "score" a vegetable all the better. If you don't...well google it, it's complicated. If you don't want to google it just cut the damn thing in thin strips.

In a bowl, whisk together the coriander, lime juice, sugar, fish sauce, oil and chili sauce. Add mango, red pepper, and onion and toss it all together. Sprinkle with the nuts and ta da....a beautific salad that's so yummy it's almost orgasmic.

Special note: Though the recipe doesn't call for it, I often grab a handful of baby tomatoes, cut them in half and throw them in. Adds color and a nice taste. Another thing I add, (can you see that I don't like to follow recipes?) is red pepper flakes. Be careful though, a little goes a long way.

Of course I've made this look harder than it is. It's not hard. Cutting the mango is the most difficult part. Seriously, I've had people offer to pay me for this recipe after I've served it at ~~drunken parties~~ sophisticated gatherings.

On to recipe two.

Spinach Blueberry Salad

I have no measurements for this salad because it's one of those things I make that sort of happened by accident.

1 bag of baby spinach
1 pkg fresh blueberries
a bunch of crumbled feta let's go with a cup
a handful of chopped walnuts
balsamic vinegar salad dressing

Throw it all together.

I'm serious this time.

You'll love it. And it's so easy. I'm all about the easy.

30-Something Single White Female

2010-07-27T09:47:00.000-03:00

Holy fuck.

It dawned on me last night that THAT is exactly what I am. Sunday evening while sitting around drinking wine with my brother and his family (we were drinking the wine, the kids were having juice), he said to me, "Hey T, you could be a cougar now". After calling the paramedics to remove my fist from his face I pondered his statement for a bit.

I'm not one to shy away from a challenge, but hell it's been quite awhile since I have been single. I sure do hope being single is like riding a bike because me thinks I've forgotten how to do it (and yes..by it I think I may subconciously mean IT). Can I get a tutor?

So I googled cougar.

BIG mistake.

If I wasn't scared before, I am now.

As per urban dictionary, a cougar is defined as:

An older woman who frequents clubs in order to score with a much younger man. The cougar can be anyone from an overly surgically altered wind tunnel victim, to an absolute sad and bloated old horn-meister, to a real hottie or milf. Cougars are gaining in popularity -- particularly the true hotties -- as young men find not only a sexual high, but many times a chick with her shit together.

A young man's drug of choice. Great.

Why am I even talking about this? Well, aside from the fact that I'm fucking retarded, it has been playing on my mind since my brother so delicately pointed it out to me. I've never gone for the younger guy. My husband was 4 years older than me. Recent Ex boyfriend was 5 years older than me, and we all know damn well how those relationships turned out. So I think when I'm ready (and honestly I think it's going to be a long time) I may have to change up my modus operandi.

The way I see it, I have several choices.

Remain single. Purchase several cats and become the crazy cat lady who is seen walking the neighborhood in her "house dress", wearing bright pink lipstick smeared all over her mouth - while talking to herself. Many years later I will be found dead in my home with half my face eaten by said cats.
Hunt for some stud to fulfill my sexual requirements and throw him to the wayside when I've drained him of all life sustaining fluid (I'm obviously watching too many vampire shows).
Become a cougar. Find a boy 10 years younger than me (would that qualify me for cougar status, do I get a membership card?) that I can mold into the perfect companion. All the while having my friends laugh behind my back at what a stupid OLD fool I am.
Become a lesbian. Hey, I'm not ruling anything out at this point.
Wisen the fuck up and quit worrying about how my tits sag and are bound to get lost in my back fat the first time I have sex* and just go with the flow.

So grrrrrrrrrrrrr??? Somehow I can't see it......

*I can't take credit for the hilariaty of that statement - Betty White uttered those words on a tv show I was watching last night. It was as though she was speaking to me.

Three Minute Update

2010-07-25T10:24:00.001-03:00

Ahemmmm.

What are you looking at? It's only been two weeks - ok dammit closer to three but seriously - do we need to be that specific? Did you even notice I was gone? Ok - I know some of you have because I've been getting emails that say "Where the fuck are you?"

I'm here I'm here. You'll have to forgive me. I live on an island people. It's summer. Do I really need to explain myself? This time of year means endless days spent laying on the beach (I fucking refuse to heed the warnings of doctors and stay "inside" between the hours of 11:00am and 3pm to avoid the sun at peak strength.....yes I fully realize I'll be laughing out of my asshole when they have to cut my face off because I have skin cancer). It also means it's watermelon margarita season.

So what have I been up to aside from slothing around the beach and drinking too much tequila (let's not bother mentioning the fact that not two posts ago I swore never to touch the stuff again....thank you).

I'm being audited. These goddamn fucker assball shitholes (if you actually work for RC I'm not talking about you....obviously) can't seem to accept the fact that I've been seperated for 10 years without actually getting divorced and that my ex and I actually share custody of our children without having a million legal documents stating the fact. This is the THIRD time in 10 years I've been asked to provide proof that a) my children are actually my children (I'm considering taking pics of my fucking stretch marks and sending it along to them). b) that ex and I do actually reside in seperate residences

What makes this audit especially fun is that I can't find the kids birth certificates. I have tore the house apart and they are no where to be found. I'm thinking I must have tucked them away someplace "safe" when I moved two years ago. Obviously my hiding spot was really damn safe. This means I have to get new birth cerfiticates to the tune of a gazzillion and one dollars.

I called time of death on my relationship. It was worse than leaving the father of my children.

Spending time with this little imp who is growing up much too quickly for my liking. The other two imps only require my presence when it's time to belly up to the trough or they need a drive somewhere. They don't deserve to have their pictures on my blog. Kidding, I love them all equally. Actually it has more to do with the fact that oldest child is working his arse off so it feels as though I haven't seen him in a dogs age and middle child never leaves his room so I sometimes forget that I actually have a middle child.

Working and fretting about paying bills. Aren't we all? Cursing the fates that I wasn't born into a disgustingly filthy rich family so that I would in turn be able to live the life of materialism I was meant for. This having to be a person of substance because I'm poor really sucks. I'd be so much better at being shallow and superficial.

There's other blah blah blah and yammer yammer yammer....it's mundane shit. I've been catching your posts here and there but be sure to tell me if I've missed anything really juicy. I like juicy shit.

2010-06-29T10:12:00.000-03:00

I'm drinking the ~~tequila~~ kool aid and hooking up with Supah for Post It Note Tuesday. Everyone knows PINT ... I'll not bore you with the 411 on how to play along. Yes, I'm kind like that.

Speaking of fucktards - is it supposed to be really difficult to get these little sticky notes placed correctly...or should I be riding the short bus?

Second Jobs

2010-06-26T12:30:00.000-03:00

I have posted before about getting a second job. It's also one of the reasons for my scarce presence in blogland these days.

I haven't said what this second job entails, what it is I'm actually doing. I spent two months scouring the job boards. I had to find something that worked around my insane schedule. One week I'm foot loose and fancy free after 5:00pm - the next week I have kid pick up and everything that goes with having kids afoot - cooking, cleaning, homework blah blah blah blah. Retail was out because of scheduling. Waitressing or bartending was the same. I couldn't work till 1:00 in the morning and then get up at 5:00am to get ready for my real job. Working as an escort was out because I don't have the temperment. Don't laugh, I actually considered it.

So what am I doing? Market research, via the telephone, from home. I'm one of those annoying people that call just as you're sitting down to supper asking you to complete a survey.

(Hangs head in shame and listens intently as her followers drop like flies)

The thing is, I have never ever worked at a job that I'm not proud of doing. Let's be real though, no one likes a surveyer. I refuse to call myself a telemarketer because the company I work for does not sell shit. They do surveys for large companies and business - mostly customer satisfaction surveys. However, to the general masses, there is no distinction between what I do and a telemarketer.

Do you know what the other kick in the arse is? I'm really fucking good at it. I've been told by several people at the end of a survey that I have a "lovely voice" and "if every telemarketer (See? No distinction) that called sounded like you do I'd complete more of these surveys". That comment actually made me think I should be doing 1-900 calls instead of surveying. The comment was made by a woman.

The job allows me to work from home, there's no travel and I make up my own schedule. If there's days I can't work, I simply don't. Shift start and end times are at my discretion. For this reason alone the job is ideal. The pay is really decent. But I'm still ashamed to say I'm doing this. A very select few of my friends know that I have this second job.

Here's where you come in. This secrecy around this new job is playing on me. Am I being retarded? Ok ok - we all know the answer to that but am I being retarded when it comes to this? I need your HONEST opinion. I keep telling myself I could resort to theivery (I do look good in black) and prostitution to make my car payment and that would be a helluva lot worse than surveying, right?

Also, the next time you get one of those annoying phone calls at dinner, keep in mind that a "I'm sorry I really don't want to do this" is so much nicer than a "fuck you". The person on the other end of the line could simply be trying to feed her kids or make her car payment.

If There's A Medal For Being a Fucktard...I Have It In The Bag

2010-06-24T18:32:00.001-03:00

Thunk.

That would be the sound of me falling off the face of the earth. I know. I'm such a fucktard.

So while trying to catch up on the 463 posts in my reader, I found Zgirl's post from ~~today~~ (okay I have to admit...I started this post last week!!!) and I'm stealing her idea. Don't worry, I warned her I was going to steal it.

So rather than bitch and complain about the multitude of people that make me want to stab them in the eye and kick them in the crotch on a daily basis - I'm going to bitch about myself. Fun, right?!!!! Let me clarify - I'm going to bitch about my drunk self. You see, happy hours have recently been turning into happy entire evenings that see me completely inebriated and saying totally inappropriate things to whomever passes within hearing range. I need to stop. Of course any armchair psychologists would tell you that I'm using alcohol as a means to escape my ~~shitty relationship~~ issues. Really though, isn't that one of the wonders of alcohol?

So let us begin shall we....10 things I hate about Drunk Dual Mom.

Brain/mouth filters. I struggle with this at the best of times. Add alcohol, mix gently, and the resulting chaos will be talked about for WEEKS to come.

1. The fact that when you are drinking - you don't see anything wrong or inappropriate talking about blow jobs with the Executive Director of Programs. To go as far as to offer such a service to this man if he cut your grass - yeah that might NOT have been one of your finer moments. Albeit the grass is really long and such a drag to cut. Yes, he was laughing with you, but upon sober reflection, he had to have been a tad bit shocked.

2. While laughing and joking with a group of contractors about the possibility of running for Mayor is good clean fun - suggesting to that same group of men that sleeping with all the male prisoners at the local jail to ensure votes probably wasn't such a classy move. To then proceed to put parameters around your whorishnish by stating the following: "But they can't have beards and they have to have large dicks". Oh Dual Mom....oh oh oh, there are no words.

3. Tequila is not your friend. Make a t-shirt, put it on a sticky note, tattoo it on your ass, whatever needs to be done to ensure you remember this.

