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.

I am Celiac

Okay, first things first, I had a few Cosmos tonight.  You need to know this before you read anything.  Secondly: I lost a follower today!! Maybe the "not all babies are cute and I don't like dogs" really did it's damage.  Who knew?  Have a sense of humour people.

Okay, now down to serious business. I am drunk. Why?  I went to a baby shower and let me tell you, if you've ever not become intoxicated at a baby shower, you haven't lived.  This is probably the first time it's happened to me, but with any luck at all, it won't be the last. 

We didn't play games.  We ate.  We drank.  Stacey opened her gifts and Eskimo Pie donned her jeggings.  Life. is. Good.

Then, things got really serious. Celiac Disease; it's no joke. 

Once upon a time I may have went to party where people spoke about having some bad weed or maybe a rotten acid trip. These days, it's all about the wheat and dairy.  It's criminal the way wheat will fuck a girl up.  The bloating in and of itself...well there are no words.

Celiac, who is actually a friend, a good massage giving, nice girl, "not so bright" (in the words of Sinatra herself; who the fuck is Sinatra? The Divine Bringer of Cosmos...not unlike Mary and her gift of baby Jesus), well she is abused by wheat and the dairy.  So she finger raped a piece of cake tonight for it's frosting. 

I couldn't make this shit up.

Is there a point?  I don't know.  My house smells like cat piss because my fat cat, not to be confused with the mobster,  has taken to urinating outside of the litter box.  It, for the record, is a GIANT RUBBERMAID CONTAINER.  It's not even a regulation size litter box.  What is her deal?

My husband, who is sober and watching Discovery Channel, does not find me nearly as funny as I do.  Weird.

With that said: My name is Angela and I am celiac.  It's been one hour since I last consumed wheat.

No applause people, please; just share your story.