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


Sunday, October 30, 2011

The Day Before Halloween

What a  nice day.

There's a stuffed chicken in the oven and it smells great.  The Man is making sugar cookie dough, and I've already made a pumpkin pie.

We carved our pumpkins on the picnic table in the back yard.  The air is crisp and clean, and the smell of the odd backyard fire was wafting over from time to time.  Hell, I even got into the spirit last minute by forking out $13 to buy some orange and black garlands, which I put over the windows, an orange felt-backed plastic table cloth with little white skeletons on it, and some orange and black balloons.  That, and the little pumpkin and ghost lights strung up in the front window have made the house festive enough to have redeemed a curmudgeon such as I.

I went for my power-walk through the neighbourhood early-ish this morning, and saw beauty everywhere.  It was one of those luminous, still mornings, with white frost lingering on the grass where the sun hadn't reached yet, yellow leaves spiraling to the ground, and golden light dappled sidewalks.

All is calm, all is peaceful.  The kids are good. The kitchen is warm.  I wish my Mom were here to see the kids all in costume tomorrow, but then, when don't I miss her?

Have a wonderful Halloween, everyone, if you celebrate it, and if not, have a lovely Autumn (hopefully snow-less) Monday.


image

Thursday, October 27, 2011

A Neurotic's Take On Going To Concerts

But first, a status message from a friend on Facebook yesterday:

"Going to see Mumford and Sons tonight!  Love!"

Rational happiness mixed with some appropriate, giddy anticipation, right?


Now, back-up several weeks ago...

karen receives an email from the Mumford & Sons website:

"'Sup Canada (and folks living nearby to Canada)? Hope things are all good in your lovely lands. Just stopping by to see if you're free towards the end of October at all? Because the band have planned a few shows...


A ticket pre-sale will begin at 10am EST on Wednesday 14th September. Here are the pre-sale details so make sure you keep hold of this email."


Squee!!!!!

Oh I LURV Mumford & Sons!  I super heart them!  Why, Marcus Mumford is my SECRET BOYFRIEND!  Okay, I have to be ready for the EXACT MINUTE that tickets go on sale online so I don't miss out.  Must be ready.  Must call sister IMMEDIATELY because I KNOW she'll be coming too.

- Okay, sister is IN!  Now I just have to be ready tomorrow when the time comes to enter the secret password.

Hm...wait a minute...how accurate is the clock on my computer?  karen checks computer clock..checks kitchen clock...checks clock on electronic TV guide..checks time on The Weather Network station.  Computer clock is reading the same time as the time everywhere else.  However, this is not good enough.

karen links over to a website showing GREENWICH MEAN TIME and discovers that her computer is (gasp!) APPROXIMATELY TWENTY SECONDS FAST.  karen makes note and will adjust herself for this discrepancy when ordering tickets.

Ticket purchase day arrives..

karen resists urge all morning to give wild noogies to family members
Finally...
Computer shows 10:00
karen has already typed in username and password, but forces herself to count to 20 and then HITS THAT SUBMIT BUTTON
pits are sweaty
info is entered
karen needs to lie down but HUZZAH!  SHE IS VICTORIOUS!  SHE WINS! SUCKERS WHO AREN'T ON THE WEBSITE FAN LIST ARE LOSERS!  NEENER, NEENER, NEENER!!!

Instant regret.

Oh wait...(karen stops thinking in 3rd person)...I feel sick.
What have I done?
I regret this already.
I don't want to drive to HAMILTON.
Oh my god, why am I so stupidly impulsive?
Oh, my nerves!
Okay, get it together karen, old kid, old sock--you have over a month until the concert.  You can put it aside in your brain.  Yes, just put it aside.
BUT I DON'T LIKE CHANGES IN MY ROUTINE!
PUT IT ASIDE!

Finally, after a few weeks of fretting, CONCERT WEEK arrives.  karen is FULL OF LAMENT:

why does the concert have to be in HAMILTON (whining)???
I HATE HAMILTON (no offense to Hamiltonians)
It's full of STUPID ONE WAY STREETS
Inner city driving freaks me out!
Why doesn't anyone come to THIS CITY???

Day before concert:

I feel nervous.
Okay karen, don't be retarded.  You're going to a CONCERT.
You're going to see one of your favourite bands.
It's HAMILTON, not TORONTO, AKA: The Labyrinth of Hell
Hamilton is only an hour away.
Suck it up and ACT LIKE A GROWNUP.

10:00 PM, the Night Before The Concert:

I'm tired and cold.
I like to go to bed at 10:30.
See?  See how tired I am???
What was I thinking?!?
I can't stay up late anymore?
karen, you're being an IDIOT again.

Concert Day:

More fretting in between bouts of diarrhea
Nap from 12:30 - 1:00
thorough session on mapquest.ca to print out directions to and from the concert venue as well as a few maps, specifically of the STICKY less straight-forward portions of the drive.
At 2:00, karen takes out the tickets from their secret hiding spot in the mostly abandoned "sexy underwear" drawer.
karen actually takes a good look at the tickets and realises, for the first time, that it says "FLOOR."

wait....

