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What’s in the trunk?

10 Mar

You know…sometimes, I’m comforted knowing that, to a certain extent, the gene pool cleans itself out.

I mean, really, what’s smarter than killing your own Mom, leaving her in the trunk for a month, and “car-surfing” on top of said car down the street? And you can’t figure out where to dump a body after two tries?

Winners, as usual. I guess true colors always appear at the best times.

Britney Spears-Bald and Crazy?

18 Feb

baldy.jpg

Look at her eyes and tell me she isn’t manic. Tell me.

Is it attention, or is she as sick as she looks?

I don’t normally comment on celebrity crap since I don’t really care, but you can’t escape this “GASP! Shaved her head and OMFG! got a tattoo!” stuff that’s everywhere.

I can’t help but wonder though. Most bipolars go through manic periods where they are hypersexual, taking stupid risks, doing things that are relatively out of character.

I don’t care who you are. Marrying a walking vienna sausage like K-Fed is out of character. He’s a bloody troll.

She’s virtually ruined her career for a small time creep. She’s popped two kids out and divorced him. She’s been flashing her cooch at cameras, and now shaves her head, in public.

Could be a publicity stunt, but I keep staring at her and wondering what’s going on in her head. Is she spiralling and can’t control it? I know that feeling-it’s scary and exhilarating at the same time. She’s a mother, and yet, does she parent? Is she able to?

I normally can’t stand this woman, but something about her right now makes me incredibly sad. In many cultures, cutting all hair is a sign of mourning.

But hey, it could just be a brilliant PR stunt. But I can’t help but feel it’s something more.

Why do groups of women go bad?

16 Feb

Now that trainwrecks is gone, I have a new source of stupidity.

Joy, thy name is Blogging Baby.

I used to frequent this site, and enjoyed the discussions that arose. Many times people didn’t agree, but generally speaking, everyone stopped short of namecalling, personal attacks and general stupidity.

No more my friends. No more.

There’s this thread, where the poster is accused of only posting non inclusive breastfeeding posts.

There’s this thread where the poster is called “snookums” and accused of being defensive about being a SAHM, along with some low level dig at socialist countries.

There’s this thread where the “nazi lactivists” get going.

This thread with a little bit of name calling.

And my personal favorite, this thread about the evils of ear piercing.

I met a lot of my “online friends” on this website, and I go back and “lurk” from time to time because occasionally something interesting is posted. But any kind of forum needs moderation, doesn’t it? I can’t see the benefit of people calling each other bitter, idiots, “a bit much” or many of the other things thrown around. I’m not a big fan of there being someone telling you what to do everywhere, but what once was a nice place to talk about issues related to parenting now seems to be a free for all where the morons of the world can unite and berate those who don’t agree with them.

What gives? Why did it start to suck so bad? Why do online forums always seem destined to fail? Why is it that no group of women can ever refrain from beating each other up? Women talk about “inclusivity”-calling someone lazy or stupid hardly seems like the way to foster this.

I liked having a place where I could go to “meet” other mothers & fathers, and talk about some of the issues I’ve been grappling with, and read how other parents have handled it. But anymore, even lurking makes me want to rip my hair out and scream because it’s nothing more than a bunch of people standing around stomping their feet and acting like brats.

I thought growing up meant you left this kind of BS in high school.

Regardless, if you need to feel a teeny bit superior today, go browse some of the threads. There’s always a trainwreck anymore.

14 Feb

I can’t stop looking at my stats.

I don’t make any money from this (duh), and I’m not writing for anyone but myself. I seem to have a core group of people which doesn’t expand too much since I’m too lazy to be out and about the internet. I’m not famous or popular. I’m just another chick with a blog.

So why am I bloody obsessed with checking my stats, and figuring out why everyone seems to not read on certain days? Why? It doesn’t really matter after all.

Today i’ll understand, because I have nothing to talk about, and we’re getting a storm. WOOT!

psst.

12 Feb

I have a headache. I’m toying with the thought of eliminating caffeine from my diet again, and 8 hours into the day, I caved for a Diet Coke. My head is killing me, and if it can’t be defeated by drugs, it’s usually caffeine.

The one thing making me happy right now? Listening to psapp.

And the knowledge that I’ll be going home in 1.5 hours.

It’s snowing out, blowing, nasty snow. Not pretty fluffy snow like in the movies. Why does snow always go from pretty to nasty before and after Christmas, like a drunk prom queen? I hate that. It’s just cold, and I’m getting fairly waspish and incoherent.

The other thing making me happy-my back doesn’t hurt as much. I can move now, but I still take the drugs. I had a bad day Friday, and have this nagging feeling this is gonna be a problem for the rest of my life. It hurts if I walk too much.