4. The fact that when you get going, you have no idea when to stop. The absolute retardedness of mixing red wine, tequila shooters AND whisky is beyond comprehension. Grabbing the bottle of Crown Royal and filling a tumbler...yeah that's going to hurt the next morning. On the plus side you highly amused a friend when your reply to her saying to you, "Ummmm you don't want to do that" was "Oh wow, you're absolutely right...this drink totally needs ice".

5. Your ability to hear what you want to hear when inebriated. Pretty sure the waitress did NOT actually want you to so emphatically appoint yourself a member of her rugby team. When you turned to the girls and said, "Wait, when she refers to a SENIOR rugby team...she's using the word senior to mean really good at rugby rather than middle age, isn't she?" it caused them to fall off their chairs with laughter.

6. Bringing down a really expensive chair while holding onto it trying to balance yourself. Again, classy. Who knew wood and flesh made so much noise hitting a marble floor? Defending your actions by saying you were practicing for rugby tryouts probably didn't fool anyone.

7. I hate the fact that friends remember EVERY last goddamn word that I utter. Why can't they drink until they forget....like I do?

So just so you know, I am alive and kicking. I figured I had better let you know before someone sent out search and rescue. All is well. I just seem to be in a writing funk...ya know what I mean? Obviously this writing funk hasn't impaired my drinking abilities.

Ok c'mon dish....I want to hear tales of drunken debauchery. Please?

So Let's Find Out Just How Demented You Are

2010-06-08T08:07:00.000-03:00

Ok so dude that did this little bit of profiling with us kept referring to Psychology Today, which is a well-known magazine. Dude could also be full of shit, I don't know. I have to tell you though, I was sitting at a table of 8 people when he revealed the answers and we were all ooohing and ahhhing like we had suddenly become enlightened buddas. I and another guy (who just so happened to be my boss) refused to share our answers on the last question with the rest of the table. You'll see why in a minute.

So my answers were:

Favorite color - red (of course)
Warm, strong, bright

The words you used to describe your favorite color is how you subconciously see yourself. Mimi apparently thinks she's very eye-catching. Egotistical much Mimi? :0)

Favorite animal - cat
Alone, stand offish, aloof

The words used to desribe your favorite animal reveals how you think others see you. Apparently I'm a snob.

White room
Cool, calm, alone (there's that damn word again)
The words used to describe your feelings in a white room are how you subconciously feel about your future. Let's not talk about the fact that I've used the word alone twice.

Body of water
Fast, noisy, cool

This one, well this one reveals how you like your sex. It disturbs me that my boss also refused to reveal his answers on this one. I was NOT about to tell people that I like fast, noisy sex. Tell me how quickly that would have gone viral over the email system at work?

But some of your answers!!!! Some of your answers had me hooting outrageously. Gayle has everlasting sex which makes me incredibly jealous. Zgirl has wet, refreshing sex which I can't even think about. She also thinks others see her as sleek, stealth and agile which is really interesting. It's why I smushy love her face. I'm concerned that Quixotic doesn't have a very bright view of her future and we need to stage an intervention.

Salt became so anxious at the thought of the white room she couldn't even finish the questions, as did Mrs. BlogsAlot. You two should hook up and talk over your anxiety issues, really. Logical Libby was apparenlty told at camp that she wants to sleep with farm animals. This explains so much Libby. Once again Mimi takes the cake with humungous, deadly sex. Holy black widow Mimi!!!

I had so much fun reading your answers! For those that didn't include your answers in the comments, let me know if you have any deep psychological issues you need help sorting out. I'm a trained professional now ....all expert and stuff.

Fuck I love you guys. You make me smile.

Psychological Profiling Anyone?

2010-06-07T13:08:00.001-03:00

Anyone that has ever worked in a large organization has probably attended a "Staff Appreciation" event of some sort. These things can either go one of two ways: the day ends up being lots of fun with a great guest speaker, good food, and the chance to catch up with people you often only communicate with via email. Or. Or you sit there wanting to stab your eyes out, wondering what the hell your Human Resources department was thinking and if they actually work for the same organization as you do.

Friday we had a "staff appreciation day". I did not want to stab my eyes out. Bonus.

The guest speaker was actually a dude that had been on Opera. Being on Opera totally validates his existence, right? I need a sarcasm font. But seriously, dude was good. He managed to keep me entertained for two hours which is no small accomplishment. He started his spiel talking about the workforce of today. How the millenials (young people just leaving school) are going to change the face of the work place. How these millenials have grown up thinking that it is their god given right to have the "perfect" life handed to them, complete with an entry level job paying 60 grand a year, one months holidays and a pension plan (or 401K for those in the states) all wrapped neatly in a bow. What happens if they don't get it? Why they will sick their mommy on you of course. Don't laugh, it happens. We see it everyday in post-secondary education and it's going to happen in the workforce, you mark my words.

Anyway, after about the first 15 minutes one of my co-workers turned to me and said, "He's stealing your act, I heard you give this exact spiel years ago". One of my favorite soapboxes to get on is the state of workforce and the effect the teacup generation is going to have on that workforce. Work 40 hour weeks? Screw that, I have an xbox game to wrap. Overtime? Yeah right, I have a standing mani/pedi appointment every Thursday at 5:00 that I will not miss for any damn employer. You don't think I'm doing my job correctly? Well fuck you I quit. Ask anyone that works in Human Resources and they'll tell you their biggest concern today is finding dedicated staff that are willing to work. Hell, they don't even have to be qualified, they just need to be willing to work a full week.

Here's my question: What happens when these millenials are running the country/countries? It's scary folks, scary scary shit.

Okay, it wasn't all doom and gloom. He gave us a bit of a psychological profiling diddy. Want to play? Of course you do.

Think about your favorite colour and write down three adjectives describing that color.

Think about your favorite animal and write down three words describing that animal.

Now, think about an all white room. The walls are white, the floor is white, there is no sound in the room, no windows, everything is white. Now list three words to describe how that room makes you feel.

Lastly, think about a body of water. Any body of water whether it's an ocean, river, stream whatever. List three words describing that body of water.

Do it. It's fun. I'll come back tomorrow and tell you what your answers mean. I'll also give you my answers which will have you pissing yourself laughing. If you want to share your answers in the comments please do!

Coloring Outside The Lines

2010-06-02T09:06:00.001-03:00

I live in a black and white world. I should clarify that. I INSIST on living in a black and white world. When life has the audacity to throw shades of gray at me, I simply get out my trusty set of crayolas and color the damn thing. Well shit bricks and throw rocks at airplanes, my black and white crayons are worn down to the nub and the local craft store seems to be out of these very colors. What the hell???

What the hell seems to be my motto these days. It's no one thing in particular but a culmination of life happenings that has me going, "Okay slow the fuck down because Dual Mom is having trouble keeping up".

The 18 year old ~~little fucker~~ darling son is back home, apology in hand. Black and white, check. What's not so black and white? He got his license last week and it has me spinning. Let me explain (I know...you're rolling your eyes at me...I can FEEL it, stop it). I've never been a helicopter parent. I firmly believe kids need to experience bumps and bruises to enable them to deal with this wonder we call life. I've never worried about my kids being stolen out of the public park, I've had my daughter split her head open and I didn't blink an eye. My son fell off my mother's second floor deck when he was two years old (I was 8 months pregnant at the time) and I managed to get him to a hospital, sit through hours of xrays and CAT scans, all without going into labour and losing my fucking mind. So I'm able to keep my shit together right, strength in the face of adversity? Right?

The fact that my son has his license has me wanting to down gallons of tequila or 150 proof vodka whenever I think of him driving. He's 18, it's time that he had his license right? WRONG people, what the hell does he need his license for when he has two perfectly good parents with tons of driving experience to drive his ass around? I have a completely irrational fear of my children driving. I have clear, vivid scenarios playing out in my head of receiving a call from the RCMP saying that my son has been in a car accident. Complete scenarios people- where the whole dialogue plays out in my head complete with crystal clear images. The severity of the accident varies by the day. I seriously feel like I'm going to lose my mind.

Until last night, I've been able to hold my shit together because even though he has his license, he has no car. His father and I have told him he needs to pay the insurance fees to be put on as a second driver on either of our vehicles. Last night he came home and said to me, "I got a truck". I spun around so fast I swear I heard my neck crack - "What the hell do you mean you got a truck, where the hell did you get a truck, what the hell are you talking about, oh sweet jesus tell me it's not true". Apparently Gramps (Monty's paternal great-grandfather) has GIVEN him his truck. Gramps has Alzheimers and it has reached the stage where he's no longer able to drive. Well fuck Alzheimers all to hell.

Of course I can't tell him he can't have the goddamn truck. What the hell kind of mother would do that? As I stood there looking at the grin which was totally encompassing Monty's face, tears started pouring down my own face and I said to him, "Please buddy, please please be so careful when you're driving. I couldn't handle it if something happened to you". Do you know what the little fucker did? He laughed at me, told me I was being foolish. The worst part is....I know I'm being foolish. I know this level of fear is completely irrational. The goddamn black crayon won't color this level of gray.

The relationship with boyfriend. How can I give you the facts in a succinct, short manner?

We've been together for 8 years
He's sick, has been on dialysis for 2 1/2 years, waiting for a kidney transplant
I don't love him. No that's not true, I do love him. I'm not in love with him. I'm not happy. I'm miserable with him actually. I don't use the word miserable often. I'm not one prone to misery.
He's not happy, but I've realized over the last year he's not a "happy" person and he's ok with that. This is a huge issue with me.
He loves me. I'm his life. He lives and breathes for me.
I'm scared if I end our relationship, it will take away his will to live.

Those are the facts. There is so much more than just the facts though. There's 8 years of history, there's the relationship he's developed with my children. There's guilt. Mostly, there's unhappiness which I just try to ignore. The goddamn white crayon won't color this one.

I need to decide within the next 5 days whether or not I'm willing to dish out $3,800 (plus spending money) to send Jimmy to Europe on a school trip next year. Twelve days in Paris, Rome and the Riviera studying art and history. Can you imagine? I cannot convey to you just how much I want to give him this opportunity, to open his world like this. To give him such an incredible experience that I myself never had as a child. Isn't that what all parents want, to give their children opportunities to fly like the wind? $3,800 will require the selling of body parts. Five days to decide what organ I'm willing to live without. No, boyfriend won't buy my kidney, I've asked.

When I was away I had the chance to visit with oldest sister for an afternoon. She been diagnosed with MS. That would make both sisters diagnosed with MS in the last five years. Fuck me. She's not dealing very well with it. She has no family around to help her. I feel utterly useless. Let's not talk about my odds on this one. The experts seem to be split on whether this thing is genetic. Russian roulette anyone? I've tried coloring that one with both the black and white crayon to no avail.

There.

Those are the big things that have been playing on my mind and preventing me from writing and reading. I just feel as though I have nothing to give back to you so I haven't written because we all know this blogging gig is a game of give and take. The worst of it is, I miss you guys. I miss the give and take.

