Figuring out what I wanna be when I grow up.
Oop..I AM grown up...

Monday, May 30, 2011

The Kids Won't Stop Fighting As I Try to Write This

karen's current hypochondriac ailments:

1) Ovarian cancer.  I always worry about that one, people.  If I get a little bloaty tummy for too many days in a row, I start to fret. 

2) pancreatic cancer.  Every time I think too hard about the extra work my pancreas possibly has to do without a gallbladder buddy, I get the cold hot heebie jeebies.

3) insidious low thyroid, causing my body to work too hard to combat its inefficient thyroid gland, thereby giving me a GIANT HEART, that, like a ticking time bomb, is going to BURST any year now. 

Number 3 is fairly new!  Isn't that exciting?  It's nice to have variety in one's life. 


Do you ever feel just completely tired of yourself at times? 

Like a bike with the kickstand permanently out, and PARKED in the mud? 

I read a slightly interesting article the other day.  What I had googled was "how to lose weight with hypothyroidism."  I can't begin to tell you the number of years I've almost had every single symptom that's listed on the hypothyroid check list, and still have the docs smile and say; "yeah, I'm tired a lot too.  Well, everything looks great, see ya next year!" 

I've been for lots and lots of blood tests.  Every time I've whined about how freaking tired I am, it's the same thing:  a quick scribbling up of a requisition form and "well, let's get you in for some blood work then." 

blah, blah, I'm tired of talking about it, and you're tired of hearing it. 

Anyhow, I seem to get all the germs the kids bring home, but I get to be twice as sick, somehow.  So, a couple of weeks ago, Ella and I got a nasty sinus cold, but I got a sinus infection and bronchitis.  And then I felt like weak, super sick garbage until, well, yesterday!  Well, with all this fun time on my hands trudging around, wheezing, unable to go for power walks and do much more than "take it easy," because I couldn't freaking breathe, I decided enough is enough.  I don't eat much during the day, but I'm going to pay much better attention to what I eat now.  I don't want my massive heart to conk on out me before I'm ready to go. 

Sweet mother of potatoes my kids are idiots right now. 

*Smack!*  "WAAA!"
*crash!* " No! NO! NOOOOOO!"
"Moooooommmm!  Jack won't stop bugging me!"

Question:  is it really all that easy to get in super fit shape when one has young children?  No, I'm serious:  they don't want to go for power walks, and after a full day of trying NOT to knock their heads together, and doing dishes, and laundry and all that crap, do I really feel like pulling the shrink wrap off that yoga dvd? Or making a second meal just for myself that isn't a starchy casserole, because one of the kids wouldn't like a plate full of lentils? 

There, that got them to stop for a second.  It's all empty threats of course, like when I was awoken stupidly early one day, and Ella wouldn't stop being bratty, or Jack wouldn't--hell, I can't remember.  Are they even actually different children, or are they just one giant SUPERMONSTER?  Well, in a fit of pique I shouted; "IF YOU DON'T KNOCK IT OFF, I'M CALLING THE EASTER BUNNY!"
Later on Jack asked me; "Mom, why did you say you're gonna call the Easter bunny?"

How could I explain the concept of "grasping at straws," and that I could no longer lord SANTA CLAUS over them because it was way too long since Christmas, and clearly THAT wasn't going to work any longer. 

What--you don't do that?  When your kids turn your house into FIGHT CLUB, you don't march over to the phone with purpose and say; "THAT'S IT.  I'M CALLING SANTA.  HE NEEDS TO KNOW WHAT YOU TWO HAVE BEEN DOING TO EACH OTHER."  ?  No?

This was actually supposed to be a post about a lot of philosphical mental meanderings, like, how I want to get healthy and stop eating the wrong tiny bits of food, and start eating the RIGHT tiny bits of food. 

It was also supposed to be about this new trend in journalism/blogging/articles wherein the writers have to be snarky, sarcastic jerks.  This after some smart ass put my home town on a list of the top 10 most overrated cities to travel to.  I actually had some thought provoking points questioning why it's uncool to be NICE any longer, and why we have to always be GLIB and sarcastic, and tear people up to feel good?  Yeah, and there was even going to be a good bit in there that The Man told me; about how the NEWS isn't just the NEWS anymore, but always someone's OPINION.

