Today was a big girl day for me. I had a small meeting of sorts in Regina so dressed up in real pants, wore make-up and jewellery and heels. It also meant a small road trip. On the way into Regina, a forty minute drive, the roads were not great and so it was more than 40 minutes. I attempted to enjoy some Fleetwood Mac but was instead annoyed with the chickenshit in front of me driving what amounted to a child's red wagon and worried as I looked at the semi and four vehicles in the ditch. Did I really need to be on the road?
Maybe, maybe not, but I did get a free golf tee out of the trip and made it there and back safely.
I also was able to shop at Chapter's thanks to my mother and her one day early birthday gift of a gift card to said store. It was like being provided with a my very own hit of heroin! To be clear, I've never done heroin nor do I want to but those folks on Intervention seem to experience quite an intense high and this is how I feel when at Chapter's.
I am nothing if not hardcore.
I bought some books and a another notebook-y, to-do list agenda type of thing and still have a whole $5 left on the gift card. I then went to Starbucks and got a Caramel Macchiato and a brownie type of bar. And then I carried on home fueled by my two best friends, caffeine and sugar.
I literally have said: "Hello, Lover" to both coffee/chocolate items a few times in as many days. It's a line from Sex and the City uttered by Sarah Jessica Parker to shoes? a man? I don't remember and now my friends who are more devoted fans than I are rolling their eyes and silently shaming me.
The caffeine and sugar quickly kicked in and before I knew it I was performing a high-spirited rockin' rendition of 'Kiss with a Fist'. I do not know who sings it. I'm not even sure if that's the title. What I am sure of is how much I rocked at it and that someone should get it on film. I later switched gears and harmonized (snort) with Willie Nelson on his version of 'Always on My Mind'. There I sat crooning and swaying about how maybe "I didn't treat you as good as I should have" when I was prompted to shout "Cocksucker!" in a bout of Tourette's spurred by an asshole driver.
Seriously, when is someone going to outfit my vehicle with a camera? This is Jersey Shore material here. Except I will never ever be DTF on camera. Nor will I tan. I am vain and although I want to tan (not to Jersey Shore levels, mind you) I do not want to spark any further premature aging. My hair is already likely at least 40% grey; I do not need to add leathery skin to the mix. This is also why I carry around these extra five (twenty) pounds. To fill out the wrinkles and keep my skin looking soft and supple.
If you believe that? We should be friends.
For now it's off to scarf on some of the chocolate that accompanied my gift card today. Life is good.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Again, You Must Travel
It's that oh so special week where one must travel over to PMS Chronicles to read my brilliant musings....
Monday, March 21, 2011
Common Denominator
My children were recently given their report cards. The teenagers received theirs last week but only brought them home today. Not for the reason you'd think though. My first grader brought his home today.
The verdict? They are all geniuses and further to that, they have me to thank for excelling academically, socially, athletically and of course, for their looks.
I'm a winner.
Sorry.
So, let's back that up a bit. The teenagers share the same DNA. That is, their father was my first husband. The first grader, along with Rhett, the 3 year old, share the same father, my current (and forever) husband. So, when it comes down to how academically gifted they are? I appear to be the common denominator. It's basic math.
I'm smart. I will not comment on my ex-husband's level of intelligence, but will say, again, that I am intelligent. As are the two children born of that relationship. Ryan, my now and forever husband? Possesses more common sense than I. I have asked him some of the stupidest questions in the free world but they are never about things like literature or mathematics or biology. It's about time zones or hockey or something else basic that most people who are verbal can comprehend. That being said, when discussing Reese's report card, we are talking about academics, not time zones and he's smart. And so am I. Common Denominator.
Need I say more?
I may have gotten slightly carried away with the athletic part of things. In fact, I may have lied. I have to admit this should any of you ever witness any attempt I make to play volleyball, swim or skate. And forget baseball. The last time I attempted to play Slo-Pitch I nearly garnered a concussion playing catch. I treated the head injury with a jello shot and a cigarette though, so no permanent damage was done. Ah, to be 23 again...
Socially? Well that's all me again. At least when it comes to the two older children. My ex-husband is a nice enough person but contact with another human being often leaves him looking like a deer in the headlights. I know, I'm the one who married him...remember the lack of common sense plays a big part in some of the misguided choices I've made in life.
The little boys are in a different boat. The two older children are a nice balance of not knowing when to shut up (me) and not being able to speak aloud outside one's own home (ex). They are lovely people and well liked by peers, teachers and most people they meet. The little boys? Well they are 'blessed' with the gift of two very social parents. This, I fear, will spell big trouble in the years to come...should I still be blogging, their adolescent antics should provide enough fodder for an honest to goodness book.
