I miss obscurity. Ha ha. How egotistical does that sound? Clearly there are not millions (or even thousands) reading my blog. Hundreds is probably pushing it. What I mean is there are times I'd like to vent and can't because I know who's reading and I really don't want to hurt any feelings. I have to admit, and I think a good number of you will agree that I'm at my best when I'm angry. The words flow through me like they have a life of their own when I'm good and pissed off. I either need to be angry or rely on PMS or the antics of my many children to form a half decent post.
Yet here I am; not angry, no longer PMS-ing, and the kids, while by no means quiet, haven't done anything so wonderful as ogling half-naked women in a change room as of late. I'm listening to a hockey game. The Oscars are not on at my house. I watched bits and pieces of the Red Carpet but seriously, the inane small talk coupled with Robin's (last name?) freakishly deep voice are enough to make me want to rip out my own ovaries.
I'm slightly excited tomorrow marks the last day of February. March is almost Spring. Hope springs eternal. Which is ridiculous because this is Saskatchewan and we are nowhere near done with winter but a girl can dream, can't she?
Tomorrow also marks my husband's return to his job. The job he had, much like my old job, that promised security, a steady pay cheque, of sorts, and benefits. A job, that often times, he hated. But he's going back. Which I give him huge credit for because I couldn't do it. I couldn't go back to my old job. Number one, it's not actually feasible. I don't think you can be fired and then re-hired by the Government. At least not within the year and certainly not by the same branch. But he's doing it. He didn't get fired though. He quit to pursue his dream career.
And then his dream promptly kicked him in the balls. More than once. Ah, it's not fair to blame the dream. It's fair to blame Dwayne Shpaiuk. It's fair to blame a few others too but he's the only one I'm willing to name. And again, his company is called Calibur Contracting. Just in case you missed it. Should I ever, ever find out any one of you is paying this man for his services? Well let's just say I will blog like a motherfucker and you are not going to come out looking good.
I will.
Ryan is good at Carpentry and he likes it. He will still be able to do it but it's no longer going to be his full time job. This also means he is no longer going to be home on weekends. Well, some he will and some he won't but we will never have any idea in advance when...
But I'm not complaining. I'm thankful. There are some out there who questioned Ryan's reluctance to return. Thought perhaps he was being selfish or stupid in not going back right away. Come to think of it, those who were critical? Are those who either don't work or work doing something they actually enjoy doing. Or those who are currently in no position to advise but seem to think they are.
Some of you who know me well are surprised at my vehement defence. Some of you may never understand how deeply I hated my job and the feeling that grips me at the mere thought of having to return.
So right now, I am simply grateful. His hand was a forced one, to an extent, but he's handling it with more grace than I would and there's something to be said for that.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Look Over Here
Currently, given the present circumstances, I'm posting over here today:
http://77cher2.blogspot.com/
So hurry up and get over there!
http://77cher2.blogspot.com/
So hurry up and get over there!
Friday, February 18, 2011
Active Bacteria
My throat has recently earned me the following luxuries:
Nearly 48 straight hours in bed. Flowers. Ice cream sandwiches and Slurpees.
No, I didn't do that.
I'm sick. And never before have I been treated so royally when sick as I was this time around. There are perks to having your husband home simply because he is currently without work (only for a few more days though).
In fact, this is the first time I've been sick, in recent memory, where it felt like I had a penis. Not literally. I mean there's nothing new growing down there. Just that I really got to be sick. I laid in bed and slept and watched TV (discovered an awesome new series, Shameless, check it out) and had flowers brought to me, and Slurpees and an 'ice bun' (that's what Rhett, my three year old, calls an ice cream sandwich). My husband kept the bedroom door shut and entertained our two little boys who have also been sick and stuck in the house for a week and are starting to show signs of a fever, the cabin variety. My oldest son went to the store for me Wednesday night and got me Neo-Citran and covered me up with an extra blanket when I was freezing.
Despite desperately wanting to be able to swallow my own saliva without it feeling like I am swallowing razorblades, the headache, the fever and body aches, it was pretty sweet. I even got caught up on Big Love.