Oh yeah, I was going to mention to you guys about the cluster of flying ants I saw on the OUTSIDE of my house today, all frantically mating and doing those horrifying bug things, and how these flying ants were special because they were the size of FREAKING HORNETS!  I may have nightmares tonight.  The ONLY, ONLY saving grace is that this time they were OUTSIDE the house, but I can still see them in my head stumbling stupidly across the grass after the man BLASTED THEM WITH POISON.  Shudder. 

I was also going to talk about this really cool video I saw on youtube today about how women are STILL being marketed as a super sex product, rather than as as women who are beautiful with their own imperfections, crows feet and FLAWS, but all the while my kids are being


and probably this is the point where I should have a huge fight and force them to the park instead of having fun with all of YOU,


I wear the MOM PANTS, and oh boy are they ever hot and itchy at times.  Plus they're giving me some wicked muffin top. 

Hey, while I'm off knocking heads together (no, not literally, don't panic.  We're not allowed to do that any longer I guess.  Instead we have to try to reason with the little savages, with, you know WORDS), take a lookee at this video.  I thought it was fantastic and thought provoking.

Killing Us Softly 4: Advertising's Image of Women


ahem.  Yeah...go watch that video...

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Sunday Inspiration

Erica Jong, author:

Everyone has talent. What is rare is the courage to follow the talent to the dark place where it leads.

Harriet Beecher Stowe, writer:

Never give up, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn.

Eleanor Roosevelt, activist:

You Learn by Living.  You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, "I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along." You must do the thing you think you cannot do.

Janis Joplin, American singer:

Don't compromise yourself. You are all you've got.

Anne Frank, writer

In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart. I simply can't build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery and death


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Saturday, May 28, 2011

A Blog Award for Big Mouth

Big Mouth, of course, is MOI...

Okay, so I got a blog award a while back from Lance at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog--thankyou Lance.  I dig Lance for his balls-out, bare soul writing....oh, and his blog is set to a "soundtrack", which means he usually has a cool song at the end of each post and I totally felt like copying that when I saw it, har har.  One of my favourite posts Lance wrote is Two Blondes In A Bar, which sounds like the opening line to a joke, but it's actually a very sweet story, and I dig it because underneath the crust, I am a sap. 

So, Lance bestowed this upon me back in the middle of May, and I always procrastinate on these niceties because they tend to make me feel a little sheepish, like some voice is shrieking:  UNDESERVING, YOU SHAM, YOU!  even though I do kind of rock.

Here's how this works: 

Our fellow bloggers present us with a lot of opportunities for furthering our blogs, and gaining followers. Here is a way to Pay It Forward to them. When you have been bestowed with the honor of the Pay It Forward Award., insert this award at the topof a blog post along with these rules, and find FIVE fellow bloggers to bestow it upon. Thank the person who awarded you, mention them in your post, along with a link to your favorite post on their blog, and a short blurb about why you liked it. Next, comment on their blog to let them know you are bestowing the award on them, and that they should do the same. And remember: Good Bloggers Pay It Forward.

Okay, so in no particular order...

1) Daniele at Creating Learning Flying for her refreshing candor and honesty in her post "Anger."  Yeah, motherhood can be rewarding, but for f*ck's sake, don't sugar coat it all the time, please.  What I get off on is truth and honesty, so I loved this post of Daniele's. 

2) Chania at RAZMATAZ for her poignant post Big Knickers and Yep........that's a diet book.    How many of us have struggled with our weight over the years, and tried, tried, tried again to fit into that perfect mold?  Chania's post has been on my brain for DAYS since I read it.  I can't stop thinking about the blog Chania stumbled across wherein some vapid bubble head thought it would be hilarious to go out and find a pair of the biggest underpants she could find just so she could take a picture of it next to her teeny weeny thong.  Oh hello, shallow much?  That's not a laugh in my book.  Chania has put this into words far more eloquently than I would have. 

3) Alaina at Arbor House Lane...because she makes things beautiful and I CAN'T STOP OBSESSING OVER HER FREAKING GARDEN.  Seriously--if you don't look at her garden and immediately want to move into it with a cup of tea, well, then you're dead inside.  Flowers to Come:  truly sickening porn-for-the-garden-lover's-eyes

4) B at Say YES or else!! is hella funny, and very honest, and I not only loved the pictures in her post Unexpected (because her pictures rock), but was struck by the message at the very end.  Right on. 