And looks...well just take a look at my profile picture. Do you know anyone else besides myself and Steven Tyler who can rock a scarf like that?
And if you're at all taking this seriously you need to take a few minutes to go back and read up. I swear to God I'm not an actual egomaniac. Just of above average intelligence, looks and social skills. Oh, and I'm one hell of a writer!
The verdict? They are all geniuses and further to that, they have me to thank for excelling academically, socially, athletically and of course, for their looks.
I'm a winner.
Sorry.
So, let's back that up a bit. The teenagers share the same DNA. That is, their father was my first husband. The first grader, along with Rhett, the 3 year old, share the same father, my current (and forever) husband. So, when it comes down to how academically gifted they are? I appear to be the common denominator. It's basic math.
I'm smart. I will not comment on my ex-husband's level of intelligence, but will say, again, that I am intelligent. As are the two children born of that relationship. Ryan, my now and forever husband? Possesses more common sense than I. I have asked him some of the stupidest questions in the free world but they are never about things like literature or mathematics or biology. It's about time zones or hockey or something else basic that most people who are verbal can comprehend. That being said, when discussing Reese's report card, we are talking about academics, not time zones and he's smart. And so am I. Common Denominator.
Need I say more?
I may have gotten slightly carried away with the athletic part of things. In fact, I may have lied. I have to admit this should any of you ever witness any attempt I make to play volleyball, swim or skate. And forget baseball. The last time I attempted to play Slo-Pitch I nearly garnered a concussion playing catch. I treated the head injury with a jello shot and a cigarette though, so no permanent damage was done. Ah, to be 23 again...
Socially? Well that's all me again. At least when it comes to the two older children. My ex-husband is a nice enough person but contact with another human being often leaves him looking like a deer in the headlights. I know, I'm the one who married him...remember the lack of common sense plays a big part in some of the misguided choices I've made in life.
The little boys are in a different boat. The two older children are a nice balance of not knowing when to shut up (me) and not being able to speak aloud outside one's own home (ex). They are lovely people and well liked by peers, teachers and most people they meet. The little boys? Well they are 'blessed' with the gift of two very social parents. This, I fear, will spell big trouble in the years to come...should I still be blogging, their adolescent antics should provide enough fodder for an honest to goodness book.
And looks...well just take a look at my profile picture. Do you know anyone else besides myself and Steven Tyler who can rock a scarf like that?
And if you're at all taking this seriously you need to take a few minutes to go back and read up. I swear to God I'm not an actual egomaniac. Just of above average intelligence, looks and social skills. Oh, and I'm one hell of a writer!
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Sinatra Inspires Shameful Confessions
I am inspired and cheerful at present. My house smells like a fabulous combination of coconut and lemon instead of it's usual stench of pets and gas. 'Megamind' is on in the background and I so enjoy Will Ferrell. But this is not where it ends.
For my more faithful followers you may recall a longing I shared a few weeks back about a notebook. It is actually a journal. And? It is currently in my hot little hands. Did I strike it rich? Nope. I actually fondled said journals just last Wednesday when I was at Indigo Books in Saskatoon. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to engage in such a frivolous purchase and instead bought a discount book for $7.
Nope, friends, I now am in possession of these journals because of the many worthwhile connections I have made since moving to a city I once despised and swore I'd never live in.
Sinatra.
Not ringing any bells? Check this out; she is the thrower of the still un-contested most fabulous baby shower of all time.
I met Sinatra through 'Stacey'. They recently went to Vegas together and stumbled upon a giant rabbit. It was all very Hangover-ish.
Anyway, I went to swimming lessons tonight. Not for myself, for Rhett. We were nearly there when it was discovered we had forgotten his actual swimming trunks and towel. So back home we went. Once at the pool I nearly took off the poor kid's nose with his sweater while undressing him at mock speed. Got him in the water and went to join Sinatra, Stacey, and Sinatra's kind-but-elderly husband, George (not his real name, but George seems to embody a sweet befuddled-ness that comes only with age).
I was hot, frazzled and felt like ass.
Then, mere moments after sitting down, Sinatra presented me with not one, but two of the coveted journals.
It was all I could do but to stop myself from fondling these fresh new journals in an obscene and likely disturbing manner to the others seated on the bleachers. I was thrilled. The only thing missing were the Cosmos.
I was immediately inspired to blog and couldn't wait to get home to do so. I couldn't read the one with quotes in it on the way home because that would make me carsick (I'm a true nerd at heart) but I did hold them.