I need to go get blood work done. Which means getting up stupid early. Then I need a foot xray. Then work.

le sigh.

Evil day cometh

8 Feb

That’s right. Feb 14th is almost here.

Soon, I’ll stop getting jewellry flyers with the paper. I’ll stop wondering why I want a diamond so much. Do I really want one? Why do I want one? Sure, they’re pretty and sparkly, but why do I really want one? It’s not like I have a ring to match or something. It’s not like I’m girly.

Yet I still want one of those little suckers.

I’m trying to figure out what to get the Dorf, which is hard. To begin with, I’m making a damn card. I found a cute one today, and nearly bought it until I noticed they wanted 6.50 for it. WTF! He never gets me a card with anything nice and romantic in it, so why in the HELL would I spend money I could use for lunch on something he’ll just forget about.

I mean, 6.50!?!?! For a CARD?

Jebbus.

I’m all over the chocolate angle for him-he likes certain kinds, and we’re good that way. But I want to get him something special, and aside from writing him something, I don’t know what. He’s not a jewellry guy, and I don’t really want to buy a CD. I want to do something meaningful.

Which means my ideas are stuff I wish he’d do for me.

Guys are HARD man.

Any thoughts? Clues? Suggestions? (and I did 365 Kisses in a jar one year. He didn’t eat them all)

I’m watching the Superbowl and wondering…

4 Feb

do I need to be male, and American to get what’s so exciting about this? I’m kinda bored, and wondering how many people in those stands will have pneumonia tomorrow.

Happy Lube Day?

29 Jan

So, imagine, you’re a desperate husband running around on February 13th, trying to figure out what the hell to get your wife.

You’re tearing through the pharmacy, ending up in the condom aisle out of habit (second only to the antacids). You stare blindly, eyes darting around, searching for any hint you might find. Suddenly, you spy a small red foil heart dangling from a bottle.

SCORE! you think, snatching the bottle, making a dash for the cash register, stopping only to grab a nice, girly gift bag. You pay, feel proud at the relatively low price, and head home, satisfied that your work is done, and you will, once again, avoid that special place in the house, set up specifically for men who forget important opportunities for purchasing the wife something nice. You’re proud.

You sleep well. You set up the bag in a nice place where she’ll see it, arrange the bottle nicely inside, and head down for breakfast. You hear her rise, stumble into the bathroom, and stop. You hear a slam. Another slam. Some thumping down the stairs.

You choke just a little on your bagel.

The devil, or, the woman who used to be your wife, glares around the corner at you. You see a small red foil heart dangling from her hand.

“Sweetie?” you sputter. “You…like your gift?”

You duck in time to avoid the bottle. It splashes against the wall, sliding down to the floor.

You dress rather quickly, wondering what exactly your wife found so rude about some nice warming lube for Valentine’s Day.

gel.jpg

Have you seen this new commercial for “warming jelly”? I know nothing says I love you to me like a big jebbus bottle of lube.

What next? Here Honey, a nice jumbo box of BCP? I get that it’s a big money grab, and sex is part of it, but are we that dumb? Are men that dumb?

Wait. don’t answer that.

Numb3rs

23 Jan

So I have a friend who shall remain nameless. Said friend is in a new relationship with a really sweet, gentle guy, a little older, definitely marriage/kids material. I’ve never heard her talk about someone like this-you know how, in that “my mind is full of this person, my heart is ready to burst, and I want to inhale them” kind of way. I recognize it after all. I was like that, once upon a time.

Everything she’s told me, this guy is perfect for her. He sounds like a nice, sensitive guy for her. (not my cup of tea but hey, it’s not me)

So she’s telling me about the inevitable conversation of any new relationship, the “numbers” conversation.

You know the one folks. The one that the guy will always bring up. The one that guys will always be annoyed, disbelieving and/or upset at the answers to. She disregarded the question, but then answered, becoming annoyed at HIM for not believing her rather small number. She ignored it some more, in favour of beer.

A few pints later, she asked him what his was.

“20 or so”

She told me she could barely speak for the rest of the night, she just couldn’t make it compute.

Nice, gentle pony tail boy have what seems to be one partner a year for the last 14 years or so, assuming his “proclivities” started when most kids do. Nice, only had 3 serious relationships boy. Gentle boy has had more partners than her and I together.

It’s not the number that bothers her necessarily. It’s the disconnect between his personality, and this number. He doesn’t seem the type to have slept with that many people outside of a relationship. And he’s only told her about 6, so she’s wondering about the other 14 or so people, and wondering what he might have “kept” from each.