Anyone have crayons they can lend me?

I'm Baaaaacccck

2010-05-27T09:41:00.001-03:00

Honestly, I've been back since Monday night. What's that, you were waiting for tales from the road? I know, feel free to tell me how badly I suck.

It was a whirl whind trip that left me completely exhausted. Too many long days, late nights, emotional kids and pizza. I fucking hate pizza. I think we ate pizza at 1:00am for three days in a row because it was all that was open late at night.

So let's get the important stuff out of the way first.

I shopped. Bought these little gems -

The other chaperones were trying to figure out how I could buy two pairs of shoes when I was only in the mall for 20 minutes. They're obviously amateurs. Josh, the ED pulled one of the boxes out of the bag and I thought we were going to have to call 911 when he saw the price on the box. His face turned pale and he looked at me, completely horrified and said, "Does my wife spend this much on her shoes?" He then noticed I had two boxes in the bag I was carrying and I think he may have stopped breathing for several seconds. Poor guy has no idea. Reason #362 to never get married again....never having to justify shoe expenditures to a male.

So onto the kids. Please note I'm not calling them little fuckers. I have so many stories to tell about how wonderful these guys were. They shocked the shit out of me, and that's not an easy thing to do. It helped that they were, for the most part, completely scared of me. That's not an assumption on my part, they actually told me so. Out of 38 kids on the trip we had to discipline two of them for drinking. We never had to wait for anyone, we did not have to go looking for stray kids, there were no arguments, tantrums or drama queens. As I type all of this I realize just how incredibly damn lucky we were. During the two days of competition some of the kids had to be up at 5:00am to make their 7am start time. We did not have to wake up ANY of the kids. They were up, ready and on their way exactly when they needed to be.

The whole trip renewed my faith in teens. After the hellish time I've had with my own, it was heartening to know that kids do indeed have the ability to passionately care about something besides video games and ipods.

I'll be back with a few stories. Just wanted to let everyone know I'm alive and kicking - in really hot shoes.

One last thing - Daffy. Ducky girl we're with you in spirit. Someday you'll be able to remember your sister with a smile rather than tears. It will take a long time, but it will happen. The memories you have will keep her alive forever. It's little consolation, I know. Know that you're loved, and thought of often.

Life Support

2010-05-17T22:30:00.000-03:00

Got this in my email this morning. It sums it all up nicely. T minus two days until project ~~drug me and throw me from a moving bus~~ chaperone!

MY LIVING WILL

Last night, my kids and I were sitting in the living room and I said to them, 'I never want to live in a vegetative state, dependent on some machine and fluids from a bottle. If that ever happens, just pull the plug.'

They got up, unplugged the Computer, and threw out my wine.

They are SO on my shit list ...

I really do love that woman!

Dual Mom in The Crib

2010-05-14T08:38:00.001-03:00

Hey look at me, no not there, here. Over here. I have a post up over at the beautiful Kelly's place at Speaking from the Crib.

I actually wrote this one awhile back.The fact she's posting it today is a small blessing in disguise. Yours truly has gone beyond tired and has made friends with unicorns that are now mysteriously appearing in my home. Yes Libby, it is kind of fun.

It's really not that bad, my body is adapting to not sleeping for 8 hours a night. Funny how that happens. Though I noticed a new wrinkle this morning and seriously contemplated adding several ounces of Bailey's to my morning coffee to take the edge off that horror!

Anyway, it's a new story, about the time my sister inadvertenly almost killed me when I was three. Don't worry, I got her back when we were teenagers and I told her boyfriend she only changed her underwear once a week. It was a total lie, but she DID almost kill me people!

Say it with me....thank fuck it's Friday!

Ed and Daffy...Daffy and Ed

2010-05-12T15:04:00.000-03:00

So there's this dude Ed.

And there's this dudette Daffy.

They're both certifiably insane. I know insane when I see it.

I should link their names to their blogs, but at this point I've been mainlining coffee and R.ed B.u.l.l. for the last two days in an effort to stay awake and really the thought of taking the time and effort to do the linky thing is tantamount to climbing a fucking mountain with a goat on my back. I have no idea why I would have a goat on my back.

Did you know spell check in blogger doesn't recognize fuck as a misspelled word? How cool is that?

It would appear that Ed has some sort of shit show in which he proclaims the world's funniest bloggers and you get a crown, sphincter or spectre or some sort of sticky thing, and world domination. I truly believe I could rock the hell out of dominating the world so I want to win. I could probably also rock the hell out of a sphincter.

Daffy..... What can I say about Daffy? If I were gay, I would so have sick, stalkerish, obsessive, want to hump your leg love for Daffy. Ok, I'm not gay and I still want to hump her leg. She's the one who nominated me for world dominance.

And even though I'm so fucking tired I tried to make my car go for five minutes this morning before I realized I was in neutral (all the while cursing like a truck stop whore because goddammit the car is only a year old)here I am posting. According to Ed's rules for world domination, I have to be funny all the time. Fucking stupid rule. I mean c'mon....NO ONE is funny all the time. My deep and thoughtful shit can be ~~please stab me in the eye with a dull butter knife and force arsenic down my throat boring~~ interesting too.

Ed - that's just a stupid rule. I say that fully recognizing I probably shouldn't call you stupid, and I'm not really, it's the rule I think is stupid. You know, considering you hold my chance of world domination in the palm of your hand and all. Ok yes I'm calling you stupid. It's the caffeine, or the goat.

I haven't posted yet about happy hour that turned into happy 6 hours last Friday. Funny little things happened such as one of my perfectly respectable buds pulling down her pants in the middle of a bar to show people her tan lines. She had really great underwear on though so it was ok.

I had a fabulous time (apparently) chatting up a young, blond haired, blue eyed boy who sat down next to me at the bar. I made him laugh until he spit beer through his nose and then I told him that he's just a baby, that I would "chew him up and spit him out" and that he's in "way over his head" in even contemplating what he's contemplating. I have no recollection of what he was contemplating nor do I have any recollection of saying ANY of this - three friends swear those exact words came out of my mouth. There was also someone recording it on an iphone. I've been keeping a close eye on You Tube.

I swear I'm a danger to myself and should not be left unsupervised. I'm thinking of starting my very own version of AA.

What was the point of this post? Oh yeah...world domination.

Were we talking about goats?

I actually used to have a goat. I grew up on a farm. The goat used to slide down the slide with me. There's a picture somewhere.

Ok, I'm just sorry for this post. I have sleep scheduled for Friday, so it will be better after that.

And just an update - have not heard from son, have not spoken to the boyfriend and I've worked 18 hour days every day so far this week. My front lawn could hide terrorist activity the grass is so fucking long. Any day now I expect the neighbours to riot and burn me at the stake.

Your comments and emails made me cry (fuckers). When I'm rich there will be new cars and designer shoes for all of you.

Speed Bumps on The Road of Life

2010-05-10T13:35:00.000-03:00

So let’s see.

Where have I been, what has been going on? Not that anyone really gives a shit, but let me break it down for you.

I got that job. The one that Bully the St. Bernard unintentionally tried to sabotage. I worked 68 hours last week. Tired would be a gross understatement. You know you’re tired when you pour milk into the coffee filter rather than coffee grinds. Putting dirty clothes in the dryer rather than the washer? Yeah -totally brilliant move.

I kicked my 18 year old out of my house yesterday. Happy Mother’s Day, right? He pushed me after I wacked him with the remote control (I had it in my hand while breaking up a fight between him and his brother). It was either call his father to come and get him or break the wooden cutting board over his head, which was the next thing I was going to reach for. I went with the former though the latter was incredibly tempting.

My baby pushed me. The red hot, seething anger has subsided and now my heart is broken…in a million tiny little pieces. My heart is broken.

People keep asking, "Ohh did you have a great Mother's Day?" Oh yeah...fanfuckingtabulous. Sit down, let me tell you about the knock down, drag out fight my 18 year old and I had. It's really excellent entertainment. I am tempted to stab myself in the eye so that people will have something else to ask me about besides Mother's Day. "Oh, why is that sharp implement protruding from your eyeball?"

My relationship with the boyfriend is in the toilet. I think I need to admit to myself that no amount of CPR is going to revive it. Someone said to me last week, “DM (though they used my real name because people in real life use my real name, weird I know). Anyway, they said, “DM, you’re not bad at relationships, you’re bad at ending bad relationships.” Yeah, I really suck at it. So much so that I’ve let this one go for approximately 3 years past its “best before” date. No, no issues there at all.

Dual Mom’s pity party anyone? Suck it up right? I will, soon….I will. The last time I felt like this I ended up leaving my marriage and totally uprooting my life. I keep telling myself there are starving children, people with REAL problems in the world and that this too shall pass.

The thing is – to me - this is all drama. I fucking hate drama. I avoid it at all costs. My instinct is to shove my head up my arse until it all goes away. Yeah, that instinct serves no purpose so I battle it with everything that I have. The battle makes me weary sometimes. I need a nap.

On a positive note I got a really great hairdo Saturday. I am now a red head. It’s what I do – when my life is out of control I change my hair colour. Nora and I also went to see Iron Man 2 yesterday. My secret boyfriend is aging well let me tell you. The movie itself sucked but the eye candy more than made up for it. RDJ in beautiful suits and fast cars - really, does it get any better? Only if he were naked in my bed. Oops did I say that out loud?

So yeah, about those people with real problems.......

I’m just being a sook arse. Go visit Michelle. She needs some words of encouragement.

What Turns You Off?

2010-05-05T06:11:00.000-03:00

You thought I was going to talk about sex, didn't you?

Nope, I'm talking about blogging. I think most bloggers, as in real life, are drawn to various characteristics in a blog. By the same token we're also turned off by certain characteristics.

I was ~~squandering well paid time at work this week~~ taking a much needed break at work and reading some forums at Blog Frog. SITS has a forum and one of the questions on the forum was what would cause you to not read a blog or stop reading a blog you had been reading. There were 96 responses to the question.

In my effort to be dubbed ~~biggest idiot in the world~~ woman of the year - I read the responses with a fair bit of interest.

It appears the most common reason was music on a blog. Yeah me, I don't have music.

Another was long posts. OK, I'm guilty of this one once in awhile, but I try to keep it within a three minute read.

Run on sentences was another reason bloggers will stop reading. Again, I know my grasp of grammar is not perfect but I usually know how to use a comma and a period.

Lots of bling, badges and gadets seemed to be another pet peeve. I'm too lazy to put this stuff on my blog so I'm ok on this one.

A huge no no with ALOT of people- offensive subject matter and foul language.

Fuck. Actually double fuck because I'm guilty of both.

This got me to thinking about why I blog, what I get out of it, what I hope to impart to those that read my mindless blatherings. And it's this - the world is a fucked up, seriously sad place, if you let it be. Just reading the news on a regular basis makes me want to stab most of society.