There is one other item worth mentioning here....I asked Ryan to take Rhett to change to prevent the ogling of women. Turns out he not only likes to observe women. Apparently while Rhett was changing, a man was as well. Said man was naked at one point. This led Rhett to observe, vocally, that this man, in fact, has the same penis as his dad. As in: "Dad, that guy has the same penis as you!" He, from the sounds of it, was quite pleased with this discovery. I am quite pleased Ryan has been able to share in some of the joys of parenting Rhett to the fullest.
"I don't have pet peeves, I have whole kennels of irritation." Whoopi Goldberg. I detest 'The View' as well as Whoopi on 'The View', but I like this very much. The journal is rife with quotes of similar nature. Guaranteed to make this bitch smile on the worst of days!
And so I shall write in it and come up with my own very quotable quotes.
And finally, as a small thank you to Sinatra, I will make a confession that nearly makes me vomit out of pure shame: Sometimes, I sing along to Michael Buble.
For my more faithful followers you may recall a longing I shared a few weeks back about a notebook. It is actually a journal. And? It is currently in my hot little hands. Did I strike it rich? Nope. I actually fondled said journals just last Wednesday when I was at Indigo Books in Saskatoon. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to engage in such a frivolous purchase and instead bought a discount book for $7.
Nope, friends, I now am in possession of these journals because of the many worthwhile connections I have made since moving to a city I once despised and swore I'd never live in.
Sinatra.
Not ringing any bells? Check this out; she is the thrower of the still un-contested most fabulous baby shower of all time.
I met Sinatra through 'Stacey'. They recently went to Vegas together and stumbled upon a giant rabbit. It was all very Hangover-ish.
Anyway, I went to swimming lessons tonight. Not for myself, for Rhett. We were nearly there when it was discovered we had forgotten his actual swimming trunks and towel. So back home we went. Once at the pool I nearly took off the poor kid's nose with his sweater while undressing him at mock speed. Got him in the water and went to join Sinatra, Stacey, and Sinatra's kind-but-elderly husband, George (not his real name, but George seems to embody a sweet befuddled-ness that comes only with age).
I was hot, frazzled and felt like ass.
Then, mere moments after sitting down, Sinatra presented me with not one, but two of the coveted journals.
It was all I could do but to stop myself from fondling these fresh new journals in an obscene and likely disturbing manner to the others seated on the bleachers. I was thrilled. The only thing missing were the Cosmos.
I was immediately inspired to blog and couldn't wait to get home to do so. I couldn't read the one with quotes in it on the way home because that would make me carsick (I'm a true nerd at heart) but I did hold them.
There is one other item worth mentioning here....I asked Ryan to take Rhett to change to prevent the ogling of women. Turns out he not only likes to observe women. Apparently while Rhett was changing, a man was as well. Said man was naked at one point. This led Rhett to observe, vocally, that this man, in fact, has the same penis as his dad. As in: "Dad, that guy has the same penis as you!" He, from the sounds of it, was quite pleased with this discovery. I am quite pleased Ryan has been able to share in some of the joys of parenting Rhett to the fullest.
"I don't have pet peeves, I have whole kennels of irritation." Whoopi Goldberg. I detest 'The View' as well as Whoopi on 'The View', but I like this very much. The journal is rife with quotes of similar nature. Guaranteed to make this bitch smile on the worst of days!
And so I shall write in it and come up with my own very quotable quotes.
And finally, as a small thank you to Sinatra, I will make a confession that nearly makes me vomit out of pure shame: Sometimes, I sing along to Michael Buble.
Monday, March 7, 2011
I Didn't Mean To
I have had an incredibly productive day on the home front. And now I am exhausted and would kill for a nap. This level of fatigue combined with four children and a sugar crash are a dangerous combination.
My day began with registering my youngest for Pre-Kindergarten. Actually let's back that up. The day began with getting everyone and myself ready and then driving my daughter to school, stopping for a much needed coffee, and then carrying on to the elementary school to drop off Reese (in Grade 1) and register Rhett.
We sat in chairs thoughtfully provided to us by staff and filled out paperwork. Rhett sat between myself and one of my very best good friends. My coffee, another one of my very best good friends, sat on the floor between Rhett and I. Rhett was bored and wanted no part of this process this morning and was fidgety. At least twice I asked him to watch out for my coffee. Yes, I should have just moved it. I should've have moved it because after the second or third time I told him to watch out, he said, in a monotone: "Sorry, Mom".