I have tickets on THE FLOOR?
The floor.
The FLOOR?!?
HOLY SHIT! I'VE GOT TICKETS FOR THE FREAKING FLOOR!!!
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

Nerves + elation = PINGING OFF THE WALLS

Just before leaving for concert:

-fun rabid session chasing The Man around dining room trying to stick my freezing hands on his sides
- show my new $16 RED purse that I bought for the concert to The Man, and inform him that it is so yummy-nummy that it is SEX ON A STRAP
- made enough ridiculous jokes that eventually The Man said: "Can you just GO?"

In the car, on the way to the concert

My sister is talking about how she HAD to straighten her hair before the concert, in case Marcus Mumford  spies her in the crowd and then invites her back stage so he can tell her how it was LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT.

I'm nuts by this point, so I tell her what would really happen:

Me, pretending to be Marcus M., but using a very LOUD, obnoxious, COCKNEY ACCENT:

"OI! WOT'S YOR NAME?  ARNIE? I'VE GOT A KNOB THAT NEEDS POLISHING!"

Aimee:  "He would NEVER say that!  He's NOT LIKE THAT!"

Laugh so hard at my own joke that I'm actually crying.  Repeat knob polishing joke approximately 10 more times en route.

Finally make it to the venue!
However, because I'm so anal, it is just past 5:30.
The concert starts at 7:30.
We join the lineup of YOUTH out front of the concert hall.
Oh my god, we're the oldest people here.
One of the two, homely short teenager boys in front of us has farted.
I stand there in utter disgust as they are killing themselves.
$&*# Teenagers.
Hey look:  a few concert goers have just been dropped off out front by THEIR PARENTS.
Sigh.

Inside The Concert Hall

feel suddenly like jumping up and down and hugging some of the shallow youth who are everywhere because HOLY FROCK, I HAVE TICKETS FOR THE FLOOR BITCHES!  BOO YAH!


Two Coffee Crisp chocolate bars:  $5
One plastic cup of Coors Lite and one hard lemonade:  $14.50
Yow.
drink some of the beer but ditch the rest due to overwhelming fear of having to pee DURING the concert
Make our way onto the floor and delight in the fact that we are a mere 25 feet from the stage!
Oh, but wait....we'll be standing FOR HOURS.  I can't STAND FOR HOURS!
Don't be such a BABY, karen--you STAND UP all day!  Hell, you're always at the kitchen sink!  You were MADE for standing.
Good looking young guy makes a POINT of checking me out.
Yep. Still got it.


As The Evening Progresses

My feet hurt
People smell.
I'm tired of the smell of FEET.  So, so tired of the smell of FEET.
It smells like FEET, BREATH, and SWEATY, HOT, UNWASHED CLOTHES in here.
Somebody farted again.
The fart has made me furious.
I would like to stop the concert to find out who farted.
If this stupid teenage BITCH doesn't stop using me as a leaning post, I'm going to lose it.
Inform sister how this CHICK won't GET OFF ME.  Sister smiles serenely and shrugs.  This shrug and smile means; "it's a CONCERT, karen.  You just have to ROLL  with it."
The crowd has shifted slightly again, so now annoying girl is leaning on my sister.
Aimee doesn't look so serene anymore.

Ridiculously burnt out in between acts.  So burnt out in fact, that I point out an innocent concert goer guy off to my right with insane, thick carpet hair, and tell my sister that whenever our feet start to hurt, just look at buddy's hair and we'll feel better again.  Once again, am laughing so hard I am crying.  Poor innocent concert guy with terrible hair.  It's not his fault he has insanely luxurious TEEN WOLF hair.  He could buzz it though...

Everybody has a better phone than I.  It's ridiculous in fact as all these skinny arms raise into the air to take pictures of the stage, and their stupid tricked-out phones are so much better--EXPONENTIALLY better in fact--that it looks like they're holding mini TV's in their hands, as I can see the crystal clear images on their phone screens.

Mumford & Sons Finally come on Stage!

Oh lookit:  they're as cute on stage as they are on youtube.  Aw, that's nice.
F*ck my feet hurt.
My feet hurt so much.  So, so much.
They're aching.  They're just aching.
Damn, the band sounds spectacular.
They are very, very talented.
My feet are blocks of pain.
They have turned into icy-hot, aching blocks of pain.
I can't stand anymore.
I can't take it.
Holy shit I can't believe how much feet can hurt.
Try alternately tapping feet.
Try alternately lifting one foot and standing flamingo style.
Try wiggling toes.
Toes feel like ice picks are slowly being slid inside, one by one.
OH sweet mother of mercy my feet F*CKING HURT.
Christ--are they EVER going to stop singing?
I'm just going to have to tell my sister we're going to have to leave a bit early.
Maybe we can listen to the rest of the concert out in the hall---SITTING DOWN.
The FLOOR is a wonderful, TERRIBLE GIFT.
I'm too old for tickets ON THE FLOOR.
I'm never GOING ON THE FLOOR AGAIN.
Agony.
I'm in agony.
SWEET F*CK THESE PEOPLE STINK!!!!!!!
WASH YOUR FEET!
THROW THOSE SHOES AWAY!
OH NO, NOT THE ENCORE!!!  I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE!!!