5) If you're bummed and feeling blah, all you have to do is go to Christina's blog IamthatIam because not only is she a growing thangs nut like I am, her posts are ridonkulously uplifting.  And I dig that, because I'm a wicked cynic!  Hooray!  Check out Untitled

Okay peeps, now it's your turn to PAY IT FORWARD.  Happy weekend. 

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Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Yeah, That Just Happened...AGAIN


I just peed my goddamn pants.  Sorry to my friends of faith if I just offended you with that bible swear.  No, seriously--I try to keep myself in check on that kind of stuff here in blog land, because sadly, bible swears are my favourite. 


It went a little something like this while the boy child was home for lunch:

Jack"Mom:  more chocolate milk?"
Then I ranted and complained because I had made him a 12 oz glass of chocolate milk SPECIFICALLY so I didn't have to get up and make another chocolate milk.  Because I have stirred a GOOGLEPLEX of chocolate milks in the past 5 years, because SOMEBODY thinks white milk is actually POISON. 

So, as I was bending down to get the new bag out of the fridge (of COURSE I had to change the milk bag--are you surprised???) I had another bronchitis coughing fit and spritzed my giant gitch.

"I just peed my pants!"  I said, aghast.  "That makes me so ANGRY!"

Jack "Angry at me?"
Me:  "Noooooo!  It's not your fault...oh wait...indirectly it is."

Jack (clearly amused):  "Is it funny that you peed your pants?"
Me:  "YEAH.  It's HILARIOUS that on the way out, you and your sister grabbed hold of my bladder and YANKED it down with you."

Then I turned to The Man:

"I JUST peed my pants!  How would you feel if you were a 39 year old woman and you just peed your pants?"

The Man:  "like--a lot?"
Me:  "enough that I have to go change my underpants!  Yeah, a good squirt!  And you know what THAT means?  One day someone will have to take one of those ring things, and stick it up inside my cooch to hold my bladder in place AT ALL TIMES."

The Man (with a long-suffering tone):  "your 'cooch.'"

Then, in my rage I tripped over Ella's doll, and flapped my arms out to keep from falling, much to The Man's delight.

The Man:  "Ha Ha Ha!  Can you do that again?
Then he begins to sing that stupid R. Kelly song:   I believe I can fly..."

Jerks.  They are all jerks. 

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Tuesday, May 24, 2011

What You Don't See Probably Didn't Hurt You

Yeah, let's talk about hotels, motels, motor inns, and all those cozy little places you'll be staying in sometime in the next few months when you go on a little vacation. 

Well guess what:  I used to be THE MAID.  So, I'm the one who has the behind-the-scenes appreciation of just how disgusting and seedy the hotel world can be.  Yes, this is one of those posts that's almost as obnoxious as stories your friends told you about their highschool years working in fast food restaurants.  You know the ones:  some "guy" got angry about a customer wanting a super pain in the ass custom burger, so he hawked a loogie onto the patty.  Blah, blah, blah, you know what I'm talking about. 

Some of my long-time sympathizers and pals here in blog land will recall I've talked about my crappy stint as a chambermaid, but since nobody else ever searches back in the post archives, I'm talking about it again, damn it!  Those were four, long summers!

So it was the summer of ... the math...I'm 39...when was I 20...1992!  Yes!  Still got it!  I was 19 or 20 when I walked down to that huge hotel smack dab in the middle of tourist central; Clifton Hill in Niagara Falls.  They were paying good money at the time, and I needed to pony up the dough for a tuition, which would eventually get me a degree that would yield me NOTHING!  But, I digress...

The hotel I worked in was absolutely huge.  I had my own floor in the outdoor courtyard section, and because hotel management was so cheap, those rooms were expensive and almost completely terrible.  They were moldy.  The carpets were completely trampled down, filthy and disgusting.  By the way, if your kid gets cream soda or orange pop on a hotel carpet, that is a bugger to get out.  When the carpet's would be steam-cleaned in the spring before it got really busy, oh the moldering reek!  The grout between the bathroom tiles had black mildew underneath that was nearly impossible to scrub off, even if that a$$hole Stan (wonder if you're dead, you cigarette sucking mofo), would come around with his spray bottle and spritz straight bleach all over the tiles.  That was fun to breathe in.