It took a minute to register and then I looked at floor and saw the rapidly spreading puddle of coffee.
Fuck.
So the vice-principal, whom I happen to be related too (kind of distantly), proceeded to bring me some paper towel. You know, that brown stiff kind that has the absorbency of a paper bag. Then he mopped up the remainder of the mess.
All the while, his thin wife, wearing make-up, was sitting across from my fiasco with her two clean well behaved little girls. Rhett was relatively clean. I am not thin nor was I wearing make-up and Rhett was doing his best to not be well behaved.
This afternoon was spent cleaning while trying to keep Rhett entertained. This means he "helped" me with the dishes and he "helped" me with the vacuuming and the laundry. Then for whatever Godforsaken reason we had to 'race' across the living room floor. Then we baked cookies. Then finally, he relented and agreed to watch a movie. I let him eat three cookies and watch TV. Bad parenting?
Nope.
You see, I'm still sober. Had he not relented, I cannot promise that would be the case.
I did enjoy a cookie or two (five) myself. Which explains the sugar crash. You'd think I'd learn but given my proclivity for both sugar and alcohol, and repeated hangovers and sugar crashes, it's not happening. This is the one area in life where I can honestly say I'm a slow learner.
Well, that and a great deal of sports-related topics.
Okay, well I just had to take a little writing break to hobble off the couch and state: "I didn't mean to have four kids either, but here we are" while putting Rhett on a time out. His newest trick is blatantly disobeying us and then when we move towards disciplining him he pleads "I didn't mean to!". So obviously, the best parents respond with a sarcastic comment regarding misguided family planning...
And I'm hobbling because my body reacts to financial stress by completely seizing up on the left side. Isn't that fun? So after sitting still here for the last twenty minutes, my gait resembles someone with a stick shoved up their you-know-what.
Never mind a nap. Never mind a cookie. I need something much stronger. I need daycare!
And tomorrow, I get just that to allow me some uninterrupted work-time. I've never looked more forward to work in my life.
So yes, daycare is the solution. And maybe just one more cookie?
My day began with registering my youngest for Pre-Kindergarten. Actually let's back that up. The day began with getting everyone and myself ready and then driving my daughter to school, stopping for a much needed coffee, and then carrying on to the elementary school to drop off Reese (in Grade 1) and register Rhett.
We sat in chairs thoughtfully provided to us by staff and filled out paperwork. Rhett sat between myself and one of my very best good friends. My coffee, another one of my very best good friends, sat on the floor between Rhett and I. Rhett was bored and wanted no part of this process this morning and was fidgety. At least twice I asked him to watch out for my coffee. Yes, I should have just moved it. I should've have moved it because after the second or third time I told him to watch out, he said, in a monotone: "Sorry, Mom".
It took a minute to register and then I looked at floor and saw the rapidly spreading puddle of coffee.
Fuck.
So the vice-principal, whom I happen to be related too (kind of distantly), proceeded to bring me some paper towel. You know, that brown stiff kind that has the absorbency of a paper bag. Then he mopped up the remainder of the mess.
All the while, his thin wife, wearing make-up, was sitting across from my fiasco with her two clean well behaved little girls. Rhett was relatively clean. I am not thin nor was I wearing make-up and Rhett was doing his best to not be well behaved.
This afternoon was spent cleaning while trying to keep Rhett entertained. This means he "helped" me with the dishes and he "helped" me with the vacuuming and the laundry. Then for whatever Godforsaken reason we had to 'race' across the living room floor. Then we baked cookies. Then finally, he relented and agreed to watch a movie. I let him eat three cookies and watch TV. Bad parenting?
Nope.
You see, I'm still sober. Had he not relented, I cannot promise that would be the case.
I did enjoy a cookie or two (five) myself. Which explains the sugar crash. You'd think I'd learn but given my proclivity for both sugar and alcohol, and repeated hangovers and sugar crashes, it's not happening. This is the one area in life where I can honestly say I'm a slow learner.
Well, that and a great deal of sports-related topics.
Okay, well I just had to take a little writing break to hobble off the couch and state: "I didn't mean to have four kids either, but here we are" while putting Rhett on a time out. His newest trick is blatantly disobeying us and then when we move towards disciplining him he pleads "I didn't mean to!". So obviously, the best parents respond with a sarcastic comment regarding misguided family planning...
And I'm hobbling because my body reacts to financial stress by completely seizing up on the left side. Isn't that fun? So after sitting still here for the last twenty minutes, my gait resembles someone with a stick shoved up their you-know-what.
Never mind a nap. Never mind a cookie. I need something much stronger. I need daycare!