I did have one blip on the radar when I drove my bedraggled self to the walk-in clinic yesterday afternoon. I drove myself because Ryan had to stay with the boys. I went to the walk-in clinic because my Dr. is on holidays. Nice for him. When I got there the waiting room was empty. It didn't take long until I was escorted into an examining room. There I waited. Long enough that I was tempted to lay on the table and just go back to sleep. Finally the doctor came and wrote the precious prescription. Then it was off to Zeller's to fill it. This too happened fairly quickly but the pharmacist did feel the need to explain to the point of nauseousness, my own, how I should eat Activia to prevent a yeast infection from the penicillin. Thanks Tips. But speaking to me softly about active bacteria and my vag when I'm having difficulty standing upright and sweating like a motherfucker isn't exactly helpful.
But I made it home. And about an hour ago, I emerged from my cocoon-like bedroom a slightly bedraggled butterfly with wicked case of bedhead. I am now firmly ensconced on my couch enjoying The Muppet's Take Manhattan.
Who knew a post about throats, penis and itchy vaginas could be so wholesome?
Nearly 48 straight hours in bed. Flowers. Ice cream sandwiches and Slurpees.
No, I didn't do that.
I'm sick. And never before have I been treated so royally when sick as I was this time around. There are perks to having your husband home simply because he is currently without work (only for a few more days though).
In fact, this is the first time I've been sick, in recent memory, where it felt like I had a penis. Not literally. I mean there's nothing new growing down there. Just that I really got to be sick. I laid in bed and slept and watched TV (discovered an awesome new series, Shameless, check it out) and had flowers brought to me, and Slurpees and an 'ice bun' (that's what Rhett, my three year old, calls an ice cream sandwich). My husband kept the bedroom door shut and entertained our two little boys who have also been sick and stuck in the house for a week and are starting to show signs of a fever, the cabin variety. My oldest son went to the store for me Wednesday night and got me Neo-Citran and covered me up with an extra blanket when I was freezing.
Despite desperately wanting to be able to swallow my own saliva without it feeling like I am swallowing razorblades, the headache, the fever and body aches, it was pretty sweet. I even got caught up on Big Love.
I did have one blip on the radar when I drove my bedraggled self to the walk-in clinic yesterday afternoon. I drove myself because Ryan had to stay with the boys. I went to the walk-in clinic because my Dr. is on holidays. Nice for him. When I got there the waiting room was empty. It didn't take long until I was escorted into an examining room. There I waited. Long enough that I was tempted to lay on the table and just go back to sleep. Finally the doctor came and wrote the precious prescription. Then it was off to Zeller's to fill it. This too happened fairly quickly but the pharmacist did feel the need to explain to the point of nauseousness, my own, how I should eat Activia to prevent a yeast infection from the penicillin. Thanks Tips. But speaking to me softly about active bacteria and my vag when I'm having difficulty standing upright and sweating like a motherfucker isn't exactly helpful.
But I made it home. And about an hour ago, I emerged from my cocoon-like bedroom a slightly bedraggled butterfly with wicked case of bedhead. I am now firmly ensconced on my couch enjoying The Muppet's Take Manhattan.
Who knew a post about throats, penis and itchy vaginas could be so wholesome?
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Dad's Dead
I don't really know what I want to write about but I do know I want to write, so bear with me. I need to do something I like and that generally makes me feel good. You see, I just finished working on our budget. Fuck me. What budget? I just made an executive decision and we will not be paying the phone bill this month. It is all up to date, so I can miss a month.
This always seemed funnier on Roseanne.
Remember when she would send a cheque for bill payment but not sign it and then feign innocence/ignorance when the phone/gas/power company called? I do. I thought it was high-larious! Now it's me. Except I do all my banking on the Internet and NBC or ABC or whoever it was, isn't footing the bill or playing a laugh track.
It's just me. And the cat who's perched on the top shelf of the desk glaring at me as I type. She can fuck off because I spent $10 on her sister's special "Sensitive System" cat food today. For a tiny little bag. Which also makes me think of my former profession and how people would wonder at those who were financially limited and their associated affinity for pets. Pets they couldn't necessarily afford. In my defense, I could afford them when I got them...