I have nothing life altering to say most days. I'm not an expert on any topic. I want to make others chuckle just a little bit. If I accomplish that by relaying the fuckedupedness that is my mind and life, or by giving my spin on a subject matter while turning the air blue around me with profanity, then so be it. It's how I roll.

Having said that, I love new readers. I love seeing a new commentor pop up in my email. I realize I'm probably shutting myself off from alot of bloggers with my cussing. Do I want to do that? No, not really. So I've decided to stop using profanity in my blog posts.

Hehe. Who the fuck am I kidding? Asking me to stop cursing would be like asking a man to remember to pick up his socks. It's just not going to goddamn well happen no matter how hard you scream, rant, rave and threaten to throw said socks in the garbage.

So tell me, is your blog the real you?

How to Entertain 45 Teenagers?

2010-05-03T14:03:00.000-03:00

So in two weeks I'm chaperoning a group of 45 teenagers (high school) for a 6 day trip. I'll give you a moment to digest that statement.

Just shoot me now. I was obviously drunk when I agreed to help. Who in their right mind leaves me in charge?

Ensuring the kids have a positive educational experience? Hell I'll consider the trip a success if I'm not required to bail anyone out of jail and no one comes home pregnant. It will be nothing short of a miracle if we all make it back alive.

Seriously, I'm concerned. How the fuck do you keep 45 teenagers in line? I have enough trouble keeping two in line. Apparently I've been dubbed the "muscle" by the other chaperones. My reputation as a total hard ass bitch has obviously gotten around. Who told?

The kids comprise a team representing our province in a national competition. There are three days of competition which leaves us 2 days to entertain the little buggers and keep them out of trouble. After researching local attractions these are the things I've suggested to the other chaperones as items to entertain the ~~hormone driven back talking little fuckers~~ little darlings.

There's a Mennonite community about 15 minutes from where we're staying. A riveting day of soap making and buggy rides would be sure to please the teens, don't you think? Seriously, picture Dual Mom in a Mennonite community with 45 rowdy teenagers. The fucks would be flying everywhere. Who wants to put bets on ME being the first one that's asked to leave?
A butterfly museum. I know, exciting right? Complete with tropical gardens where the teens can frolick in the splendor of nature. They'd be sure to love that.
A glass and clay museum (apparently this part of the country is big on obscure museums). C'mon...who doesn't love the awesomeness of glass and clay?

Failing the success of these stupdendous outings I'm considering having a large supply of sleeping pills on hand and spiking their cokes each evening at dinner. What? It won't hurt them.

I'm fucking doomed, aren't I?

In all seriousness, beside the idea of chasing drunk teenagers around a strange city and breaking up orgies, I'm really looking forward to the trip.
The silver lining - - I can be assured of some good stories to blog. You can bet your sweet ass the laptop will be travelling with me. Tales from the road. I know, you're excited.

Post script: If the parent of one of the aforementioned teens happens to stumble upon this blog - please be rest assured I am a completely responsible adult and I will ensure your child has protection for above mentioned orgie. No really, there will be no orgies. I don't believe in sex. Trust me. Completely trustrworthy, I am, seriously. I also promise not to drug your child - pinkie swear. Unless they deserve to be drugged. Then all bets are off. Also, your child is not the "little fucker" I refer to, it's someone elses kid. I would never call your child a little fucker, your child is an angel.

Man's Best Friend

2010-04-28T11:22:00.001-03:00

The other evening I'm on the phone doing a telephone interview for a second job. I have my best "shit wouldn't melt in my mouth" voice on and I'm being all professional and stuff.

Suddenly, something bangs on my front door, hard enough to actually rattle the door and cause me to spontaneously shit my pants. I'm sitting in the kitchen on the phone and I know for a fact that there is NO ONE at the door. I can see out the window of the door. No one is standing there.
The bang happens again. I jump, again.

And again.

At this point, the lady who I'm speaking with on the phone pauses and asks, "Is someone at your door?" The banging is loud enough that she can hear it on her end of the phone. I reply, "No, I don't think so, I can't see anyone".

Again with the bang.

She pauses again (I'm making a great impression at this point can't you tell). I ask her to hold the line for a moment and I go and open the front door. I fully expect to be attacked by a crouching lunatic ninja in a ski mask, who will bound and gag me, steal everything I hold dear (laptop) and cause me to lose any chance of getting this second job.

This is what greets me when I open the door.

My neighbour's St. Bernard, Bully.

One hundred and sixty pound Bully came looking for his evening treat. With his uber dog hearing skills, he could hear me on the phone. Apparently he does not like being ignored and had grown weary of waiting for me to realize he was on the deck. What does a dog do when he wants you to open the door? Why he starts KNOCKING ON THE DOOR WITH HIS HEAD of course.

I scolded him lovingly, threw him a piece of leftover chicken (is it any wonder he comes to "visit") he smiled, shook his head -which covered me in dog snot, and sauntered back across my lawn.

When I went back to my interview, dripping in dog snot, she asked, "Do you need to go?" I explained to her that my neighbour's dog was knocking on the door with his head, looking for his evening treat. She laughed ....hesitantly.

Poor Bully, he'll miss his evening treats if I don't get this job and have to cut off his supply.

*The pic is actually Bully - if you look closely you can see his brother laying behind him. Pic was taken last summer.

Gotta Minute

2010-04-26T06:21:00.000-03:00

I'm playing along with Ian's Monday Minute today. If you want to come drink the kool aid too just hop over to Ian's place and link up

1 - What drugs have you done in your life?

Weed, hash, and that stuff that makes you think it's a brilliant idea to hitchike in your nightie with your white, deaf cat....the name escapes me. No long term affects from any of it though.

2 - A/S/L?

I'm 29. WHAT? Ok dammit 36
Sex? Not in a long time. They say use it or lose it so every morning I wake up I check to make sure "it" is still there.
East coast of Canada

3 - Do you pick your nose?

Only when I'm doing drugs.

4 - What's your favorite childhood cartoon

The Smurfs! I so wanted to be slutty smurf. Everybody has to have a dream right?

5 - List the URL, of what you believe to be the best blog post you've ever done

In this one I talk about a birthday celebration, there might be drinking from a shoe inolved.

Don't You Dare Speak To Me With Tone

2010-04-23T13:24:00.000-03:00

The tone of your voice can say more to a person than any words convey. Expecially when the person you're speaking to with TONE in your voice gave birth to you OR had ~~really bad~~ sex with you for ten years. There's also very little in the world that sets me off quicker than someone speaking to me "with tone" when I'm being polite and courteous.

Let me set the backdrop for you.

Monty is working with his grandmother on Saturdays and any day through the week when there is no school. Last night he informed me that he will be working today and needs to be at his father's house at 7:00am to travel to work with his grandmother. This invloves me getting up at 5:00am to be ready to leave the house at 6:30. I don't mind that part. This puts me at work shortly after 7:00am....where I am required to sit and wait for the fucking building to open. Still I can deal with this.

What I can't fucking deal with, is getting lip and TONE when I try to find out what time your ass needs to be picked up after work, Monty. What I can't deal with is dipshit, monkey ball sucking, asshat Ex giving me TONE because I dared to bother him on his cellphone to find out when son might be ready for pickup this evening. You know what monkeyball sucking EX - I never wanted him working at this place to begin with...so don't you fucking dare give me attitude when I try to find out when he needs to be picked up. Don't you dare imply with the tone of your exasperated voice that I'm in some way stupid to be even asking you this question.

I'm sorry if I'm not all up on the policies and procedures of a fucking fish processing plant. Don't even bother saying "it varies" like that's the fucking obvious answer. It varies? He's a fucking 18 year old kid working in a processing plant...what the fuck do you mean it varies?

Well guess what fucktard? Dual Mom varies too. Dual Mom is going to tell you to fly the fuck off a short pier with your attitude, she's going to designate you fucking chaffeur for the evening, then she's going to talk about herself in the third person and share your ass fuckedness with the world.

FUCK! I hate stupid people. What the hell was I thinking when I married that man?

Another thing -- people that spit on the sidewalk. Dude walking in front of me today at lunch let out a big gobbing spit which I then promptly stepped in. That's beyond disgusting. I'm sure his wife is proud. What the fuck? First off why do you even NEED to spit? Second, if you NEED to spit that badly, spit in your fucking hand dude because I'm pretty sure you're about to get my 4 inch, spit covered heel up your arse.

$15 to send a one page document ExpressPost. $15. Hey Canada Post - would you like a couple of eyeballs to go with that fucking arm and leg?

There! I feel much better now. Bring on the weekend.

The One Where I Humiliate The Offspring

2010-04-22T13:15:00.000-03:00

So the fruit of my loins turns 18 today.

To commemorate the event I sent the local radio station an email this morning:

Hi guys!

Wondering if you could do me a favor? My son turns EIGHTEEN today (freaks me right out). Can you wish a happy 18th to xxxx? And even though he's 18 he's not allowed to do WHATEVER he wants!!!!

Also, rather than announcing this during the regular birthday line-up....is there anyway you could announce it around 7:15. That's when we're in the car listening to you guys...who rock by the way. I don't want much, do I?
Dualmom

So what did they do? They read the entire fucking email outloud on air all the while laughing hilariously. Meanwhile, Monty is in the car beside me staring daggers at me and threatening to push me out the door of the moving car. Guess he doesn't like the attention...what's with that?

So then radio guy emails me back later this morning -

Hey DM,

We had it ... hope he heard it and has a great day and LISTENS to mom!!!!

Being that I can't leave well enough alone I emailed BACK:

Oh he heard it - he almost shoved me out of the moving car when he heard it! Listen - if I can't make my kid's life hell - what's the point?

Thanks guys! Appreciate it..

Then I got this:

Glad we could help out in humiliating your offspring! You're such a good mom.

I love those guys. Almost as much a I love the sprog. Ok, I love the sprog just a wee bit more. It makes me sad, happy,anxious, proud, OLD that he's now officially an "adult".

Happy Birthday B Boy!

Do You Trim Your Hedge?

2010-04-20T00:00:00.001-03:00

After Haley was born, I worked in the office at a trade school. I was the only female in the building (staff and students included) for many years. Is it any wonder I am the way I am? You have to develop one tough skin and a seriously sick sense of humour when working around a bunch of tradesmen.

I shudder at how naive I was. One morning as I was pouring coffee in the staff room, I turned to the group of instructors and asked, "Hey guys, does anyone have a hedge trimmer I could borrow for the weekend? I really have to trim that huge bush......"

That's as far as I got before the room completely erupted in peels of laughter and I was forced to try and remove my goddamn foot from my mouth. Given the chance, I was going to add "bush in front of my house". I wasn't given the chance. There were no chances for further conversation. The peels of laughter followed me all the way back to my office. For the next week, the guys would come into my office and make chainsaw noises, laugh hilariously and leave.

Little did they know I'm a brazilian girl. Ahhh I miss my guys sometimes, they were the most loveable bunch of asses ever.