Being a maid is pure garbage for the most part.  You are super over-worked, usually underpaid, and looked upon as the garbage of the hotel hierarchy.  Most of us were young women who only worked there during the summer to get money for school.  We didn't really give a crap that some inconsiderate family only wanted a nice vacation.  They were the ones who left cheerios all over the floor, pizza ground into the carpet, poopy diapers stuffed into the garbage can, a foot long in the toilet, and a handful of Canadian pennies and nickels that they could no longer use on the desk as a tip.

Also, we had a lot of rooms to clean during the day:  14, minimum, but that was only if skanks like Darlene didn't call in sick at least once a week so she could go to the beach in her thong bikini.  If someone called in sick?  We got an extra room on our list.  Or two. Or five.  And nobody left until everyone was finished for the day.  So, even if you'd whipped through your 17 rooms, you had to go help Ding Dong at the end of the day, who took an hour just to vaccuum out one of her rooms, because it's HOT, and she's TIRED, and she just can't go that fast.  Thus, all summer, the overworked women who didn't throw in the towel and run away from the hotel had way too many rooms to clean. 

And people were angry because their rooms weren't ready when they checked in.  And they were angry because their room had no towels yet because the dryers broke down temporarily in laundry.  But none of the maids DARED call Dave in laundry, because he and the laundry ladies HATED the maids, and if anyone dared call him, while he was working his ass off to catch up in the 1000 degree laundry room, he would tear them a new a$$hole right there over the phone.  OH, and OH NO, there's a stain on the KING SIZED BED SPREAD in the honeymoon suite!  Oh dear lord, you're going to have to call Dave in laundry and tell him you need a new one.  Luckily he didn't hate me, but he was still not precisely pleasant. 

So, there you are, basically RUNNING all day long, like a headless chicken holding a vaccuum, desperately trying to catch up so you can get out of there by 5:00.  Sadly, you cut a lot of corners, because if it looks clean, that is damn well good enough.  It went a little something like this:

The family has checked out of their room.  Luckily they were pretty tidy.  There are the towels they've used draped over the tub.  Dave the laundry guy actually freaks out if the maids use a clean towel to clean every flipping room, so you just grab a towel that one of the nice guests just used, because it feels dry anyway, and you wipe down the whole bathroom.  Didn't take too long because that bathroom was pretty clean.  Then you take that towel and you wipe out the ice bucket.  It had a little water in it from the melted ice they must have had last night. 

What a stupid hotel you work in:  they're STILL out of all purpose cleaner.  No matter:  you have tons of those little complimentary bottles of shampoo on your cart.  So, you just crack one of those open to clean the bathrooms.  You and the other maids agree that it works even better than the cleaner for getting scum rings off the tub, and it smells pretty! 

Ah, at last, all done your rooms.  However, your boss has informed you that NUTBAR Barb is way behind, so could you please go help her out and make beds, hun?  Damn, your feet hurt, but you trudge on down to help out that whacko.  The whacko, however, is running through her rooms and remaking the beds by simply pulling up the sheets and tucking them in.  Even though new people will be checking in.  Why change them, she says, they still look perfectly crisp.  After all, some light-as-feathers elderly people on a bus tour were staying in all these rooms.  You're horrified, but you're so, so tired and thirsty that you clean some bathrooms for her and get the f*ck out of there, pretending you don't know what you just saw.

The next day is not so busy, so your boss sends you down to the "basement 900's," or the "basement 600's."  These are the rooms that everyone knows are rented out LAST--only when the hotel is cram packed, because they are DANK, DANK, DANK, and there's actual black mold on the walls.  The carpets feel slightly damp all the time, there are strange bugs, and it's basically like vacationing in a smelly basement.  Plus, if nobody has rented these rooms for a while, your job will be to go down there and vaccuum up potato bugs, and scrub mildew.  Most suspicious is how many, many of the guests who get stuck in these rooms don't seem to speak English very well....

Best not to think about it. 

At last, you've finished your exhausting week.  Maybe this was a really good week, with losts of baseball team tours, and large families (AKA douches, all).  Perhaps you had to empty out a plastic garbage can that had been used as a loogey bin all night.  Maybe someone had left an unflushable footlong in one of the rooms, that you actually broke in half with one of those complimentary tourist pamplets that are placed on the desk (I know someone who had to do that). 