I applied for a job yesterday. A job outside of my home that will necessitate professional dress and make-up. Every day. I highly doubt I'll get it but on the off chance that I do, I'm torn. It would be nice to be a 'professional' again but I think some of the folks I live with are enjoying and benefiting from my current profession of managing this household. Today they enjoyed homemade sugar cookies and got to spend time decorating and eating them after school. Then we chilled and watched a couple of recorded episodes of American Idol.
My youngest wore his Spider-Man costume for the entire day today. And then proceeded to fall asleep at the table after his cookie snack.
He's livin' the life. We all are, sans cash.
And the budget isn't as bleak as it looks there on black and white. There is some income I left off as it is unpredictable but I know it will be there. All is not lost. My husband is starting a new, maybe temporary, maybe not, job next week. There is a silver lining.
No laugh track though. No Jackie screaming "DAD's DEAD" into the phone. No Darlene. No Dan. Not even Becky.
Just us.
This always seemed funnier on Roseanne.
Remember when she would send a cheque for bill payment but not sign it and then feign innocence/ignorance when the phone/gas/power company called? I do. I thought it was high-larious! Now it's me. Except I do all my banking on the Internet and NBC or ABC or whoever it was, isn't footing the bill or playing a laugh track.
It's just me. And the cat who's perched on the top shelf of the desk glaring at me as I type. She can fuck off because I spent $10 on her sister's special "Sensitive System" cat food today. For a tiny little bag. Which also makes me think of my former profession and how people would wonder at those who were financially limited and their associated affinity for pets. Pets they couldn't necessarily afford. In my defense, I could afford them when I got them...
I applied for a job yesterday. A job outside of my home that will necessitate professional dress and make-up. Every day. I highly doubt I'll get it but on the off chance that I do, I'm torn. It would be nice to be a 'professional' again but I think some of the folks I live with are enjoying and benefiting from my current profession of managing this household. Today they enjoyed homemade sugar cookies and got to spend time decorating and eating them after school. Then we chilled and watched a couple of recorded episodes of American Idol.
My youngest wore his Spider-Man costume for the entire day today. And then proceeded to fall asleep at the table after his cookie snack.
He's livin' the life. We all are, sans cash.
And the budget isn't as bleak as it looks there on black and white. There is some income I left off as it is unpredictable but I know it will be there. All is not lost. My husband is starting a new, maybe temporary, maybe not, job next week. There is a silver lining.
No laugh track though. No Jackie screaming "DAD's DEAD" into the phone. No Darlene. No Dan. Not even Becky.
Just us.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Happy Valentine's Day
Well folks, it's here, and I'm not sure where to begin when describing the many unexpected and surprising directions this particular Valentine's Day has taken...
It's been raw, wet, hot, a little dirty and I even saw the 'doctor', if you know what I mean... Allow me to elaborate:
Raw: The cinnamon buns I attempted to bake for my family as a special treat. They were of the frozen variety and were supposed to defrost for six to 8 hours or overnight prior to baking them. I went with six hours. Mistake. They are burnt (this is where the hot part of my day comes in) on the outside and undercooked on the inside. Mmmmm.
Wet: The couch after I used my Little Bissell Green Machine to clean the vomit off of it. This morning. Before coffee. Not sure if it was the cat or dog who puked but it was special all the same.
Dirty: The poop I cleaned up first thing this morning, before my coffee was even made. Again, I am not sure if it was the cat or the dog (the small one obviously, if it were the Golden Retriever, there'd be no mistaking it and he doesn't do that, he's a good dog).
'Doctor': My two youngest children were ill all weekend. The seven year old was not feeling better and developed a weird rash on his face. Turns out he has a "nasty" chest infection, possibly pneumonia (just waiting to hear back from the x-ray results), and "Fifth Disease". Fifth Disease sounds worse than it is. It's just a fairly benign viral rash.
Just call me Dr. Oz. Or don't, because I'd find that fairly insulting.
So, as you can see, this day has been unparalleled in sights, sounds, and circumstance. I am a lucky lady. Lucky in love and lucky in life. I did buy myself a box of hair dye. It's a new kind that foams up. So that's exciting. It's supposed to cover 100% grey, so that's even more exciting. I do have some peanut butter cups for later.
Isn't love grand?