Truth in Advertising

2010-04-13T21:11:00.002-03:00

Commercials for feminine hygiene products. Is there any bigger farce in advertising?

Take for instance the commercial for tampons that has the woman twirling on the beach in a beautiful, flowing white gown. Her gorgeous blonde hair spins out around her as she twirls with an angelic smile on her face. She's happy, serene and shit wouldn't melt in her mouth. The commercial has us imagining her heading home for a candlelit bath when she's done frolicking on the beach. Then she'll give her hubby a blow job because having a period is THAT much fun.

Are you fucking serious?

How often do you twirl on a goddamn beach in a white dress while suffering from cramps that make you want to pull your uterus out of your body without the aide of anesthetic?

The one where the group of girls is out dancing and they're having a blast out on the dance floor. They have the discreet little tampon tucked into the pocket of their perfect size four jeans. Meanwhile there's a group of handsome young men standing around giving each of them they eye.

Oh yeah, that's what I want to do when I'm bloated.....dance.

And reusable menstrual pads? Just shoot me now. Apparenlty they are much more environmentally friendly. I'm sorry, I'll plant a fucking forest of trees with my bare hands using my teeth as a shovel before I'm washing bloody rags.

Ugly doesn't sell. Where's the commercial with a woman chewing midol like skittles while her head spins on her shoulders and vomit flies from her mouth? All the while she's drinking wine straight from the bottle with a straw, screaming at her kids and threatening her husband with castration? Yeah that shit doesn't sell tampons. It's too real. It would make for one hell of an entertaining commercial. I'd watch it.

It pisses me off that advertising companies try and glamorize something that is just nasty. Let's admit it, there is not one damn redeeming thing about THAT time of the month. Except of course if you happen to be in a shitty relationship and that time of the month is used as an excuse to not have sex. What? I'm just saying I've heard some women do that. It's not my fault the ex-husband didn't seem to know that there were only 30 days in a month.

PS. Apparently I'm not as fucking brilliant as I think I am. There IS indeed a "real" commercial put out by Kotex (thanks Mimi). I have one tv station people so I always miss out on the good commercials. Hey Kotex, I still think you should make a commercial with a skittles chewing, wine chugging, pmsing mamma!!!

I Think I Have Narcissistic Tendencies

2010-04-11T10:41:00.001-03:00

J at Boobies and Babies gave me this:

And holy hair monkey balls I'm going to follow the rules, which include telling you 10 honest things about myself.

I am the QUEEN of parallel parking. And I love showing off this skill. I never ever denied being a fucking spaz people.

I like living by myself. Though I have a boyfriend, I would never "live" with him or any other man for that matter. At 36 I have discovered that I don't like comprimising, I don't like cleaning up after people that have not come out of my vagina and I'm pretty fucking inflexible when it comes to "my" space.

I think we should bring the corset and hoop skirts back. I want to wear a big ass dress with one of those hoopy crinoline things underneath it. I want to do my hair in curls and pile it all on top of my head and powder my face so that it's white and carry a fan. Seriously.

I'm a huge fan of the brazilian bikini wax.

If you asked me to list 5 things about my physical self that I like, I couldn't do it. Can you?

I love foreign accents. English, dutch, irish, french...it doesn't matter. I can't even think about an accent paired with a man in uniform, or a really good suit. Let's not go there.

I work three day weeks from the end of June until the 1st of September. Don't be jealous. I'm seriously considering getting a second job which will pretty much put the fucks to this practice and make me want to hang myself.

I may have said the word "pussy" during Happy Hour Friday (yes happy hour gets capital letters) night, in front of the VP and a Director. It was one of those moments - I got the p-u-s out, and when the entire table stopped talking and turned to look at me I realized what I was about to say. Goddamn that brain/mouth filter that doesn't work.

I've never texted. Ever.

Bed sheets that have been hung out on the clothesline to dry make me happy.

Scribe at Scribing Life a fellow Canadian eh gave me the sunshine award (which for some reason won't insert into this post). What's even better than the award is the kind words she had to say:

Dual Mom at We're at Dad's That Week: I'm not a mommy blogger by any stretch of the imagination, but after I was introduced to her through Bacon is My Lover (another brilliant blog, by the way), I was a fan. She's more than a mommy blogger and I'm not apt to call her that. She's more than a mom. She's more than a blogger. She's a self-described heartless bitch and I love it (and her blog).

I'm more people! Dammit bow before my greatness. Or as Jimmy said to me earlier, "Nothing says obey me like a head on a stick". To which I responded, "Or a public flogging." What? Talk of corporal punishment is good fun!

Okay, enough narcissism for one day! Feel free to make fun of me in the comments.

This One's For You Kid

2010-04-08T20:35:00.001-03:00

I had no sweet clue there are people in the world who don't know what an oil tank is.

It makes sense. There are people in the world who have never shovelled snow nor had their their nasal passages freeze together due to a -30 windchill. Do you know what a windchill is?

So Lisa left this comment on my last post:

OK, In Texas, hot water comes from the faucet. If it runs out..wait a while and the hot water heater heats it back up? Oil? You have to boil oil to have a bath? What is this? Medieval times? And what is this about you blood letting to fix the problem? What kind of voodoo do you doo doo where you live? :)

I laughed till I cried and I can't figure out if she's serious or not.

Then Surferwife asked me what an oil tank was, and if it was like a hot water heater. *head desk* It's a damn good thing you're cute MoMo Sake otherwise I'd have to bitchslap ya.

I present to you - the O.I.L. T.A.N.K

Those of us who have actual winters, fill these puppies up with oil and the oil runs our furnace. The furnace heats our homes and keeps our vajajays from freezing shut.

It's big right? They usually hold about 800 litres of oil. Someone do the gallon conversion for me? There, now you know what an oil tank is. Let's not talk about the COST of filling one of these darlings. Yes, I watch the price of oil rise and fall with baited breath. Please don't tell me you have no idea what oil is trading for on the world market. Just don't.

As for "bleeding the line". No, it's not some sort of satanic ritual involving the sacrifice of one of my children, though that might not be a bad idea. When you're a dumbass like me and forget to fill the contraption above with oil it sucks air...literally and stops running. So you have to "bleed" the air out of the oil line. It involves a wrench and a tube and a pop bottle to catch the oil. It's highly technical and shit.

Onto other matters. My darling daughter is having a sleep over this evening (no school tomorrow). She and her little friend are supposed to be working on a heritage project that is due early next week. The project is the red thing on the floor. Along with the ~~fucking chaos that is my living room~~ kitbags that were thrown hell west and crooked when we got home. A corner of a blanket which was thrown on the floor. My laptop balancing precariously on the coffee table. Wait....who the fuck balanced my laptop precariously on the coffee table?

What's that, you don't see two 11 year old girls working on the project? Of course not. They needed a "break" after working on the project for an ENTIRE five minutes and have gone down to the shore to collect beach glass. No, beach glass is not required for their project.

I'm Such a Stupid Ass Sometimes

2010-04-07T09:03:00.000-03:00

Do you ever wonder somedays how you manage to get dressed in the morning without assistance?

Do you ever do something so monumentally stupid or absent minded that it makes you wonder if someone slipped some type of drug in your morning coffee?

Yeah, me too.

So yesterday I vented about the broken xbox, which sucks hairy monkey balls. Keep in mind I work at a College. So I sat at work yesterday, fretting about the fact that I may have to actually entertain and interact with my children because of the broken xbox when it dawned on me....I work at a College. Three doors down from my office is an ENTIRE fucking class of Electronics students. Not only is their an entire class of students, there are two instructors who have a combined 40 years of experience fixing electronical shit.

Duh. Fucking duh Dual Mom.

So I'm heading on down there soon ~~to bat my eyelashes~~ to see if I can get one of them to fix the box.

*crickets*

Okay, second monumental stupid moment from yesterday...

I was standing at the counter washing mushrooms last night (not washing mushrooms is just skanky gross) and I realized the water wasn't really hot. Oh well, something sparkly caught my attention and I forgot about the lukewarm water. Fast forward 3 hours and I'm cleaning up the kitchen and Jimmy is screaming from the bathroom, "Goddammit there's no hot water".

Ooops. Apparently I forgot to order oil. Sorry Jimmy boy. Cold shower will not kill you.

Just FYI - if you ever happen to run out of oil - you can put diesel in your oil tank. I had no idea. I can also "bleed a line" now. Really, there's no end to my talents. Apparently remembering to check the gauge on the oil tank is not in my repetoire of skills. Oh well, no one is perfect.

Gratitude With Attitude

2010-04-06T10:53:00.000-03:00

It's that time again. Time to give thanks to all people and things that have managed to piss you off. Thank the powers that be that a multitude of people/things have managed to rub me the wrong way this past week. Want to play along? Hop over to the Think Tank and link up with Zgirl (just click above).

Dear bloggers,

I don't read for one day only to wake up this morning to 107 posts in my reader. Do you people not have anything better to do? Jeesssshhh.

Hitting the "Mark All Read" Button
Bad Blogger
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear daughter,

TTYL. Yes, I know that it means talk to you later. No need for the look of utter shock and surprise. I also know BTW means by the way, OMG - Oh my god. You see dear daughter, even though dinosaurs roamed the earth when I was a teenager and we believed the planet was flat, I'm pretty sure MY generation invented TTYL. It wasn't you and your tweeny little friends that discovered the time-saving greatness of computer acronyms.

One Kool Kat
Mum
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear SWSNBN

Fuck off. Seriously fuck off. In what world is it ok for you to tell MY almost 18 year old son that if he spends any more of his money WHILE HE'S IN AT HIS MOTHER'S HOUSE you're going to take his bank card off of him? His father did not say a word about him buying a video game but you feel it's your lot in life to reprimand him for spending HIS money?

Let's break this down shall we?

Item 1 - You're his father's ~~slut~~ girlfriend. Period. My children have a mother, a damn good mother that is more than willing to rip your face off and shit down your throat if you don't watch your step. Back off bitch.

Item 2 - He's almot 18 years old - short of hiring hookers or buying drugs, he can do pretty much anything he wants with his money, his money that he earned at his job and you have no say in the matter.

Item 3 - Take his bank card off him? Haha be sure to tell me when that action is going down and I will bring popcorn because that is bound to be entertainment at its' finest. He's 6'2" .... you don't reach 5 feet in heels. It would be the most entertaining game of "keep away" I've watched in a long time. Not that I would ever condone such a thing...just sayin.

So to recap - fuck off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Technology -

I now am the proud owner of 3 Ipods that no longer work and a broken Xbox 360 that gleefully flashes ERROR 73 at me. I'm really glad I spent over $300 on a piece of hardware that my children enjoyed for TWO WHOLE years. Wow, that's value for your money, isn't it?

Oh of course I can send it back to Mircrosoft (antichrist) and they'll repair it for me. Let me just pull the $150 out of my arse and then I'll go back and dig for the cost of shipping. Let's not even talk about what it's going to do to my life to have two teenage boys without a game system for six weeks.