Your two, your one day off is finally here (some girls just quit, and they're short-staffed AGAIN).  However, you have a new cleaning sponge on your cart.  Every time you go on your day off, the maid who uses your cart swipes your good sponge and leaves in its place a ratty, old, super hairy sponge.  And that bottle of fancy toilet bowl cleaner you had?  Yeah, it'll be gone too.  You actually take your good sponge home with you.  Plus, the maid who will have to use your cart for one day--2 if you're lucky, will feel the need to rearrange your whole f*cking cart to her liking!  Curse her!  Then you'll have to put it all back the way you like it upon your return. 

Ah!  The MEMORIES!  Remember when the crazy maintenance guy went ape sh*t with a broom on a poor bat that was hanging from the ceiling of one of those basement floors?  Remember when you and the maids were making torches with a lighter and a can of orange-scented air freshener?  Remember when the hotel lost a couple of points because the rooms were not up to the clean/nice/rentable standards that the chain it was part of demanded, and your boss told you all that "your brains fell out your asses!"  Yeah, all good times.

Oh well, I used to sweat off a ton of weight every summer working there, and don't worry:  that hotel got demolished a few years back.  So you're happy, right?  But please:  tip your maid, people.  Tip your maid.

*This post was written for this week's Studio30 Plus writing prompt  "hotel stories."  Go back to sleep now, dear.  It was all just a horrible dream.   

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Monday, May 23, 2011

I'm not here--I'm HERE

Autism Blogs Directory

Hi everyone, I was featured on The Autism Blogs Directory over the weekend.  I hope you'll take a moment to read my post on kids with special needs and labels.  Even if you don't have a child on THE SPECTRUM, maybe you have a child that has some issues, and everybody can certainly understand a hope for greater tolerance all around. 

So, why are you still here?  You need to go HERE:

What's In A Label?

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Sunday Inspiration

Press PLAY, then scroll on down...










Saturday, May 21, 2011


I can't stand it.

I am dying, dying, DYING, to be out at the garden centres happily browsing through the aisles, reading all the nice little tags on the perrenials and annuals, and buying little plants to put in my window boxes, pots and my gardens.  It's making me crazy. 

coreopsis, blanket flower, begonias

And my car is on the fritz.

rose of sharon

And the kids and The Man are out for the day.

stunning gladiola
 And, I'm walking around like a 98 year old woman, because my lungs are still so crammed with pestilence, that I can barely climb the stares without wheezing and hacking.

But I love gardening now!  Waaa!  I FREAKING LOVE IT!  I want to have my hands in the soft, cool dirt.

pink lilies!  What a find!
 So, I was just on the computer doing all this research on clematis vines, and good companion plants to shade their roots when they're planted, because clematis like lots of sun, but also want their feet shaded.  Do you care? 

And I was looking up good ground cover to plant at the base of an Amur Privet hedge for my brother, and stumbled upon this website about "steppable" ground covers--you know; they're all soft and pretty and you can walk on them sometimes?  And some of them even release yummy nummy scents if you step on them, like "Corsica Mint."  And then my brain exploded a little bit, because suddenly I imagined filling in shady spots in my back yard with lovely, woodsy, dainty steppable ground covers like Creeping Thyme...
blanket flower

...koff, koff, koff!!!!!

blue morning glory...looking for white this year...

And I am going crazy, because I am a FLOWERAHOLIC!!! 

Do you know what really set me off recently?  ALAINA'S POST.  Alaina (Arbor House Lane), did a post with some pics of her garden, and how it will look in a few weeks with all her gorgeous flowers.  She has all these beautiful, beautiful bushes covered in little white flowers.  And I just learned that they're called "Bridal Wreath Spirea."  And then I lost my mind. 

Ah well.  I'll just have to be patient.  I guess I'll just go take another look at the freaking avocado pits I've been hovering in water for FREAKING AGES NOW.  When I had guacamole a while back, I careful cut the avocados open so as not to damage the pits so I can grow my own avocado tree and... okay, okay, you're not a plant nut like me.  But oh how sick I am of having to stop and look at those two stupid pits for any new signs of change.  JUST SPLIT THE F*CK OPEN ALREADY so I can stop thinking about you!!!

I'm also growing little poppy seedlings in a grow starter peet pellet tray thingy.  Sigh! 

Guess I'll go pull some weeds.

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Friday, May 20, 2011

Being Sick Sucks A$$

image from HERE

Being sick sucks.  Honking yellow crap out of your sinuses sucks (yes, I know that was TERRIBLE for you to have to read, but this ship is going DOWN, and I'm taking you people with me.  You're the only ones who make me happy! Sniff!).  Having sinuses SO PAINFUL that your teeth hurt really bites, and coughing your lungs into OW shreds is no party either. 