Keep it together karen...keep it together....two songs, maybe three MAX.  You can do that right?  You've made it this far???

Oh, the last song is Roll Away Your Stone!  Great song!  The crowd is GOING NUTS!  Everyone's jumping up and down!  The lights!  The sounds!  It's great!  I LOVE EVERYONE!  I FEEL SO ALIVE!  I'M NOT SO OLD!  I'M STILL ALIVE!  SING IT BOYS, SING IT!!!

And then it was all over.
I was spent.

that's right--I have my hood pulled TIGHT and DONE UP under my chin.  You got a problem with that, people?  Well, I'm not ashamed.  I'm nearly 40, and I have NOTHING TO LOSE.


another shot (pre-concert) for pure sexiness.  In my defense, it was RAINING.  PRINCESS HATES THE RAIN!!!


Aw, there are the boyz.  Actually, I not only don't CARE that my camera takes SHITE PICTURES, I kind of like it.  I think they look ARTSY.









 

a sea of cell phones and assorted TECHNOLOGY ~ A sign of the times.



love the contrast in colours...



by this point, if only my idiot feet had just fallen off


 

Yep.  Still got it.


see how close I was to the stage?  If only I'd had a chair :)

I love you Mumford & Sons.  Just ignore the fact that I'm almost completely neurotic.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Poopy Stinky MID-LIFE Tuesdays

Bah.

I think I'm having a midlife crisis.  No, wait....make that a midlife crisis DAY, because those come and go.  People, it is less than six months until I turn FORTY.  Yes, I know, who gives a shit.  Also I know that some of you have been there and done that, and you're still fabulous, so why the hell am I complaining?

BECAUSE ANTICIPATION IS HORRID.  I think this is worse than anticipating THIRTY.  Actually, when I hit the 30's, I liked it.  I was glad to no longer be in my 20's.  I thought that was a stupid decade of life.  Everyone is still far too concerned with being HAWT.  I have to buy clothes that make me look HAWT.  I have to go out to clubs and try to look HAWT.  Does this lacy bra make me look HAWT?  Ooo, I'm fat.  I hate my stomach.  My stomach looks soooo embarrassing in this bikini.  I'm just going to keep my arms folded over it whenever I sit down.

Retardation, I tells ya.

Still, because I'm me, since I'll be turning 40 soon, it's all OHMYGOD I'M THAT MUCH CLOSER TO DEATH!  I feel like a big test is coming up soon, and I've barely studied.  You know--cruising along?  So now I've cracked the whip over myself and am GETTING DOWN TO BUSINESS.

This means:

1) multivitamin with dinner.
2) almost no fun food
3) power walks EVERY FREAKING DAY, EVEN IN THE RAIN
4) some bullshit weight-lifting session after power-walks
5) more disgusting vegetables
6) Vitamin D and Omega 3 RELIGIOUSLY (oo, that rhymed nicely)

and this is all because I really don't want to look like this:



and would much prefer to turn 40 and look like this:


you can't even imagine how many hours I've wasted cropping and pasting my head lately





Also, I think I'm bummed.  Some stupid teenagers have been roaming the neighbourhood smashing pumpkins the past week. 

F*cking teenagers.  Like you didn't already suck enough (not my pumpkins by the way).

So, last night The Man returned home from karate and informed me that our pumpkins had been taken and smashed, and the evidence was left to mock us in the middle of the road.  That means that the little bastard(s) slipped up to my front porch some time between 7 and 9.

AND

when I went for my power walk this morning, there were smashed pumpkins all through the neighbourhood.  I feel a futile, phony letter filled with impotent rage coming on:


Dear Teenaged A$$hole,

Thanks so much for smashing our pumpkins you little piece of shit.  I don't really give too much of a crap about the good-sized grocery store pumpkin, because that one can easily be replaced.  I do, however, feel some KING KONG rage over you grabbing the little pie pumpkin my girlie got on her class trip to the pumpkin farm, and the little teeny tiny eeny weenie 50 cent pumpkin we'd gotten on a nice Sunday family outing.

I can't wait till my daughter realises what's happened and that all the pumpkins are gone, and I can't wait to try to explain the unexplainable, yet unavoidable fact of life which is that sometimes people are complete vacant jerks, and there is no explaining WHY.  



So listen up, f*cktard:  tonight THE MAN is going to set a trap for you, and when the 6'3" guy leaps out of the car when you try to get your grubby mitts on the BAIT PUMPKIN, I can't wait till you get paraded up the road to various neighbours houses to explain why you're such a dick.  


- ANGRY karen


Ah, what a fantasy.

Sigh.

Tuesdays.

Friday, October 21, 2011

Hooray! I Don't Have ORAL CANCER!

Seriously--does cropping one's head and putting it in pictures EVER get old?  I think not!

People, in my last post you may recall I had yet another escapade of fervent hypochondria.  There are always at least two diseases I fear I have at any given moment in time, and up until my visit to the horror shack yesterday (A.K.A. the DENTIST), I was starting to quietly freak that I had ORAL CANCER.