This means all three kids will want access to the Mac - at the same time. There will be bickering, fighting, hair pulling and teeth gnashing - and the kids will be upset too. What's that you say? Yes, I have a laptop, you don't honestly think I'm going to share my laptop with my kids do you? Remember the juice debacle?

Please send drugs, for the love of all that is holy if you care about me at all send drugs.

The One Where I'm Deep and Thoughtful and Shit

2010-04-02T23:12:00.000-03:00

I've had an odd week.

My son is turning 18 this month and it's making me pensive? sad? feeling old? regretful?

I regret very few things in my life. One of those few things, is not realizing that 18 years can fly by as though it were months rather than years.

I also managed to fuck up my budget somehow last month and am considering setting up my own 1-900 number to make it through April.

The realization that I'll never have a "disposable" income and I'll forever have to live within a budget has got me down in the mouth. Poor me, right? Actually let's be honest here, single mom, three kids, car payment, mortgage, it's tough. There are millions worse off then me. I keep telling myself that. When I'm scraping the goddamn deodorant out of the container to get one more day out of it, it's little solace.

I sat on my mortgaged deck this evening, drinking a cheap glass of merlot....... thinking. Does it matter if the merlot is cheap? It still tastes like a wee bit of heaven. Does it matter that the damn deck is mortgaged to the hilt? I thank the powers that be that I have life insurance on it because chances are the only way it'll be paid off is when I kick the bucket. As I sat on my mortgaged deck, watching a spectacular sun set, listening to the water splash against the shore, I noticed that my crocus are coming up and my tulips are peaking their heads through. So I smiled. Spring will come regardless and the cycle will start again. I'm glad to be here, to be a part of a new cycle.

I'm thankful. I need to remember how much I have. I need to stop once in awhile and realize the "have" column is much longer than the "have not" column. The health to enjoy a glass of wine. Eyes to appreciate a sunset. Beautiful, intelligent, funny children to turn 18 who bring me more joy than words could ever express. Friends both near and far who love me. A wonderful job that I actually enjoy, that allows me to feed my kids and pay my mortgage.

If we allow it to, life will often bring us down. We'll get lost in want rather than need, lost in turbulence and chaos. It's so damn easy to lose ourselves, to lose our perspective.

So as you enjoy your Easter weekend (or just the weekend itself) take stock of your haves. Let go of the things you don't have.

So my wish for you.... peace of mind, love and beautiful sunsets.

The One Where Ian Makes Me Work

2010-04-01T00:01:00.002-03:00

So last night as I was sitting catching up on email I responded to a comment left by Ian from Daily Dose. He responded back, I replied back to him and before you know it we've got a string of replies a mile long. As I sat contemplating how to solve world hunger and climate change, I realized I had no ideas for today's post. I fired off an email to Ian - "Hey Ian, tell me what I should post about tomorrow". Since Ian is my beotch he replied back that he wanted to know who my top five favorite bloggers are and why.

Damn why do I open my mouth at all?

Like seriously, right at the moment I have ~~179~~ 180 blogs I follow. How the fuck do I pick five of them?

So this got me to thinking about what I like about a blog, why do I read some and not others. I can hear you snoring wake the hell up. This is interesting stuff people.

I look for humour (I'm Canadian and that's how we goddamnwell spell it). I want to laugh. I look for people that have an edge to them. I'm not drawn to the straight and narrow in real life and the same applies to my blog life I guess. The edgier you are, the more I like you. I don't take myself seriously, and I never expect others to take me seriously. Except when I'm being serious, ya know?

Reading stepmom blogs is what started me blogging. I was so desperate to understand this other woman in my kids lives (the stepmom) and why she said and did the stuff that made me want to tear her fucking eyes out and eat them right in front of her. Obviously it's morphed into something else and lord only knows where the crazy train will stop.

Goddammit this isn't about me it's about you!!!

So rather than dry hump the legs of the same crazy chicks I always do that have a bazillion followers, I'm going to list 5 that I've stumbled upon recently. And you should go stumble upon them too, because they like being stumbled upon. Tell them I sent you, because then they'll adore me and adoration helps me with my self esteem issues.

Linda at The Good The Bad The Worse

Some people can be described with one word without having to think twice. Linda is classy. She's funny, smart and so very damn classy. So henceforth Linda shall be referred to as Lady D. I aspire to be classy when I grow up. She writes tongue in cheek about her marriages. She laughs at herself and invites her readers to laugh along with her. I love Linda and I'm hoping she'll adopt me. (Terry and Kat are STROKIN the fuck out right now because Linda has already adopted them and if she adopts me too I'll be the baby of the family)

LiLu at Live It Love It.

Let's call her Epidermis. Go read her if you want to know why I've decided to call her that. I will tell you her post today was about ideas on getting out of an upcoming stint at jury duty. Her ingenious plans include:

Pretending she's a contestant on American Idol and doing a rendition of Pants on The Ground from the jury box
Wearing her cat around her neck
Dressing up like the blue man

Queen at Queen of WTF

She called the sheriff a dumbfuck.

In an email.

To the sheriffs office.

Do I need to say anything more? I think not. In case I do, she hearts the word fuck almost as much as I do.

Let's call her BOS (Balls of Steel)

Sarah at I Run With Scissors

This is her coffee cup. She did this at work after someone dumped out her fresh cup of coffee and threw out her eggs she had cooked for breakfast. She's an EMT or something...I don't know. She works 24 hour shifts and refers to herself in the third person when she's tired.

Sarah gets the dubious title of SCANK and she has the tray to prove it. Go, I'm not telling you anything more, read for yourself.

Last but not least:

L at Tampons and Chocolates

Though L isn't a new blog for me, it would appear she likes to fall off the fucking face of the earth every once in awhile. Stop by and say hi to her, perhaps the pressure of a bunch of new followers will make her post more. Perhaps you'll even get emails like this from L:

I have been swamped with work, playing the role of a taxi cab driver for my kids (except I seem to be the one giving them money right before they get out of the car..WTF?), and doing my best to keep up with my wifely duties (cleaning, nagging, faking orgasms and such).

She makes me laugh. She'll make you laugh too, I promise. If you don't laugh you're obviously dead. Go visit Always With Wings and tell her I sent you (she hates pads).

Ian my man, I love you like a brother dude but this was one tough assignment.

So go - I want to see your fav five, fab five, funny five, five that make you go hmmmm. Do it or I'll sick Ian on you.

Oh yeah, one more thing....I'm pregnant.

...
...
...
...
...
....

Check your calendar.

It's April 1st. GOTCHA!!!!

You so thought I was pregnant.

That would involve having sex. I'm going now.

Cold Heartless Bitch

2010-03-31T09:57:00.001-03:00

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?

2010-03-30T00:30:00.001-03:00

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:

Take it.
Leave it

Thank you very much,

Mammas going to buy shoes and you can eat peanut butter

Kids Talk

2010-03-29T08:53:00.000-03:00

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

2010-03-26T10:12:00.000-03:00

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 mine...it'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

2010-03-25T09:00:00.000-03:00

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 post....you'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?

2010-03-24T19:54:00.000-03:00

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, well....how 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?

2010-03-23T13:27:00.000-03:00

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

2010-03-21T10:27:00.000-03:00

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?

From Linda at The Good the Bad The Worse

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

2010-03-19T19:23:00.001-03:00

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 Friday...so 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 sad....me 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

2010-03-16T21:41:00.000-03:00

The following article was copied from http://www.telegraph.co.uk/

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

2010-03-14T21:52:00.000-03:00

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 yeah...my 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?

Anyone?

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. See...off 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 decide...do 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

2010-03-12T10:43:00.000-04:00

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.

Mom FAIL At It's FINEST

2010-03-10T14:20:00.000-04:00

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?

2010-03-08T12:20:00.000-04:00

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.

*crickets*

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

2010-03-05T08:52:00.001-04:00

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 unexpected....like take off all his clothes? Hey, a girl can always dream, right?

Bygones?

2010-03-04T00:01:00.001-04:00

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

2010-03-03T00:01:00.003-04:00

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

2010-03-02T12:51:00.000-04:00

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!

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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.

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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

2010-03-01T06:45:00.000-04:00

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.

What Would You Do With 50 Million Dollars?

2010-02-25T08:50:00.000-04:00

I know all you bloggers south of the Canadian border are used to huge lotto jackpots and 50 million probably is no big deal. Here in Canada, where EVERYTHING is government regulated, jackpots rarely make it above the 30 million mark. This Friday there is a 50 million dollar jackpot up for grabs, which got me thinking, what the hell does one do with that kind of money?

So I sat pondering it on my drive to work this morning. What would Dual Mom do with THAT much money? I'm a single mom. I have a good job, but I also have 3 kids (two of which are teenage boys and can eat their weight in food on a daily basis). I have a mortgage, drive a new car, a shoe addiction that would rival most coke addicts love of the white stuff and various other everyday expenses. In the next two years both boys will be going off to College/University with the girl not far behind. Do you know how fucking expensive post secondary education is?!!! Let's be honest here, I'm tempted to try and sell my body to deal with that little expense. However, any prostitution attempts on my part would end in dismal failure and I'm really not sure the ole' ego could take it.

I digress. Anyrichbitch I am not what one would consider well off.

So 50 million dollars is really unfathomable to me.

I started blogging five months ago. In that time, there are several women that I've gotten to know just a little bit. They make me laugh, they make me think, they open my eyes to new things. The fact that there are so many people and places in the world that I will never know actually keeps me up at night. I have this irrational need to KNOW people. The fact that there are a gazzillion places on earth I will never visit makes me sad. It really and truly does. I have daydreams about sitting around a pub with alot of these woman, drinking vodka martinis and shooting the shit.

So what would I do with 50 million dollars? I would have the biggest, baddest, bestest damn blog party this world has ever seen. Seriously. I'd rent out the most high tootin', poshest resort I could find and I'd fly (first class - cause I'm filthy stinkin rich and that's what filthy stinkin rich people do) EVERY ONE of my blog buddies in for the bash. We would than proceed to drink, laugh, cry, shop, laugh, shop, make fun of fucktards, swear, drink some more.....well you get the picture. We would get dressed when we felt like it, sleep when we felt like it, eat when we felt like it. It would be light years BEYOND totally fabulous and just imagine the blog fodder? Imagine the damn blog fodder people!! Of course just because I'm filthy stinkin rich does NOT mean I'd stop blogging. But I might hire someone to type out my blog from my dictated notes, because that's what filthy stinkin rich people do, right?

So here's what I'm thinking. We all know the power of positive thinking right? Ok even if you don't believe in it just stick with me for a sec. You should send ALL your positive thoughts my way in hopes that I win the lottery on Friday night. I know, I know there are starving children in the world and I could so be using my bloggy powers for more humanitarian efforts but I promise when I'm filthy stinkin rich I will so help the starving kids. I swear. I never buy lottery tickets. I think in my entire life I've bought like two. So this is it folks, this is OUR chance. Really I'm doing this for all of you because I know how empty your life is without the opportunity to party with Dual Mom.