Didn't I already do my time with germs?  Remember that B.S. phase known as CHILDHOOD, wherby you got 500 colds a year until you were about 12 or so?  And when you didn't have a cold, you were probably barfing?  Or taking some kind of meds for bronchitis, tonsillitis and any other ITIS kids get?  Shouldn't I have the immune system of a super hero? 

So, in the spirit of being totally cranky, I present for you:

(I feel like I've done this before...but then again, I'm not that super peppy, optimistic blogger.  That girl is closer to the number 1 spot on the Top Mommy Blogs site, and she still uses words like "magical," and "rewarding" when she talks about her spaghetti stained, sprinkle cupcakes, scrapbook family life)

1) Being Sick.  Duh, this is a given.  We've already been through the hacking and nose blowing.  Plus, a long weekend is RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER here in Canada.  Let the pity party begin!

2) Words I can't immediately pronounce, like "Gough" (forgive me if that's your last name).  Is it  "Go"?  Goog?  Goff?  It seriously makes me mental.  Same thing goes for that lady who created the PMS supplement that humanized me:  Laura Vanderhaeghe.  Is it VanderHAG?  VanderHOG?  VanderHEDGE? 

I have to stop talking about this now.

3) People who leave their cars running when they pick their kids up from school, have to run into the school or have to run into the store.  YOU ARE AN IDIOT.  Continue crapping on the earth, asshat.

4) Hair that's vulnerable to humidity.  Seriously, is this hair on my head or a sponge?  I'm touching it right now and it is big, dull and fuzzy.  Fluffy even.  No es bueno. 

5) My cats:  dropping turd surprises, hairball ropes, chewing my CYCLAMEN, making the top of the couch smell weird. 

6) Dark green veg.  All bad.  That's why someone was forced to invent cheese sauce. 

7) Conversations with the CROSSING GUARDS.  10 Million ways to talk about the weather can't be wrong.

8) Walmart.  Hate that place.  Hate that there's always a reason for me to go back there eventually.

9) pretzels.  A snack food that's low fat.  Pppfftt.

10) deli ham.  Sometimes it's gaggingly thick.  Sometimes it's slimy.  4 days later it has that weird smell.  Shudder.

11) salt cod.  The Man boiled up some of this during Easter weekend.  I was convinced the smell of rotton nacho socks was coming up from the basement through every vent in the house.  Turns out it was just the heinous, salt-preserved fish his family seems to like eating. 

12) yogurt/ketchup/mustard water.  But which is the worst?  I'm leaning toward ketchup water for some reason. 

Shake well, my friends, shake well.

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Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Going Downhill and Picking Up Speed!

The Man just threatened that he's going to rip my shirt off. 


Actually, no--not in a sexy "oh woman, you are so buxom, I can't keep my HANDS OFF OF YOU!" kinda way.

He's disgusted by my ripped shirt.  This coming from the guy who, until this winter, was wearing a coat with duct tape holding the lining together.  He also has this shirt that says; "You can Leave Liverpool--Liverpool NEVER Leaves You."  So I just made a joke to him that went like this:  "you can leave Liverpool, but your thousand year old Liverpool shirt will NEVER leave you."  Haw, haw, haw.

He's not budging though.  As for the coat?  "Yeah, but that was the lining," he said.  This means, who cares; nobody could see that his coat was ripped (he also got that coat in grade 9.  Kudos to my mother-in-law for having such good taste in clothing, that The Man could still wear a c. 1986 coat that would STILL look good today).  And as for that shirt?  "It doesn't have a big HOLE in the front."

Hole shmole.  There are a couple of horizontal slashes between my left hoot and my shoulder, and I was thinking it's passable, and maybe even looks kinda cool.  You know--like this:

"Shooting at the walls of HEARTACHE--BANG, BANG! I am THE WARRIOR!!!"

But, The Man thinks I look like "a bum."  A bum.  How melodramatic can you get?  I wear one favourite, white, cotton, long-sleeved shirt with a couple of rippies in it ONE LOUSY DAY, and he's appalled and thinks I reek of derelict.