Yeah, you laugh, but I have this bumpity on my upper right gum and PROBABLY I was pressing on it too much or it became irritated or something and so one day when I showed it to my sister and hopefully asked "is this normal?"  she put the icy hands of terror around my throat and said; "NO--it looks like what [my niece] had when she had to get her tooth pulled."

In other words--an ABSCESS.  Or, you can call it what my inlaws do:  a "gum boil."  Yech.  So, I did the best thing possible, and then I went straight in the house and googled "bump on gum" or something stupid like that, and all search avenues led to ABSCESS.  So, because I'm a grownup, I freaked.  First I plead with fate.  Then I plead with The Man:

"BUT I HAVE NO PAIN!  HOW CAN THE TOOTH BE INFECTED IF YOU HAVE NO PAIN IN IT?  AND I FLOSS! I FLOSS ALL THE TIME!!!"

Then I made him look at the tooth under the bumpity.  He said it didn't look like anything weird.  Then The Man happened to be chatting with his dad on the phone, and this is how I learned the charming expression "gum boil."  And then my father-in-law had a not reassuring story about a guy at his work who had a GUM BOIL and this guy was so terrified of the dentist that he took a sterilized razor blade and sliced that f*cker to release the poison himself.

Then I went back to the computer and googled some more.
Then I cried.
Then I hoped that maybe it was just a cyst?  Yeah!  Just a cyst!
Then I toyed with the idea of sticking a safety pin into it.
Then I resisted that idea.

Then I remembered again about that HORRIFYING time THAT BUTCHER CRACKED MY TOOTH out of my head when I was JUST PAST my first trimester of my Ella pregnancy, and I was lying there freaking for myself, and freaking that if I freaked too much I'd freak out the baby and the baby would start to freak, and all the while THAT GUY might as well have had his foot on my chest as he YANK--YANK-YANKED that tooth out, and before the thing came out, I was moaning, and tooth bits were actually flying out and hitting my face...

shudder...

and THEN I thought of that old adage my Mother casually told me once:

"well, you know the saying; 'for every child, lose a tooth.'"

ARGH!  Who the hell came up with THIS?!?  The idea behind THIS of course is that parasitic little fetus babies leech ALL the nutrients out of the HOST MOTHER, and especially CALCIUM, so not only does having a baby make your bladder FALL DOWN forever, and lie in a mostly detached heap at the bottom of your body (and maybe even fall out a lady's hoo hoo a bit if she's really lucky.  I googled it.  Prolapsed, anyone?), it makes your FREAKING TEETH ROT RIGHT OUT OF YOUR HEAD?!?

And I thought--OMYGOD I HAVE TWO CHILDREN AND I'VE LOST ONE TOOTH!!!

So, I figgered that if I have to get another tooth yanked, it would ALL GO DOWNHILL FROM THERE, and I'd go from this:


hrm...maybe I should cut my hair again? Me kinda likee in this picture....



to THIS!!!!!!!!

yeah, that's at least 3 spaces, but that's for dramatic, yet still realistic effect.

OHDEARGOD  IS THAT KAREN????  SHE'S HIDEOUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


So, I was sitting there with sweaty pits yesterday morning in the dentist's chair, awaiting my fate (and freaking besides because I had to get a filling fixed).  I pointed out the bumpity.  She felt it...

and said it's JUST BONE!  Hooray!  I have a bony gum!

Hm...that may be the only part of me that's bony beside my elbows...


Ah well, no matter!  I don't have oral cancer!  SUCK ON THAT B*TCHES!!!!

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

RANTS IN MY PANTS

I promise:  I'll stop cropping my head and putting it in random pictures.....this week.


Have you ever hurt yourself, as you're innocently going about your business and your daily drudgery, and say, right in the middle of doing the dishes, you accidentally drill your head on the corner of the cupboard door, which you ONCE AGAIN forgot to close?  So there you were, about to step back to the sink to lean in to do more scrubbing, when suddenly you're surprised because you've  NAILED YOUR HEAD AGAIN, and it FREAKING HURTS, and initiates a shit-chain of angry, angsty thought?

It goes a little something like this

- grab dirty glass and plate from table
- turn toward sink and gently slide dishes into soapy water
- SHOCKING PAIN as head is MASHED into pointy, stupid cupboard door corner
- OW! SHIT! F*CKING OW! I'M SOOOOO SICK OF DOING THAAAAAAT

and then

WHAM!  

You've slammed the stupid door back in place so hard that you've almost bent the hinge and the door is kind of stuck.  You feel sheepish for a moment, and your brain immediately flashes to your husband, and potential [deserved] disapproval, but then it goes back to it's downward spiral of thought:

How many times do I have to do that?!?
I'm always here at this sink.
Is this ALL I ever do?
My god, why did I even go to school and waste thousands of dollars if all I'm ever going to do is wash dishes?!?  
Did I only ever ASPIRE to serving people?!?!?  Make lunch, wash dishes.  Make snacks, wash dishes, make dinner, wash dishes...
SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!!!!!!
Yes, that's it.  I'm just going to clean the house, and I'll never become anything, and then I'll DIE from:

1) oral cancer (it's a new one.  Let's hope it's just a cyst on my gums. I'm starting to freak.  My sister looked at it and said "It's NOT ORAL CANCER.")
2) ovarian cancer (so, so tired of that one)
3) the tumor that's in my abdomen pressing on the nerve at the top of my thigh that every now and then buzzes slightly.  Weird, stupid occasional vaguely buzzing crotch.  
4) My lumpy bumpy stupid thyroid, sitting like a ticking time bomb in my neck

Blech.  It's all a black hole.