And tomorrow, I get just that to allow me some uninterrupted work-time. I've never looked more forward to work in my life.
So yes, daycare is the solution. And maybe just one more cookie?
Friday, March 4, 2011
Cookies & Crack
I went to Chapter's last night. By myself. Without money. That's like sending Charlie Sheen to a brothel without his penis or blow. It was almost physically uncomfortable. So many books. Office supplies. Fun sarcastic sticky notes and notebooks in and on which I could and would create. Books books books. Funny books. Sad books. Biographies. Hair magazines.
And what did I buy?
Zip. Zero. Nada. Nothing.
I simply basked in the glow of the atmosphere and longed for a some Godiva chocolates and to live back in the city where I could go to Chapter's more than once every three months. Oh and money. I longed for money. Money that would allow me to enter the store and buy whatever caught my fancy.
tee hee. My fancy. That's what I'm calling 'it' now.
Just kidding. But seriously they have these new notebooks there now that are super cool. I must have them and I will. My birthday is at the end of the month and I've already decided I will be requesting a gift card. I keep asking for one CD that I've yet to get so I'm going to give up on that and go the gift card route and get me some new notebooks. I can also go into Staples and get just as excited about the stationary and office supplies there.
It's a sad strange addiction.
As is my addiction to cookies. Which I baked this afternoon. So that's awesome. I have freshly baked oatmeal chocolate chip cookies in my house. And milk. So now I'm bloated. Instead of "seven rocks" a day like our friend Charlie, I have approximately put away seven cookies and a glass of milk at this point. So instead of having a hangover (or withdrawal-whatever Mr. Sheen's demon is), I am bloated and tired and working my way quickly to a Type 2 Diabetes diagnosis before I'm 40.
And it's Friday. Friday night, right? Good times. Um, yeah, no. Instead I'll likely watch recorded episodes of Grey's Anatomy or Harry's Law and Chelsea Lately. Hopefully Shameless too. I have wine. And vodka, but I am so tired (long week + sugar crash) that having a drink doesn't even appeal to me at this point. I want only to sleep. And eat vast amounts of comfort food. And buy a new notebook.
I don't think these are outlandish requests but, like Charlie Sheen, the planets are currently aligning against me. He and I are simply and sadly misunderstood.
Penny & Charlie
Charlie & Penny
Cookies & Crack
Crack & Cookies....it's all really just the same.
Well, except that Charlie could actually buy himself an actual Chapter's franchise and I can't even get a fucking notebook. That just doesn't seem fair.
I need another cookie.
And what did I buy?
Zip. Zero. Nada. Nothing.
I simply basked in the glow of the atmosphere and longed for a some Godiva chocolates and to live back in the city where I could go to Chapter's more than once every three months. Oh and money. I longed for money. Money that would allow me to enter the store and buy whatever caught my fancy.
tee hee. My fancy. That's what I'm calling 'it' now.
Just kidding. But seriously they have these new notebooks there now that are super cool. I must have them and I will. My birthday is at the end of the month and I've already decided I will be requesting a gift card. I keep asking for one CD that I've yet to get so I'm going to give up on that and go the gift card route and get me some new notebooks. I can also go into Staples and get just as excited about the stationary and office supplies there.
It's a sad strange addiction.
As is my addiction to cookies. Which I baked this afternoon. So that's awesome. I have freshly baked oatmeal chocolate chip cookies in my house. And milk. So now I'm bloated. Instead of "seven rocks" a day like our friend Charlie, I have approximately put away seven cookies and a glass of milk at this point. So instead of having a hangover (or withdrawal-whatever Mr. Sheen's demon is), I am bloated and tired and working my way quickly to a Type 2 Diabetes diagnosis before I'm 40.
And it's Friday. Friday night, right? Good times. Um, yeah, no. Instead I'll likely watch recorded episodes of Grey's Anatomy or Harry's Law and Chelsea Lately. Hopefully Shameless too. I have wine. And vodka, but I am so tired (long week + sugar crash) that having a drink doesn't even appeal to me at this point. I want only to sleep. And eat vast amounts of comfort food. And buy a new notebook.
I don't think these are outlandish requests but, like Charlie Sheen, the planets are currently aligning against me. He and I are simply and sadly misunderstood.
Penny & Charlie
Charlie & Penny
Cookies & Crack
Crack & Cookies....it's all really just the same.
Well, except that Charlie could actually buy himself an actual Chapter's franchise and I can't even get a fucking notebook. That just doesn't seem fair.
I need another cookie.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)