This shirt should have had a lot of good life left in it though!  There I was, in the basement doing the laundry one day recently, stretching my shirt to the desired longer length (2 kids people.  Hide the evidence), when suddenly--THE UNSPEAKABLE!  Rrrrrrip!!!  I was mortified.

But I told The Man:  "I have to wear it.  I'm poor.  I have no INCOME."  Did I just get a bonus for all the hard work I do?  No, I did NOT.

Anyhow, I think I'm harming noone by wearing my shlumpy shirt...but am I wrong?  Is this how it all begins?

Today, I went out of the house with NO MASCARA ON!  Oh, you think this is no big deal?  Well, I came of age in THE EIGHTIES.  It was almost acceptable to wear makeup to bed back then for crap's sake.  Also, come to think of it, because I felt like tired, germ filled bucket o' death this morning (my head is killing me, and even my teeth are itchy), I didn't get a wash.   Yeah...I just washed my pits, and some other pertinent parts, threw on my rippo shirt, and slobbed off to the kids' schools with only 95% of my makeup on. 



See this?  A little slip here, a little slip there, some duct tape on this outfit.  Some duct tape on that outfit, and before you know it, I'll be rolling in to pick up the kids at school wearing pyjama pants.


Then, I'll give up on this unyielding haystack on top of my head once and for all and gel it into a pony tail. So much easier to manage!

Yeah, maybe I'll let my 1980's eyebrows grow back too:

1984.  Oh Dear LORD. Now I feel sorry for me

1987.  Look at those f*cking eyebrows.  This is making my sister very happy.  I can just feel it. 

2009.  Hell YEAH, that's what I'm TALKING ABOUT!  Much better eyebrows.  No, don't make a comment about how I took my own glamour shot.  Who else was going to take it--The Man?!?

One thing's for certain:  there will be NO RETURN to 80's eyebrows. 

I used to work in an office.  I used to do IMPORTANT things like send faxes and answer the phone.  Yeah, valuable things!  I wore nice clothes.  I got so comfortable wearing nicer clothes that I would wear skirts on the weekend JUST FOR THE HELL OF IT.  Now, I make different choices, like, "gee, I like these new running shoes, but I can't be bothered tying up laces all the time.  Yes, I need some casual shoes with no laces, that I can still run in, for the next time Ella tumbles off the slide." 

But who cares.  I'm a MOM now.  I'm a Mom who gets 95% of the germs the little people bring me.  I'm tired all the time.  Am I not entitled to one lousy day wearing a comfortable, snuggy, shirt that has two itty bitty slashes in it? 

Next stop:  TRACK PANTS TOWN. 

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Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Tuesday eoicoiue.cobbb....zzzzz

A smorgasbord of random crap, lovingly clacked up, from me to you...

Holy frock, I'm tired. 

Oh...I was totally interrupted there for a moment.  The Man said; "just so you know, Ella's very busy in the bathroom." 

When little kids are quietly busy, this almost never turns out well.  When little kids are "playing" in the bathroom, this also doesn't have a happy ending, usually.  She was washing her my little pony with Head & Shoulders shampoo.  Normally I'd have been all over that, but it just so happens the coffee is in the mug, and we all know where my priorities lie. 


Don't Call me STU

So what's been happening here....well, Jack is still calling us "Stu" with the relentlessness that only a ruthless child on the spectrum, who incidentally has no fear of his parents, has.  It goes a little something like this:  "Jack, you need to get dressed for school now." 

Jack:  "okay, STU."

or, "Jack, you HAVE to wear your rain coat today."

Jack:  "okay, STU." 

I need to do a whole post on being called "Stu."  I know you're perplexed, but I have to go to that slightly draining early year's centre so Ella can have some play time soon, so I'm short on time. 

I Don't Wanna Talk About Hitler Anymore

Yes, that's right.  We're still dealing with that silly old swastika (yeah, I lamented this HERE, and HERE).  And as I'm puttering around doing my thing during the day, I get the odd, out-of-left-field kind of questions and exclamations:

Jack:  "Mom, does Hitler sing OPERA?"

Jack:  "If I saw Hitler, I would tell him that he's STUPID!" 

Jack:  "Mom, do you like this drawing I did with the swastikas on it?"

Jack:  "Mom, Ella doesn't understand about the swastika.  She thinks it's a JOKE." 

*for the record, Ella doesn't even appear to think about or have any interest in the swastika, so she neither thinks it's a serious symbol, nor a joke symbol.  She's usually too busy trying to figure out the best way to cram Barbie's uncooperative limbs into a little ball gown. 