So then, my Dad comes over for lunch and happens to ask if I've ever considered getting my master's degree.

"I think it would open doors for you..."  said Dad.

.....
..........
............

OPEN DOORS for me?  Well that sounds a bit magical!  

Because, here is my other fear:  one of these days, I'm going to have to get a job.  I'm going to have to stop goofing off in blog land, and pretending that I'm actually justifying my stay-at-home-mom existence by throwing in the odd load of laundry, and making it LOOK like I'm doing just what I'm supposed to do:  Hey, look at me!  I'm not just cropping my head and putting it into famous movie pictures for 2 hours...no no!  I'm doing something USEFUL!  I'm earning my IMAGINARY PAY CHEQUE!  Wait a minute--that's right--I DON'T GET PAID.  Pppft.

So, 

SO!  Let's say karen went back to school.  I think a master's program is only 2 years.  I could swing 2 years, because I have to be honest people:  I HATE school.  I H8 it.  I skipped an assload of school in uni.  I skipped so much of my "Pop Culture" class, that one day the prof asked me to stay behind after class to have a little chat.  So, after feeling mortified for the entire class, I got to sit down with the woman, who was all CONCERNED FROWNY FACE, and she gently proclaimed herself to be "one of the most caring members of the faculty," and she "hoped that if any student was having a problem, they could talk to her about it."

Shudder.

I mumbled out some B.S. and got the rock out of there.  If I were telling the truth, I'd have said;  "no, no real problem.  I just really hate school.  Also, your lecture is the first of my day, and I also hate getting up early.  And finally, the parking lot is pure bullcrap, and if I show up and can't find a spot to park, chances are I'm just going to turn around and head to the mall.  No offense."

Well, after talking to Dad, I was kind of inspired.  And then Mr. Practical, A.K.A. The Man, pooped right on my fantasy, as he is wont to do:

"Yeah, what kind of job would you be going for?"

Me:  "Erm...I don't know."

The Man:  "well, it's all fine and good if you have a job in mind that you want to get, but if you're going just for the sake of going [back to school] then it doesn't really make much sense."

See that?  See how he sucked all the rainbow out of my OPEN DOOR fantasy?


Help me people.  Tell me what kind of job I could get with a MASTER OF ENGLISH degree.  Please don't  say:  DATA ENTRY CLERK.  That will crush me.

Oh, and can someone tell me how to shut the hypochondria switch off in my brain?  It's making me soooooo tired.





Monday, October 17, 2011

My Girlie is Obsessed

...with BOOBIES.

Ella loves boobies.  She's four years old and she's breast obsessed.  She has to talk about boobies all the time, express her love for breasts, express her love for her own "breasts".

Recently, as she was heading from the bath to get dressed:

Ella: "I love you."

Me:  "I love you too."

Ella:  "I was TALKING to my NIBBLES."

She can't wait to grow up and have BOOBIES just like me.  She tells me this often, or she goes into crazy mode and pats my hoots like bongos while shouting "BOOBIES!  BOOBIES!  BOOBIES!" and laughing her head off, even as I'm telling her to knock it off.

So, the little nut was very busy crafting a Halloween picture with one of those foam craft kits.  She happily worked away with her glue stick, happily sticking random pieces here and there.  Then she couldn't wait to show me:



Look Mom, this is my Halloween picture!  There are owls and a pumpkin, and some black cats, and the witch is showing her boobies!  HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!


sigh.


So, are your kids obsessed with THEIR BITS too?

Friday, October 14, 2011

Juicy Delicious Scrumptious Friday

Oh Friday!  I love you so much!  You make me so happy!  The clouds of my heart have lifted to reveal the rainbow chocolate love cake known as FRIDAY!

Enough words!  Words can not do this day justice.  I must show you how I feel...


...IN PICTURES!!!






































































Wherever you are on a Friday, may it always be FANTASTIC!

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

20 CHEESIEST Songs Ever


Okay, so we've talked about music before.  I ranted about my top 20 most loathed songs of all time, my MOST HATED Christmas songs, and then I decided to stop bitching, and balance things out with some actual songs I lurv.  Oh yeah....and then there were those 10 songs I'm ashamed to admit I like...heh heh...but we'll just keep those a secret.

And that was wicked good fun, because you guys had so many great songs to add to my lists, and you had a lot to say about the songs that I chose, whether you agreed or disagreed, or were sad that I thought Dr. Feelgood is a stupid song.