It's been raw, wet, hot, a little dirty and I even saw the 'doctor', if you know what I mean... Allow me to elaborate:
Raw: The cinnamon buns I attempted to bake for my family as a special treat. They were of the frozen variety and were supposed to defrost for six to 8 hours or overnight prior to baking them. I went with six hours. Mistake. They are burnt (this is where the hot part of my day comes in) on the outside and undercooked on the inside. Mmmmm.
Wet: The couch after I used my Little Bissell Green Machine to clean the vomit off of it. This morning. Before coffee. Not sure if it was the cat or dog who puked but it was special all the same.
Dirty: The poop I cleaned up first thing this morning, before my coffee was even made. Again, I am not sure if it was the cat or the dog (the small one obviously, if it were the Golden Retriever, there'd be no mistaking it and he doesn't do that, he's a good dog).
'Doctor': My two youngest children were ill all weekend. The seven year old was not feeling better and developed a weird rash on his face. Turns out he has a "nasty" chest infection, possibly pneumonia (just waiting to hear back from the x-ray results), and "Fifth Disease". Fifth Disease sounds worse than it is. It's just a fairly benign viral rash.
Just call me Dr. Oz. Or don't, because I'd find that fairly insulting.
So, as you can see, this day has been unparalleled in sights, sounds, and circumstance. I am a lucky lady. Lucky in love and lucky in life. I did buy myself a box of hair dye. It's a new kind that foams up. So that's exciting. It's supposed to cover 100% grey, so that's even more exciting. I do have some peanut butter cups for later.
Isn't love grand?
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Scooby Porn & Hef's Mom
My youngest son, Rhett, worries me.
He is charming, almost to a fault, handsome as hell, in love with his own penis, and today, I confirmed, the female form.
He is currently taking swimming lessons and as he is three, I take him into the women's change room to get him ready. However, I think today may have been the end of that. I say this because I practically had to put him in some sort of illegal hold to keep him from ogling a woman in the room who was changing. Some of you are thinking I need to get the stick out of my ass and accept his natural curiousity. However, I think he's past curious.
It was about a year ago when his penis fixation was at it's highest point. Check out Do You Have a Penis?; I think this will provide you with some valuable background information. Anyway, he's now less concerned with who has a penis and who doesn't and has settled into an easy acceptance of his own good fortune of having one.
Case in point, last week I was working in the dining room. He and I were the only ones home and he was watching TV in the living room. I needed a Kleenex and went into the living room to get one. Instead of finding Kleenex I found Rhett, underwear down, leisurely 'enjoying' himself whilst watching Scooby Doo. He was unconcerned. When he realized I noticed what he was doing he broke out into what could almost be described as a sly smile.
I'm all for healthy sexuality and didn't want to make him uncomfortable but did suggest that he move to his bedroom. His response? "No. I like it here." Okay then. I guess who's to argue? When you're 3 1/2 and have the good fortune of being a boy with a penis and you can hang out and watch Scooby Doo and 'explore' said penis, then why not? He did have the room to himself... I was clearly in the wrong as I was the intruder.
I don't change in front of him anymore. That too had gotten past the point of natural curiousity and his mission to see me in the buff was a little too unsettling. Although maybe not quite as unsettling as watching one's three and a half year old ogle another woman while she changed. My other two boys, who are now 16 and 7, would've looked too. They would've looked and then they would've carried on.
Rhett was mesmerized by this woman's ass.
Therefore, I advised Ryan, my husband, that from now on, he will be getting Rhett ready for swimming in the men's change room.
So that takes care of that. What it doesn't take care of his adolescence. He's turning four in May. Hormones haven't even come into play yet. I'm 33, soon to be 34. I currently have a 16 year old and a 14 year old. Forget 2 a.m. feedings, teenagers will wear you down with their mind games. And my teenagers, by most standards, are 'good'. So, in ten years or so, after surviving three other teenagers at that point, I don't know if I'll have any game left. That, coupled with the fact Rhett already has me wrapped around his little finger means I'm fucked.