Then, the kids were over at Grampa's yesterday.  Jack likes to make anyone and everyone type up Youtube search requests for him.  95% of them are vague.  Jack does NOT TOLERATE ignorance.  This means, that when we don't know what he's asking for, he freaks out.  So, the phone rang, and it was Dad:

Dad:  "Jack wants something on youtube, and I don't know what it is.  Jack, what is it called again?  FURT ...  WANGLER???"

Me:  "yeah.  Furtwangler.  All one word.  'F', 'U', 'R', 'T', 'wangler'.  All one word."

What?  You don't know about Wilhelm Furtwangler, the famous German conductor?  Well, let's do a tidy little cut and paste job from Wikipedia then, and we can all learn together!  Hooray!

Wilhelm Furtwängler (January 25, 1886 РNovember 30, 1954) was a German conductor and composer. He is widely considered to have been one of the greatest symphonic and operatic conductors of the 20th century. By the 1930s he had built a reputation as one of the leading conductors in Europe, and he was the leading conductor who remained in Germany during the Second World War. Although he was never a member of the Nazi party, the morality of his decision to remain working in Germany during this period has been continually debated since his death. However even today, many musicians, critics and record collectors still revere him for his very subjective conducting style, which is often compared and contrasted to the more objective style of Arturo Toscanini, who was probably the most famous conductor at the time. Like Toscanini, Furtwängler was a major influence on many later conductors, and his name is often mentioned when discussing their interpretive style.
There, wasn't that nice?

Well, search him on youtube.  There are many fine, Nazi concerts for your viewing enjoyment. 

Why can't the kid be a monster SPIDERMAN fan?!? 

The Quest for Quality Sleep Continues

Well, I broke down and bought some melatonin.  All natural product...supposed to be good for helping you fall asleep, blah, blah, blah.  I'm not a big fan of sleep aids, but every now and then people, I just. do. not. want. to. hear. any. snoring.  It's not just The Man's fault of course;  I'll wake up if Ella rolls over in bed too vigorously in her room above me. 

I have a cold right now.  No--don't panic, I'm fine.  Well, actually, I'm a little bit pissy and on edge, but that's because my throat's been hurting like a demon motherf*cker for 3 days now.  Anyhoo, I just wanted to get a good night's sleep. 

Melatonin's kinda interesting, because the body makes it naturally. It's what makes us feel sleepy at night (if we have the right amount in our system), and it's at its highest levels between 2 and 4 in the morning. 

The package had a warning that it may cause "vivid dreams."  Well that's cool, I thought.  I was hoping for some sexy dreams, like I had recently...which for some reason always star this one guy from elementary school (and the same highschool), who I don't particularly remember having a crush on, and he was, incidentally, a slightly popular jerk.  Hm...go figure. 

I have lots of recurring craziness in my dreams anyway, and most of it's annoying, so I was hoping for some recurring sexiness (even if the sexiness is really only ever just a tease, and lord knows some familial noise is going to wake me up before anything ever gets really good anyway...where was I...).  However, I had one of those stupid, typical dreams I have, in which I can never EVER dial a phone.  I always get about half way through pressing the buttons, and my big dream ham fingers will mash two buttons at once, or the number will be ridiculously long, and I'll get two thirds of the way through it and make a mistake and have to start again. 

Very annoying. 

What was the point of this?  Oh yeah, I had some weird dreams, but no GOOD x-rated weird dreams.  Nuts.  Thanks for nothing, melatonin. 

And finally...

I Loves Me Some More Rejection

I keep my eye on this online job board for bloggers.  If I ever get a real job related to my writing, I'll clean the resentment dust off my diploma, and maybe even put a frame on it! 

Anyhoo, there was this website that was looking for writers to contribute regularly to the language section of their blog.  What they want are short-ish, snappy, witty, crackling little pieces about the idiosyncracies of, well, language.  Well, hell, I like words!  I lurv me some words!  So, I crafted up some bit of fluff and emailed it to them. 

Undt zen I got this reply:

Dear Karen,

Thank you for submitting your article to [BlahBlahBlah]. Unfortunately, we will not be able to publish your article at this time. Please do not hesitate to submit future articles for our consideration.

Bummer. Guess I still have to scrub toilets and craft up hamburger-based casseroles a little while longer. 

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