Lately though, I've been thinking about CHEESY songs, and how CHEESE transcends BAD in a way that nothing quite can.  When I think of the word "cheesy" in relation to music, I either think of something that is just beyond lame, or so dripping in sickening, sugary crap that it actually makes you CRINGE to listen to it, or it makes you feel like screaming

SERIOUSLY?  SERIOUSLY!!!! THIS SONG IS A HIT?  PEOPLE LIKE THIS SONG!?!

Let's face it--there is a LOT of bad music out there (Bon Jovi), but only very special songs get to be CHEESY.

So, here are the songs that pop right into my head when I think of CHEESY, CHEESY music.  Some of them are quite outdated, but if you're stuck with my brain, they'll pop up on your mental playlist just the same.

20.  Mr. Telephone Man by New Edition 

Sure, reach your hand into the BOY BAND BAG to find a cheesy song and it is EASY PICKIN'S my friends.  What's that expression about shooting fish in a barrel...

Anyhoo, blech.  This is some horrible, sappy synthesizer ballad about an idiot who can't figure out that "his baby" won't answer the phone when he calls.  Hello!  A) you're hideous, B) that strange pre-pube voice makes me want to hurl, and C) HELLO, REPETITIVE!

19. My Endless Love by Diana Ross & Lionel Richie

Okay, you be Lionel and I'll be Diana, and we'll make love to each other with our words.

GAG

18. Making Love Out Of Nothing At All by Air Supply

Heh?  Heh?  Am I RIGHT OR WHAT??!!

Sigh.  I have so much to say about this song.  I could have done an entire post on just this song.  Remember how popular Air Supply was, even though neither guy was hot?  Oh, but that's shallow.  Please, I beg you, please check out THE LYRICS sometime, won't you?  It's so over the top with sap that I think a few of my teeth just fell out. Plus, I have to put this song in the category of any song that uses the words MAKING LOVE in it, because seriously those words are so terrible, they're worse than the C-U-Next-Tuesday word.

17.  Just A Kiss by Lady Antebellum

I was thinking about this the other day and it dawned on me that any band that only makes super sucky wedding type ballads is totally weinie weinerville.  I mean--and yes, this is a tad sexist--it seems forgivable for a woman to pen slurpy love gushers, but what's with the dude???  Doesn't he ever want to pick up a guitar and crank out some IRON MAN instead?  I know how they came to be though:  "hey, you know those lame songs chicks want to dance to at their weddings?  Let's make those songs!  We'll be RICH!"

16. Kenny G.

F*ck you.  I don't care if he's not a song.  He's a terrible offender.  So is his good friend Michael Bolton come to think of it.  I could easily have put "Saxophone" in his place too, because it's always cheesy.  NO, don't bother trying to argue with me.  It's always cheesy.  NO?  You don't think so?  Yeah, well, look at this guy:

"Sax Man"  Come on.  Just CLICK ON IT.  It wouldn't let me embed it.

(holy shit...I thought that guy had no pants on for a second.  Anyhoo...)

15. Let's Wait a While by Janet Jackson

Okay, I applaud the message, or whatever, but this candyfloss plea to not get their bone on just yet (because it will spoil their perfect love!) just makes me want to kark.  Couldn't she have just written him a letter and spared us the agony?

I'm in agony.

14. Careless Whisper by George Michael

Wait...was this a George Michael song, or a Wham thing?  Enh, who cares.

Hey kids, there's that SAXOPHONE again!  Listen, you're angry at me right now, because you LIKED that song.  I liked that song.  We all liked that song--that putrid, whiny, fist clenching, cheese-tacular waa waa about cheating on his good friend.  Weren't you relieved when George Michael could finally just be gay?  I was.  Wait, that doesn't really have anything to do with the song...

13. From This Moment by Shania Twain

Admit it.  You danced to this song at your wedding didn't you?  You thought it signaled the beginning of your MAGICAL NEW LIFE TOGETHER.  Never mind about the times he/she got on your nerves BEFORE this moment, FROM THIS MOMENT ON is when you'll really be in LURV.

Oh god!  I hate these songs that are crafted SPECIFICALLY for weddings in the same way I hate that Disney makes decor for baby rooms.  THINK OUTSIDE OF THE FREAKING BOX, PEOPLE, AND for crap's sake, avoid contrived shmaltz like this.

12. Bed Of Roses by Bon Jovi

How melodramatic can you get?  Answer:  Bed Of Roses by Bon Jovi.  I have to have them on my list.  They are the biggest music offenders of all time.  Yes, I said it.

Wait...did he just sing:  "with an ironclad fist, I wake up and french kiss the morning"???
WTF

Do you know what HAUNTS ME though?  I know ALL THE LYRICS to the chorus.  It's SO over the top, SO RIDICULOUS, so completely preposterous ...sweet mother of gorgonzola, I can't continue.

11. Tammy by Debbie Reynolds

Okay Music aficionados:  who recalls this saccharine SICKENING, SIMPERING little ditty?  Tammy, Tammy, Tammy's in LOVE!  BORK!! Well, if you feel like a gag, give it a listen. It will fill your world with hearts and rainbows.  If not, skip to number 10.