So folks, what number is “too many”? My thought is that in this case, it could have been the college crazies or something like it-we all have that phase when we sleep with, or try to sleep with everything we can find. But should we consider 20 people too many? At what age is that too many? 30? 40? 18?

I just want my tupperware back

9 Jan

Question.

Who steals a tupperware container half full of food which I had already eaten from? Was someone that hungry? Did they want the container? Are people that nasty and gross that no one is safe, regardless of where they work or what door the food is locked behind?

 If I hadn’t obviously eaten from it and LEFT THE FORK in it, I could understand. But obviously someone who has worked here awhile is a gross pig.

I guess that was a few questions wasn’t it.

I have a problem

5 Jan

It’s in the nature of an addiction.

I can’t stop buying cookbooks.

betty.jpg

At this point, I must have about 30 at least. Today’s find was a Betty Crocker Cookbook which I had been lusting after for the past month. It reminds me of this cookbook my mother had that had all the instructions on how to do the simple things.

I buy a lot of these. Half of it is because I’m afraid I won’t be around to teach my girls how to boil eggs or make muffins or do the millions of things my mother isn’t around to even ask about. I want to leave them a legacy in food I suppose, something real to connect them to their childhood. A piece of my life I’m missing. The other half, I dunno.

When I buy cookbooks lately, there needs to be pictures, lovely, in color, pictures of at least half the stuff, or I don’t want it. (The Dorf scored the perfect one the Xmas before last) The font must be the exact font I prefer. The colors must be right. It needs to be big enough to read, but not so big it takes up the counter.

It’s almost obsessive really. I tend to cook the same 10-20 items, since I’m not a big experimenter. So what it is? What drives me to buy these pretty little books. 🙂

O Little town of Bewilderment.

22 Dec

So I was raised Roman Catholic, baptised, confirmed, all that good stuff.

Only problem is I’m an atheist, and have been since I would guess, about 10 or 12. Some of that was my reaction to my mother dying a slow disgusting death from cancer. Some of it was my own brain coming into full effect, and realizing I didn’t believe all the crap I was being fed. It made no sense, and sometimes, it scared me. But 16, I knew I didn’t believe, and never would.

I’m sitting here listening to Christmas carols with my daughters, and growing uncomfortable with the amount of “christ” references in the songs. And I don’t quite know how to handle my own misgivings.

Full disclosure-I loved the church we went to because they had one of the best choirs around, and few things will make your soul swell like the sound of a 50 person choir singing “Angels we have heard on high” at the end of midnight mass, as you walk out into a clear cold night. I sang in that choir once, and loved it. I loved the simple harmonies in many hymns, I loved the power in the carols, or the simple quiet reverence in others. I might have read a book through the mass, but I was up like a ramrod singing when the time came.

I was once able to hit every note in “How great thou art” no way in hell I could do that now.

I loved the ceremony of mass, the comfort you can find in any group of people. I loved the idea of singing to someone, singing out of gladness, out of love and joy.

But it was never truly mine-it always seemed like a lie, even as a small child. But I loved those songs.

Sitting here singing “O come, O come Emmanuel” brings back memories, good and bad. Memories of my mother, dressed for mass, sitting on the altar for the children’s mass, upgrading to the midnight mass. Nights full of family, chocolate and beer. Friends.

I feel wrong singing these songs now. I do not believe in this god, and I hate hypocrites. Am I one? How can I sing a song meant as worship when I worship none? How can I sing a song my mother once loved, and believed so fully?

Tid Bits on Thursday

21 Dec
  • OMFG Ros STINKS-how can one child reek so very much? She eats exactly what the rest of us do, but for some reason, it’s like the clean up boat from the love canal has drifted into our house. I talk about it all the time because it’s unfreaking believable.
  • Mogo dropped a “tre-semme ooh la la!” bottle on his foot and you’d think he cut his foot off, instead,  Now, the whining, it commences. And continues. ON and ON. It’s driving me insane. My foot has been killing me for months, and I just deal with it. Him? Every step is like labour pains if you listened to the sounds and the cussing. I’m ready to actually hurt him just so that he has something real to complain about. What is it about men that makes them act like self sacrificing cows when something hurts? I can have the flu out both ends, and I’m STILL running around. Whiner.
  • Speaking of the Mogo, he went grocery shopping with me today. Ho-ly FUCK was that annoying. Instead of asking, “hey, can we get this?” he’d start whining and pouting like I did. At 12. FSM already, just ASK for the calzones. I mean, come ON. I’m not your Mom. He also whined the entire time pushing the buggy about how difficult it was to turn as it got full. I casually mentioned how delightful that was to do both times at 8 months pregnant, especially when I was at that loose hipped waddle stage. He shut the hell up about then.
  • Vivian will not fuck off with the Mario Brothers. I’m glad she’s all retro and stuff, but come on. If I hear this fucking music one more time…..