So here's what I'm asking: in the next ten years ago can someone please invent a viable male birth control pill? Perhaps a condom that can be left on at all times? A Grape Vodka patch (this, of course, would be a little something for me)... Any and all other suggestions can be left in the comment section. Thanking you in advance, I, Penny Lane, mother to a junior Hugh Hefner in the making.
He is charming, almost to a fault, handsome as hell, in love with his own penis, and today, I confirmed, the female form.
He is currently taking swimming lessons and as he is three, I take him into the women's change room to get him ready. However, I think today may have been the end of that. I say this because I practically had to put him in some sort of illegal hold to keep him from ogling a woman in the room who was changing. Some of you are thinking I need to get the stick out of my ass and accept his natural curiousity. However, I think he's past curious.
It was about a year ago when his penis fixation was at it's highest point. Check out Do You Have a Penis?; I think this will provide you with some valuable background information. Anyway, he's now less concerned with who has a penis and who doesn't and has settled into an easy acceptance of his own good fortune of having one.
Case in point, last week I was working in the dining room. He and I were the only ones home and he was watching TV in the living room. I needed a Kleenex and went into the living room to get one. Instead of finding Kleenex I found Rhett, underwear down, leisurely 'enjoying' himself whilst watching Scooby Doo. He was unconcerned. When he realized I noticed what he was doing he broke out into what could almost be described as a sly smile.
I'm all for healthy sexuality and didn't want to make him uncomfortable but did suggest that he move to his bedroom. His response? "No. I like it here." Okay then. I guess who's to argue? When you're 3 1/2 and have the good fortune of being a boy with a penis and you can hang out and watch Scooby Doo and 'explore' said penis, then why not? He did have the room to himself... I was clearly in the wrong as I was the intruder.
I don't change in front of him anymore. That too had gotten past the point of natural curiousity and his mission to see me in the buff was a little too unsettling. Although maybe not quite as unsettling as watching one's three and a half year old ogle another woman while she changed. My other two boys, who are now 16 and 7, would've looked too. They would've looked and then they would've carried on.
Rhett was mesmerized by this woman's ass.
Therefore, I advised Ryan, my husband, that from now on, he will be getting Rhett ready for swimming in the men's change room.
So that takes care of that. What it doesn't take care of his adolescence. He's turning four in May. Hormones haven't even come into play yet. I'm 33, soon to be 34. I currently have a 16 year old and a 14 year old. Forget 2 a.m. feedings, teenagers will wear you down with their mind games. And my teenagers, by most standards, are 'good'. So, in ten years or so, after surviving three other teenagers at that point, I don't know if I'll have any game left. That, coupled with the fact Rhett already has me wrapped around his little finger means I'm fucked.
So here's what I'm asking: in the next ten years ago can someone please invent a viable male birth control pill? Perhaps a condom that can be left on at all times? A Grape Vodka patch (this, of course, would be a little something for me)... Any and all other suggestions can be left in the comment section. Thanking you in advance, I, Penny Lane, mother to a junior Hugh Hefner in the making.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Jesse's Girl
Today was a good day. Some of you are confused now. You're wondering, this can't be Angela a.k.a Penny Lane? It simply can't. She's angry all of the time. And bitchy.
Well fuck you because I had a good day.
My kids had a daycare day.
The End.
Just kidding.
Well, except for the part where my two youngest did actually attend daycare today. And so I worked, largely uninterrupted, for hours on end. It would've been completely without interruption if I wasn't running a petting zoo. And if I was single. Between the dogs, cats and my husband, I wasn't entirely without interruption but really it was all pretty minor in comparison to what a regular day entails.
Now, it wasn't perfect because it wouldn't be me if I didn't have something to bitch about. I was attempting to update a website and was fighting with html code and becoming thoroughly angry. Hunched here in front of my desk shouting the odd obscenity and sucking back coffee wishing it was something stronger. Perhaps something that starts with a V and ends with an A....
Anyway, at this precise moment the dogs decided they needed out. And the radio started playing New Kids on the Block. Recipe for disaster, or so you would think. Instead I changed the station and lo and behold, Jesse's Girl by Rick Springfield came on.
Some of you Judgey McJudgerson's are now questioning my taste in music but don't tell me you've never sung along to that song or danced or even tapped your foot. Don't tell me because I won't stand for your bullshit and lies. Not when we've come this far together.