10. Precious and Few by Climax

Oh, the 70's was a lovely era for sappy, cheesy, revolting, cringe-worthy music.  First of all:  Climax?  Retarded.  The word "precious" is never cool in a song. I hardly have anything else to say.  The song has done the work for me, and suddenly I'm craving a sandwich...

9. I Want to Make It With You by Bread

Hey, all you 80's haters out there, stick around for a bit and see just how cheesy 70's music could be.  "I want to MAKE IT with you?"  SERIOUSLY?!?  Hating it! HATING IT!  When he says he wants to MAKE IT with her, does he mean he wants to make a relationship work, or he wants to GET IT ON with her, as the expression "making it" with someone used to mean???

HELP!  Help!  SOMEONE PLEASE!

8. All By Myself by Eric Carmen

Dear Mr. Carmen, if you weren't actually lacking in balls, why did you write such a whiny, weinie song?  Somehow it was a bit better when Celine screeched it out, because we girls are often pining for a man.  We just are.  Because we're girls.  But you sir need to grow some nuts and go out and have a beer.

7. My Woman, My Woman, My Wife by Marty Robbins

OH MY LORD, I don't believe it.  I've just killed two birds with one stone with this particular youtube version of the song:  I've posted a song that I've always thought was PURE CHEESE, and I've appealed to my sister's obsessive love for LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE, because someone out there thinks that this is what Charles would have sung to Caroline.

I'm so happy right now.  Enjoy, SISTER MINE, enjoy.

6. Wind Beneath My Wings - Bette Midler

Did you ever know that you're my hero?  You're everything I would like to be.  Oh, I could fly higher than an eagle for YOU are the wind beneath my wings.

Yeah, you're convinced now too. I don't care if you also cried when you saw Beaches.  Repeat after me:  "CHEESE, CHEESE, CHEESE.

5. From A Distance - Bette Midler

Ooo!  Looky who gets to be a double offender on my list!  Who knew?  I have nothing against Bette Midler.  I'd even do "The Rose" for drunk karaoke, but this song?  This YACKER?!?   Horrid.

By the time she gets to the part where she just chants GOD IS WATCHING US, GOD IS WATCHING US GOD IS WATCHING US FROM A DISTANCE, I am literally rolling around on the floor in agony, begging whatever deity who will listen to just make it stop.  No, this is not an anti-god statement.  It's an anti CHEESE protest!

4. Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman by Britney Spears

What exactly is she whining about in this song--that she's not allowed to wear that slutty flesh-coloured body suit thing yet, or that she can't help it when she forgets to put her gitch on?

Cheese, cheese, cheese.

3. Hold It Against Me by Britney Spears

Did you realise that this is a song made up of CHEESY one liners?  Like, ohmygod that's lame!  "If I said I want your body now would you hold it against me" and "you feel like paradise, and I need a vacation tonight"....ah hell naw.  Shouldn't she be singing this with some novelty eyebrows waggling, while holding a big novelty cigar?  What, you don't get the Groucho reference?  I'm that old?

This is one of those songs that I thought; THIS SONG IS POPULAR?!?!  HOW?!?!?!

2. The Edge Of Glory by Lady Gaga

Big hit, right?  Super popular, right?  Stuck in your head for weeks, yes?  Even my 3 year old niece was singing it for days.  Now, let's all have the cajones to admit it:

CHEESE.  PURE UNADULTERATED CHEESE.

Yeah, I'm not afraid to say it, even if it pains me to put Lady G. on my list.  I mean, come on...remember when "Just Dance" came out and we were all this song is right on, and then "Love Game" came out and we were all HELLZ YEAH and then this super lame cheeseburger dropped and we were like WHAAA... because, these lyrics?

"I'm on the edge of glory, and I'm hangin' on a moment with you."

Cue saxophone.

Cue broken-hearted tears on my part.



This leaves me with one more song.  In my mind, and in my heart, I feel it is perhaps THE CHEESIEST SONG OF ALL TIME. Let me know what you think, dear hearts.  I know you won't mistake the cheese in this one.

1. YOU'LL HAVE TO CLICK THE LINK

Irrefutable, wouldn't you say?  Irrefutable cheese.

Now, the part I've been longing for:  YOUR CHEESY SONGS!  Don't disappoint me people, we have much love to share!

Monday, October 10, 2011

FIRE BUM

source

No, this is not a post about eating too many spicy peppers on pizza, or too much spicy curry paired with too many glasses of red wine.  Nor is it in any way related to "onion bum," which is a disgusting expression a friend of one of my family members came up with, which refers to the result of eating too much spicy food.  This is about kids, and how they suck at wiping themselves.

Because, let's face it:  kids stink at wiping their own bums.  First of all, their arms aren't even long enough until--when?--they're six???  This is a bit of a problem, when I fear all the time that my junior kindergarten girl will head off to school and need to do a "number two" while she's there.  I worry that a) she'll do a typically terrible job and return to her class activities stinkier than before, and b) the kindergarten teacher will have the office call me to come get my smelly child.