My Thursday has been uneventful and long frankly. I hate waiting for Xmas. I know there are presents for me here somewhere. I just have to find them.

So. What’s going on in your life?

My name is Dora, and we watch too much TV.

12 Dec

Oh, the horrors, I know.

But my kids watch TV-about 2 hours a day, on average. Some days none, somedays, likely too much animal planet. And you know? I’m getting sick of feeling guilty about it.

The hordes of anti-TV people are everywhere, patting themselves self righteously on the back for only letting their children watch “personally selected” DVD’s that are “appropriate” for them. Sesame Street. Baby Einstein. And the multitude of other TV Shows marketed to parents as “good” for their kids. No cartoons for their kids, no sir, only good  honest “learning” TV for them, and the rest of the day-find something to do! I’ll just sit here and tell the internet about how awesome a parent I  for not letting my children watch any of that evil boob tube.

YAWN.

Anyone who has met my oldest daughter marvels at her vocabulary. And yes, some of that is because we have made a concerted effort from birth to NOT talk to her like a gibbering moron, but rather, as a person. But the other half-sorry folks, that’s TV.

When she turns to me and starts talking about red-bellied piranhas and how they bite and hurt people who go in the water, I know it’s not just her sitting there “reading” her books-it’s from interacting with us, as well as watching shows on Animal Planet, where the knowledge is connected for her. When she asked me what her conscience was, that was from watching Finding Nemo, and finally connecting that one scene, and asking me, and opening a dialogue. When I have to explain for the nth time, that animals aren’t good or bad, they just ARE, that’s, well, that’s just normal life.

But her life, and her mind, have been enriched by watching some television. Sure, she likes to watch the odd show like Strawberry Shortcake, which I let her watch so long as I sit there to mute the commercials (I loved Strawberry Shortcake as a child, and I didn’t even have cable). but mostly, she’d rather watch the animals, or How It’s Made, or something interesting. Even Hi5, so she can dance, occasionally.

She loves to watch movies, movies we can watch together, like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, or Ice Age, or Lady and the Tramp, or, (shudder) Shrek. And we let her. Because it’s usually just two of us, and you know what?

We get tired. A LOT.

The Dorf’s mother let him watch TV all the time, mine, rarely. We have had arguments about TV time, because I’m, at heart, against TV. But I can’t dispute the results in Vivian. I look at her sister who barely talks. She has zero interest in TV. I wonder about the correlation there.

I’m just so bloody tired of listening to or reading about people who take their arms out of their sockets patting themselves on the backs because their kids don’t watch television. Are they superior? Have they discussed with their children what advertising, and what commercials are meant to do? My 3 year old is beginning to understand why Mommy doesn’t allow her to watch things with commercials often. She’s beginning to understand that just because something looks good on TV, doesn’t mean it is.

In “protecting” a group of children from the “evils” of television, and by extension, from the evils of advertising, are we instead isolating them from having the tools to protect themselves from consumer culture? Because it’s not going away any time soon. They will still grow up, and be 15 with a first job at McDicks, and wondering what to do with all that money. Will they make the right decision, or will they be swayed by a media they have never really learned to withstand?

I want my girls to have all the tools necessary in life to make educated decisions. I don’t want to block them from media-I want to guide them through it. I want them to love Opera as much as they love Puffy Amiyumi and the Dead Kennedys. I want them to realize that the world, and how it’s reflected in the media, is not honest, or fair.

Parenting means helping them make conscious and right decisions, instead of blocking off all ability to make a decision, doesn’t it?

And quite honestly, the parents who think they’re all that drive me nuts. Humility is also a trait I want my daughters to possess.

Scat for Sale!

1 Dec

So we’re standing in line waiting to buy something, when my eyes fall upon something that can’t possibly be real. But it is.

scat.jpg

How on earth this puppy made it out of the design department is beyond me-my best guess is that someone was about to get shit canned and they thought “what the fuck” and submitted it.

No one else in the store knew what we were talking about until we explained it, so I dunno.

And go figure, I actually won on it. I NEVER win.

Pools

1 Dec

I dream of pools.

Whenever I have a particularily bad dream, there’s a pool involved. Usually dark, dank and grown over, with someone swimming in the dark. Last night, I dreamed of two pools. One was 70 feet deep, the other, 3 feet, like a wading pool. The significance is the one thing I can’t figure out. In my dreams, I’m always walking past these pools, stopping for a second, and moving on.