So tell me, what would you do with 50 million dollars?

It's Tuesday And You Know What That Means

2010-02-23T11:10:00.001-04:00

Tuesday is my new favorite day of the week. It's the day we are given free license to be snarky, sassy and just a tad bit attitudinal by the one and only Zgirl over at the Think Tank. If you'd like to join in the fun, stop by, link up and have at it.

Let us proceed.

Dear Boyfriend,

Where do I begin? Thank you for the having the mentality of a teenaged boy. Really. The fact is I already have two teenage boys and I do not need a third. You see nothing wrong with them blowing farts out their ass while walking across the living room floor, sitting at the dinner table, or sitting beside their mother. That's just truly awesome. Thanks for your encouragement of this behavior by issuing farting contests. That's the way I like to roll, a grown man (who I will never have sex with again if you don't wisen the fuck up) and my two teenagers filling my house with enough gaseous substance to set the place ablaze were someone to light a match. It doesn't make me question my taste in men...at all. You get that you're almost 42 years old, right? When can I expect you to grow up?

I'd also like to thank you for folding the couch throw before you left last weekend. It was truly thoughtful. The email you sent me asking if I'd noticed that you folded the couch throw, yeah that probably wasn't necessary. I know you truly believe that you should be voted humanitarian of the year because you folded the couch throw, but it's probably not going to happen. They do not give out awards for performing simple tasks that women perform 6,548, 456 times a week....just because you're a man and had the wherewithal to notice the throw needed folding.

All your fucktardedness aside, you did kind of sort of just a little bit redeem yourself by sending me this:

What's the chances you'd be willing to work on a physique like that? hmmmm?

Love you but would so cheat on you in a heartbeat with RDJ

Dear Unfollowers:

I'm a fairly confident person. Yes, I hate my ass, and my cheeks are too bulgy and I question my own sanity alot of the time, but I'm relatively confident. I would like to thank the THREE of you for taking that confidence and dashing it beneath your well shod foot leaving me a quivering mound of stuttering shamefulness. Thank you.

So why? Why did you leave me? Was it the cursing? If so, well, I'm afraid you're just going to have to fuck off because it's not like I've ever pretended to be a puritan with a regular vocabulary. I think my very first post contained more curse words than not. At no point in time have I ever pretended to be anything but what I am; a foul mouthed, over-opinionated, rambling woman with a college education and a vorocious appetite for reading which has expanded my vocabulary exponentially which really isn't something that any woman that likes to talk about herself as much as I do should have. BREATHE

Did I scare you with the new layout? The pink is a bit garish I admit, but I like it. It's not like I was forcing you to change your blog to pink. Would this really make you stop following me?

So thanks unfollowers. I'm off to see my therapist.

I Am Playing

2010-02-22T10:05:00.001-04:00

If you notice things are a bit "chaotic" it's because I'm ~~fucking up~~ editing my layout. Please stand by....

Since I know ~~absolutely nothing~~ I'm pretty smart, I expect this will ~~be a complete cluster fuck~~ go off without a hitch.

Feel free to comment as I edit.

Updated - I figured out how to resize my widgets...all by myself!

Friday Happy Hour...Woot Woot!!

2010-02-19T10:26:00.000-04:00

I'm joining RXBambi for Happy Hour Friday this week. We all know how Dual Mom ~~would sell her first, second and hell even the girl that she likes most times alot better than the boys~~ likes her cocktails. So here it is folks, if you want to play along head on over to her spot and link up!

I have not blogged all week. I have no excuse, well I do but it's kind of lame. I've been feeding my RDJ addiction and so far this week have watched various episodes of Ally McBeal mutliple times (the one where he and Sting sing Every Breath You Take, yeah just fucking kill me now because I'd die happy). You see I pretend that I'm Ally (yes I realize Ally isn't a real person and it's not a mentally sound thing to do to pretend you're not a real person and you shouldn't be pretending that you're an anorexic character in a show where the lead character spontaneously hears music and hallucinates dancing babies...just shutyourpieholeplease). I pretend he's singing to me. I have imaginary conversations with him in my head where he decides I'm the coolest, smartest, sexiest woman in the world and though he really loves his wife he couldn't possibly live the rest of his life without me because life would be bleak and empty and he'd be forced to start using again and he's been clean for so long that it would be a tragedy if he started using again so therefore the only possible thing he could do is leave his wife and and have me and my three children move to LA (or wherever the hell he lives) so that he can be enveloped in my adoration, love and the joyous sound of my laugh. *breathe* WHAT? It could happen.

I have watched Iron Man and Kiss Kiss Bang Bang and this weekend I suspect I'll sit on my ass watching Gothika, Zodiac and Restoration. Do you think I need help?

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The Olympics. I have not watched any of it, very unpartriotic of me, I know. I suck. However, I do catch the updates on the news in the morning. On Wednesday, our women's hockey team beat Sweden 13-1. There was a huge hoopla in the news that the team should have held back on their scoring. WTF? Please, go put your big boy panties and talk to me when you grow a pair. Oh yeah and quit your goddamn whining. Do you see skiers slowing down at the finish line when they're minutes ahead of other competitors? Fuck off wankers.

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My ipod is busted. This causes me great stress. I have the white screen of death and after multiple google searches have learned that I should be able to reset this. Yeah fuckyouverymuch Apple. I have 8 different ipods in my house, ranging from 1st generation nanos to the touch, plus an imac. You know what, I'm getting pretty fed up with the total FUCKTARDS at Apple support. Don't tell me that I'm having a problem with my nano that you have never heard of before when a google search brings up 11,375 different fucking hits about people having the same problem. Do ya think you might be having an issue fuckers? Do I look like I just fell off the turnip truck?

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This has been a three day work week. Monday was a civic holiday and Wednesday we got blasted with snow so we were shut down for the day. I would love to have the financial ability to work part time... I make an excellent lady of leisure.

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I lost 1.5 pounds last week. Yeah me! That's a total loss of 6.5, not great but I'll take it.

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I need a blog makeover. My blog is aesthetically boring.

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I love my kids. Not news you say? I know. But when they were small, it was so much damn work. Feeding and grooming and disciplining and lugging and bathing. It was work I tell you. Now that they're older, all of the "work" stuff they do on their own. Hell I even have the two teens doing their own laundry. Now that the work stuff is for the most part over, I have fun with them. Let me tell you something, as a young mother with small children, I hated the park. I hated outings to the zoo. I fucking despised doing all those cutesy things meant to entertain small children. Dinosaur themed birthday parties made me want to drown myself. I did them, and I pretended to enjoy doing them, all the while wishing someone would just gouge my eyes out and call it a day. Now? Now we hang out, Nora and I absolutely love being together. The boys both have a really sarcastic sense of humour which I totally get. We talk about stuff going on in the world and they have opinions and ideas. They're mini adults, what's even better...they're mini adults that I like. It's very odd as a mother to realize that you like your kids. We all know there are sometimes worlds between loving someone and liking them. I like my kids. Huh...who would have thunk it was possible?

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Happy Friday blogger luves. Anything exciting planned for the weekend?

My Secret Boyfriend

2010-02-15T00:12:00.000-04:00

This weekend has been an Ally McBeal marathon. Do you remember Ally McBeal? Ran for five seasons from 1998 - 2002.

In 2001, in between stints at rehab, my secret boyfriend played a significant role on the show.

Isn't he puuuurty? He loves me, he just doesn't know it yet. Someday, he'll discover me, and the addictions, arrests and all around naughty behavior will end. Hey, with the love of a good woman, especially with the love of a Dual Mom, anything is possible, right?

See how sad he is? That pensive, brooding look? It's because his life is empty without me. Those are probably my initials on his delectable bicep (shutyourpiehole and don't burst my delusion).

Smirk all you want baby, someday you'll realize the error of your ways. All of these woman you've used to try and fill the void will be thrown to the wayside (no offense to the current wife). Sarah, Calista...all of them will be a faint, distant bad memory.

Can you fucking imagine coming home to this? Let me tell y'all right now, blogging would be at the bottom of my list of things to do.

It's absolutely criminal that there are men like this in the world that we will never know. Ya know, like know know.

I Love You....You Love Me

2010-02-14T11:29:00.001-04:00

I'm a bad bad blogger buddy. I got this little beauty from Kat at 2010 Year of Miracles ummm a couple of days...ok dammit it was weeks ago. And yes dammit I'm just thanking her for it now. Dammit...sorry Kat. You know I love you. Forgive me? I'll send cookies.

This one came from Mass Hole Mommy, the queen of giveaways. I swear this woman doesn't sleep because 30 posts so far in the month of February...like what the hell woman? Do you blog in the bathroom? Thank you, I don't think anyone has ever associated the word "sunshine" with yours truly.

Oh dear sweet fuck could it be any more perfect? Seriously? I got this little darlin' from Maggie at Mind of A Mad Woman and she is indeed a mad woman in the most awesomeness of ways.

In case you can't read the print at the bottom, it states, "Bloggers who are sick of biting their tongues and swallowing the blood". It's perfection really.

I have to copy the "rules" of the award because they made me crap my pants with laughter. Maggie copied them from someone else, who may or may not have copied them from someone else, who may or may not...oh hell you get that we're breaking every damn copyright law out there, right?

The receivers of the award (and I hesitiate to use the word winners as it is not some type of lame-arsed competition, it is merely a show of appreciation for the blogger who doesn't pretty up the harsh realities) do NOT have to pass it on! If you wish to, great! Means I get to find some new no-bullshit blogs. If not, meh, not my problem.

This award is not to be awarded for just being nasty! It is for those blunt, honest, sometimes brutal bloggers who post from passion, not spite.

I LOVE IT! Those have to be some of the smartest damn words I've read in a long time. And so true. I'm never spiteful, I do not have a spiteful bone in my body. Being spiteful is a waste of my time. Blunt, brutally honest, that I do. Do not ask me for my opinion if you don't want the truth. Seriously, you will get the truth if you ask me, "What do you think?" The truth may be ugly, it may be cut your heart out with a dull kitchen knife brutal, but the truth as I see it, it will be. I never do it out of meaness or spite, I do it because I truly believe if someone asks for my opinion, they have the right to expect and receive an honest answer and not some pussyfoot, kid glove version of the truth.

So tell me, do you temper your words? Is your blog a true reflection of who you are as a person?

And finally (really thank you for sticking with me to the end) this:

Mrs. Blogalot gave me this little gem and called me "amazingly funny". It amazes me when someone calls me funny, and no I'm not being snide or bashful when I say that. I don't see myself as a "funny" person. I'm sarcastic as hell, I freely admit that. I have a skewed outlook on life by times and I curse alot. I say the things people often think but that filter that most people have prevents them from saying it. I wrote once about the fact that I don't seem to have that filter. So thanks, Mrs. Blogalot. I truly appreciate the compliment.