Anyway, Jesse's Girl got this girl moving. And singing. To my dogs and one cat. I don't know where the other cat was but word around the house is, she's sorry she missed it. Callie, the cat who did witness this J-Lo like spectacle couldn't have been less impressed but she's a total bitch. Chuy, the puppy, looked confused but then, when doesn't he? Toby, who's been around for seven years now, didn't even look twice. It's old hat for him now.
I was busting out some of my sauciest moves. Made saucier yet by my attire of a cat hair covered hoodie and pink fuzzy slippers. And sweat pants. The day that I'm being 'saucy' in only the hairy sweatshirt and slippers but sans pants? Is the day I begin considering the merits of once again having an office job.
That being said, I was immediately cheered by my small Glee-like work break and soon after resolved my website woes. And that my friends, is why working at home really is awesome sometimes. Were I to launch into song and dance at an actual office (never mind wear nothing but hairy cotton elastic-waisted garments and slippers), I'd likely lose my job. Or at the very least people would keep their distance and question my stability. Which come to think of it, they did at my last 'office' job but mostly because they were frightened.
That had more to do with an unhealthy level of anger than unsanctioned dancing and poor wardrobe choices.
Today though, nobody questioned what was happening save for maybe Callie (the cat). And I'm telling you that bitch has had it out for me from the beginning. Truth be told, she's a real pain in the ass. Thinks nothing of finishing off the coffee but would never dream of making a fresh pot. And she always brings store bought baking to our potlucks.
I guess it's the thought that counts.
Well fuck you because I had a good day.
My kids had a daycare day.
The End.
Just kidding.
Well, except for the part where my two youngest did actually attend daycare today. And so I worked, largely uninterrupted, for hours on end. It would've been completely without interruption if I wasn't running a petting zoo. And if I was single. Between the dogs, cats and my husband, I wasn't entirely without interruption but really it was all pretty minor in comparison to what a regular day entails.
Now, it wasn't perfect because it wouldn't be me if I didn't have something to bitch about. I was attempting to update a website and was fighting with html code and becoming thoroughly angry. Hunched here in front of my desk shouting the odd obscenity and sucking back coffee wishing it was something stronger. Perhaps something that starts with a V and ends with an A....
Anyway, at this precise moment the dogs decided they needed out. And the radio started playing New Kids on the Block. Recipe for disaster, or so you would think. Instead I changed the station and lo and behold, Jesse's Girl by Rick Springfield came on.
Some of you Judgey McJudgerson's are now questioning my taste in music but don't tell me you've never sung along to that song or danced or even tapped your foot. Don't tell me because I won't stand for your bullshit and lies. Not when we've come this far together.
Anyway, Jesse's Girl got this girl moving. And singing. To my dogs and one cat. I don't know where the other cat was but word around the house is, she's sorry she missed it. Callie, the cat who did witness this J-Lo like spectacle couldn't have been less impressed but she's a total bitch. Chuy, the puppy, looked confused but then, when doesn't he? Toby, who's been around for seven years now, didn't even look twice. It's old hat for him now.
I was busting out some of my sauciest moves. Made saucier yet by my attire of a cat hair covered hoodie and pink fuzzy slippers. And sweat pants. The day that I'm being 'saucy' in only the hairy sweatshirt and slippers but sans pants? Is the day I begin considering the merits of once again having an office job.
That being said, I was immediately cheered by my small Glee-like work break and soon after resolved my website woes. And that my friends, is why working at home really is awesome sometimes. Were I to launch into song and dance at an actual office (never mind wear nothing but hairy cotton elastic-waisted garments and slippers), I'd likely lose my job. Or at the very least people would keep their distance and question my stability. Which come to think of it, they did at my last 'office' job but mostly because they were frightened.
That had more to do with an unhealthy level of anger than unsanctioned dancing and poor wardrobe choices.
Today though, nobody questioned what was happening save for maybe Callie (the cat). And I'm telling you that bitch has had it out for me from the beginning. Truth be told, she's a real pain in the ass. Thinks nothing of finishing off the coffee but would never dream of making a fresh pot. And she always brings store bought baking to our potlucks.
I guess it's the thought that counts.
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