I had another dream recently where the pool was in the basement of an old, crumbling house I couldn’t escape. The pool had been beautiful at one time, but had been left in the dark to rot. I could see the remnants of beautiful paintings, the life it once held. In this case, I assumed that being a house dream, it was representative of my own brain, about feeling trapped, and how the lovely, calm things were crumbling and ruined by all the weight on it. But last nights dream was part of a larger dream about being in university, or returning to university, and making enemies as I walked into residence.

I beat up a boy, or tried. He beat the fuck right out of me. As happened in the previous house dream.

Does water represent peace perhaps? Comfort? I was scared in some way of each pool in these dreams, that fear of the unknown. But not actively afraid. I usually can translate my dreams pretty well, but on these drugs, it takes a strong dream to “break” through. And I’m lost with it.

And pools are a relatively new theme, and it’s confusing me.

Thin

24 Nov

I’m watching Thin, and noticing the staff are overweight, while the patients are deathly underweight.

Both sides are scary. Both sides are nothing I want for my children. Both sides are nothing I want for myself, and watching this, I honestly see the appeal, and see why I have so much trouble actually doing anything that vaguely resembles a diet. It’s attractive. Is that fucked up or what? But the idea of not eating to be someone skinny, someone small like I’ve always wanted to be, it’s alluring.

Thankfully, I love to eat. I’m a no control, or all the control kind of girl. And I’m lazy. But I see the attraction. I really do.

But the fat staff are just as scary. How is someone supposed to learn healthy habits from people so obviously unable to follow them? How is watching chubby people waddle around every day going to help them want to eat, help them understand what normal eating, and living is? Is that just a bit cruel?

Sweet crap, I’m a what?

18 Nov

Am I the only one who will be walking down a random street and suddenly realizes:

“I’m someone’s MOM?”

It hit me like a brick today, and I swear, I nearly lost my shit. This little person holding my hand is MY daughter, fruit of my loins, her legs sat entwined in my ribs, and she’ll piss me off and love me and hold my hand and make cookies and piss me off even more. She’s my daughter, she looks like me, she will forever be part of me.

FUCK.

Sometimes my own life slaps me in the head.

I, wanna poop and flush all night, and wash my hands all day.

6 Nov

So, let me preface this post by saying that only minutes before hand, I had  been chatting with Eden and wondering who in the fuck was searching for “poop forever” and landing on my site. (and if it’s YOU, please let me know what it is you’re looking for. You make my head hurt)

A little while later I excuse myself from some trainwrecky goodness, and enter the ladies. One stall occupied. I move on to the next one, and see it sitting there.

A perfectly formed, u shaped poo. No toilet paper, no marks of attempted movement. Just poo.

Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce the Poop That Would Not Die.

We’ve all used public toilets. We know it’s inherently nasty. I also know that hey, poop happens. Happens to me, and you and even that guy in the back with hair on his elbows.

We also are then well acquainted with the sheer force of the public toilet. It’s supersonic flushing power. Sometimes one flush doesn’t work.

Sometimes FOUR flushes don’t work.

This thing would not budge. It was like someone had crazy glued this perfect kielbasa looking poop to the bowl, and was not letting me off easy. And I was damned if I was going to pee on someone else’s poop. Nu-uh.

The worst part was there was no toilet paper. So whomever had left this little tid bit in the toilet was also walking around with a case of the stickies. Sure it could be a kid, but considering the building is full of call center, I doubt it. Some nasty ass ickson left it, to lie in wait for me.

As I stared at the poop, I started considering grabbing a pen to help it along. I started wondering, “who just poops and dashes?” It’s not like you have to pay per poop or anything. I wondered if it was someone I knew. I wondered why they didn’t even try to rid the world of it’s evil. And evil it was.

I worried it would climb out and turn into a shit monster, ala Dogma.

Finally on the 5th flush, it detached it’s claws and went down, howling in poopish I imagine.

I’m sure the girl who was sitting in the stall next to me, patiently waiting to poop herself enjoyed this, since a lady never poops in the presence of other ladies.

So, what have we learned? Never trust women to flush, and never, EVER question the words “poop forever” in your search terms. Apparently, I travelled in time to search, and cause this chain of events to happen.

Deep Thoughts in Church

4 Nov

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So we take Viv for a walk, and I pick this up. It’s a “special offering” envelope. For church.

Written above the label:

Time is never wasted when you’re wasted all the time.”

and below:

“They say practice makes perfect, but no one’s perfect, so why practice?”