Ah ah ah...don't leave me yet. I'm not finished. Sigh if you must but I seriously need to pass some of these along.

The Beautiful Blogger Award - passing this one along to:

Crystal at Autism's Bitch - Crystal has a son with Autism. Her post today made me stop and think about something that I always do, and I'm wrong in doing it. Anyone that can get me to stop and think deserves an award.

Advocate Mom at Accidental Advocate - for reminding me that there are incredibly good people in the world. She blogs about her adventures with two adopted sons. Her strength in the face of adversity is something we can all aspire to.

The Sunshine Award - I pass this one along to

Menopausal New Mom any woman that has the balls to become a first-time mom at the age of 45 deserves all the sunshine they can get. You're an inspiration woman!

Taylorville at Girly Bitz - In her post today - she wrote about a conversation her and hubby had....wherein he compared her to a piece of meat on special at the butcher. Ha - and she didn't even drop kick him for it. It's quite funny so go check her out.

Mindy Mom at Single Mom - she writes with an elegance and clarity that I aspire to.

The Other Mommy at Evil Step Mom or Domestic Goddess - for helping me to see things from the other side of the coin.

Tell It Like It Is Award - passing this one along to

Noelle at Elastic Waistbands - when this girl gets pissed off just run for cover, seriously. I wait with baited breath for the days she's riled about something because her anger makes me laugh uproariously. The fuck's start flying everywhere and I keep waiting for her to turn all Exorcist. Is it wrong of me to find humour in this? And yeah, I know you've gotten this one already Noelle, too damn bad.

Duckalicious over at Batcrap Crazy- for bringing us "Convos from The Hood" and making us all very thankful she works at an inner city school. Sorry Daf, your pain is our gain.

The effervescent Zgirl over at the The Think Tank - she may have this one already too. I'd be very surprised if she doesn't. Zgirl would be the one I'd want at my back if I were ever in a brawl with a bunch of biker chicks (hey...it could happen).

My wine drinking sista over at Vinomom - This girl is real and not afraid to admit she's only human. I love her for it!

Shit I'm tired now. I'm supposed to tell you stuff and make lists and shit but guess what....I'm a rebel without a cause so I'm not gonna do it. Plus I'm tired. Plus I seriously think I may have taxed your patience with this uber long post.

I Would If I Could But I Can't, So I Won't

2010-02-12T00:00:00.002-04:00

YES!! YES!! YES!!

2010-02-10T22:08:00.000-04:00

Whooooooooohoooooooooooooooooooo 100 followers. I feel as though I've found the cure for cancer, or rid the world of hunger, or created a serum for balding men. You know, something really important. (No offense to balding men, I'm actually partial to sexy bald men, but please, if it's falling out just take it all off. Ask anyone, totally bald is 100 times better than the band of hair around your head, that shit is just fugly, no offense).

Anyhairloss, if I were Oprah I'd be giving y'all cars, I'm THAT excited.

I'm a spaz, I do not deny it. I can't help but be tickled totally pink.

If I could, I'd hug each and every one of you...and I am sooo not a hugger.

Must go watch American Idol.

Tuesday's Bitch

2010-02-09T12:11:00.000-04:00

It's Tuesday, the day I get to be a snarky, contankerous ole' bitch all because of Zgirl! I know, really when have I ever needed an excuse? Still, I feel somehow validated when it's an actual theme. If you want to join in the fun hop on over and link up at the Think Tank.

Dear Blogger,

What the hell? For some reason, people who I've been following since I started blogging (I know...forevaaaahhh like a whole 4 months and I'm going to hang myself if I don't reach 100 followers soon, would paying people to follow me seem desperate?) are suddenly getting dropped from my reading list and I'm not following them anymore even though I haven't done anything to unfollow them. What the hell is going on?

I pay damn good money to have my ~~words of wisdom~~ bullshit posted on your server. Okay maybe not, but still. It's happened at least 7 or 8 times over the past several weeks, I'll be reading along when all of a sudden I'll think "Oh, so and so hasn't updated in a long time" only to discover they're not on my list anymore. When I go to their site apparently I'm not following them anymore either. Ohhh the horror of it all. And then I cry.

I expect my public apology any time now. You hear that google fuckers? These people have important shit to say that I must read.

Threatening to move to wordpress.

DualMom

Dear Scales,

I know, I know, I know shutupalready.

This weekend involved these*.

And plates of these.....(yes, they're being cooked in about a half pound of butter shutyourface)

And 4 cheese lasagne with garlic bread. Let's not forget we ate chocolate silk pie for desert....at breakfast. Apps included potato chips with dip (mmmmmm dip) chocolate, cheese and crackers. I'm sure the jugs of crantinis didn't contain a whole lot of calories.

We did manage a walk at 10:30 at night, in snow past our knees, drunk. It seemed like a good idea at the time. No one ever accused us of being wise dear scale.

I thought for sure you would betray me in much the same way I have betrayed you this week. But you didn't. You didn't budge, and for that I'd like to french kiss you.

*If you've never had these let me know, I'll send you the recipe. They are potstickers and they are one of the bestest things to eat in the whole world. Especially when made and consumed in the company of good friends with jugs and jugs and crantinis.

Despite the perception my blog portrays, I do do other things besides drink and eat with my friends.

Are You Seriously Asking That Question?

2010-02-08T13:11:00.000-04:00

As the whole world knows, Vancouver is hosting the 2010 Winter Olympics. I stumbled across a website for the athletes to post questions about Canada and the province of Vancouver. I believe it was a site hosted by British Columbia tourism, but I could be wrong and I'm too lazy to go back and look.

These questions were taken directly from the site, I've ummmm tweaked some of the answers just a little bit.

Q: I have never seen it warm on Canadian TV, so how do the plants grow? ( England )
A. We import all plants fully grown and then just sit around and watch them die. It's what we do instead of watching football.

Q: Will I be able to see Polar Bears in the street? ( USA )
A: With the assistance of enough wacky tabacky, we can provide you with just about any type of hallucination you would like.

Q: I want to walk from Vancouver to Toronto - can I follow the Railroad tracks? ( Sweden )
A: It's about four thousand miles, give or take a mile. I hope you have a good pair of shoes.

Q: Is it safe to run around in the bushes in Canada ? ( Sweden )
A: So it's true what they say about Swedes.

Q: Are there any ATM's (cash machines) in Canada ? Can you send me a list of them in Toronto , Vancouver, Edmonton and Halifax ? ( England )

A: No, but racoon furs are accepted at most trading posts. Bring your canoe for transport.

Q: Can you give me some information about hippo racing in Canada ? ( USA )

A: A-fri-ca is the big triangle shaped continent south of Europe Ca-na-da is that big country to your North...oh forget it. Sure, the hippo racing is every Tuesday night in Calgary. Come naked.

Q: Which direction is North in Canada ? ( USA )

A: Face south and then turn 180 degrees Contact us when you get here and we'll send the rest of the directions.

Q: Can I bring cutlery into Canada ? ( England )

What's cutlery?

Q: Can you send me the Vienna Boys' Choir schedule? ( USA )

A: Aus-t ri-a is that quaint little country bordering Ger-man-y, which is...oh forget it. Sure, the Vienna Boys Choir plays every Tuesday night in Vancouver and in Calgary, straight after the hippo races. Come naked..

Q: Do you have perfume in Canada ? ( Germany )

A: No, WE don't stink.

Q: I have developed a new product that is the fountain of youth. Where can I sell it in Canada ? ( USA )

A: Anywhere significant numbers of Americans gather.

Q: Can you tell me the regions in British Columbia where the female population is smaller than the male population? ( Italy )

A: Yes, gay nightclubs.

Q: Do you celebrate Thanksgiving in Canada ? ( USA )

A: Only at Thanksgiving.

Q: Are there supermarkets in Toronto and is milk available all year round? ( Germany )

A: No, we are a peaceful civilization of Vegan hunter/gatherers. Milk is illegal.

Q: I have a question about a famous animal in Canada , but I forget its name. It's a kind of big horse with horns. ( USA )

A: It's called a Moose. They are tall and very violent, eating the brains of anyone walking close to them. You can scare them off by spraying yourself with human urine before you go out walking.

Q: Will I be able to speak English most places I go? ( USA )

A: Yes, but you will have to learn it first.

I'm off to bet on the hippo races. Happy Monday!

Friday Fragments - The One Where I Become Famous

2010-02-05T09:19:00.001-04:00

#1
It would appear that having house guests all week cramps my blogging style. I'm still alive, just haven't sat in front of my laptop all week. I'm sure the shakes, cramps and spontaneous twitching of withdrawal will subside any time now. I'm also a total lame ass when it comes to staying up past 10:00pm on a "school" night.

#2
The LIB has been blown to smithereens this week. Complete shite I tell you. McDonalds, thai, little exercise. Oh it gets better, we're having a pj party on Saturday, the menu includes chocoloate silk pie, 4 cheese lasagna, wine, eggs benedict (breakfast of course), wine, scallops, did I mention wine?

#3
It is so incredibly cold here I'm tempted to go piss in a snowbank just for shits and giggles to see if it freezes before actually hitting the snowbank.

#4
LOST. Oh dear what do I say about Lost? Now we're doing flash sideways. That's excellent. Lost makes me feel as though I should be riding the short bus, and yet I continue to watch it. What is that? Sadomasochist right?

#5
I sit on the board of a non-profit group. The executive director is a great guy and we have worked together on a couple of projects in the past. He makes me piss my pants with laughter. He was in Ottawa at a meeting, left Wednesday afternoon to return at midnight last night. His wife was scheduled for a c-section this morning at 6am. I sent him an email yesterday afternoon and told him we were expecting huge blizzard on the east coast (we're not). What? It was funny. Ok I know, I will burn in hell for my sick, twisted sense of humour. This was the reply I got back from him:

T, thanks for the email. It caused me to rush from my meeting in the middle of the President's presentation to throw up. When I finished wiping the barf from my chin, I checked the weather forecast to discover that you're a lying bitch and with my dying breath I will get you back for this.

PS. I'm kind of chuckling now. You are evil.

Should make the next board meeting interesting, non?

#6
I've been asked to be the College "spokesperson" for a series of news stories that will be running over the next couple of months. My involvement with the organization I referred to above has gotten me into this. Does anyone have any idea how I can "appear" ten pounds lighter on camera? I'll also have to remember not to say fuck. I told the VP who asked me to do this that I would need hair, makeup and wardrobe people along with a small dog with a diamond studded collar that I can carry in my purse. You know, like all the famous girls. He just shook his head at me....

Happy Friday everyone! I hope you all have a wonderfab weekend. Anyone doing anything fun or exciting?

Muuuaahhh

PS. Just got an email from the new dad, "it's a boy... 7lb 7 ounces." I guess the fates were smiling on him and he actually made it to the delivery.