Hey, I was part of the skidmark club.  We all were as kids.  Why?  Because we sucked at wiping our bums, AND, our mothers were too burnt out to move back in time from that marvelous milestone called "wipe YOUR OWN ass" to check up on us every time.  Let that be the MOTHER MOTTO:  "ALWAYS MOVE FORWARD, NEVER BACKWARD."

When I was four, and there was no such thing as junior kindergarten yet, I remember making a conscious decision to not wear underpants any longer.  I had decided that they served no purpose, so why bother?  So, I got dressed in my thin, tight little pale blue polyester shorts one morning, and headed off to the grocery store with my mummy.  My mother was mortified to discover the brown spot on the back of my shorts.  She may have just discovered this as we were stepping out of the car in my grandma's driveway for a visit after shopping.  And Polish Grandma?  She would NOT LET IT DROP:

Grandma:  "what she gotteh on her shorts?"  (no, don't get offended at my phonetic-ed Polish, as Grandma used to speak it, I'm not making fun of her, I remember her fondly--SNIFF)

Mom:  "Oh!  Just some dirt or something..."

Grandma:  "Look!  She gotteh something brown on it"

Mom:  "Ha ha, yeah, I think she sat in some melted chocolate in the back seat.."

Me:  .........


It went on from there.  Did my mom cover for me, to spare me more embarrassment than I already felt, or did she do it to spare herself?  One will never know.

So, both my kids suck a little bit at this job.  PLUS, they also at times enjoy using nearly an entire roll of toilet paper per bathroom cleanup session.  And that right there is ANOTHER REASON to use ENVIRONMENTALLY FRIENDLY TOILET PAPER people:  my pipes have never plugged when they clog up the works with the "green" toilet paper--unlike the name-brand stuff.

The problem with Ella is that she's a girl, and when any poop migrates to the hoo-ha, there are problems, ie; multiple incidences of mild bladder infections, and/or irritated lady bits.

The other day, I was outside trying to pull out some dead flowers/tidy up the yard, etc.  I stepped inside to find Ella SCREAMING HER HEAD OFF upstairs, and The Man in a mild panic, not knowing how to solve the problem.

What was the problem?  FIRE BUM.  Or, FIRE VAGINA--take your pick.  Ella came up with both terms as a way to explain how it felt when she peed.  So, I did what I've done before:  marched down to the pantry to get the BAKING SODA, and ordered The Man to go to the drug store to get some CRANBERRY JUICE.

I shook some baking soda into a bath, and washed her with it and VOILA--no more FIRE BUM.  Remember this for future reference, girls.  As I was drying my girly off, she expressed her gratitude.

Ella:  "Wow, mom, that stuff really worked!  Thanks for buying it."

Me:  "Yeah--great for baking cookies, and great for vaginas!"

Ella:  "I hate your jokes."


The end.

Friday, October 7, 2011

Thanksgiving Craft Festival Angst-Style

My children have sucked all the life and goodness out of me.

It's Canadian Thanksgiving this weekend--help me out people, is it Sunday, technically, or Monday?  I never remember because I never cook it myself.  I just eat it, and I eat it whenever the cook in question decides they feel like cooking all day.  I'm going to guess that it's technically Monday.

Whatever.

So, there's this annual Thanksgiving craft festival in an extremely charming area nearby--so charming in fact, one could say that it fairly REEKS of charm--and my sister and I decided to take the kids with my dad and go.  It was an incredibly gorgeous day; warm and sunny, and the leaves are JUST starting to turn around here, and this is my favourite time of year, so HOORAY!  Autumn festivals!  Hooray for the potential of buying something crafty and fun!  Hooray for the great outdoors!

But,

I have a son who doesn't like to do ANYTHING, and has very little time for nature and enjoying nature.  Here is a little foreshadowing:

Yesterday...

Me:  Tomorrow we're going to go with Aunt Aimee and your cousins to [BLANK] Falls!

Jack:  "What's there?"

Me:  "A great big park!"

Jack:  "Is there a PLAY PLACE there?"

Me:  "No."

Jack (becoming disgusted):  "do they have a PLAYGROUND there?"

Me:  "No.."

Jack (completely out of patience at this unfathomable, incomprehensible hell park):  "Well, WHAT DO THEY HAVE THERE?!?"

Me:  "erm...a CRAFT SALE!  Yeah!  You get to walk around, and it's really pretty and they sell cool things there, and maybe you get to eat some yummy treats!"

Good one, karen.  The kid hates food.

Okay, so he was completely not-sold on the idea, but because his favourite cousin was going, he would just have to make the ultimate sacrifice and go too.

Here's how it all went down:



Ah, here we are just arriving at the park.  The children are skipping merrily down the hill to get there and it's just so pretty out!  How sweet!  Aren't the kids cute?  Maybe this will be a good day after all!



Ella and her girl cousins have decided they don't need to listen to us.  AT ALL.  Nope, they've happily run off ahead and are ignoring my annoying parent cries of

"ELLA! GET BACK HERE!  WAIT FOR US!  YOU HAVE TO WAAAAAIT!!!"

Eff that, they're going to have fun, and they're going to hop on this slightly lame, but cute little tractor "train" and have themselves a ride.  Okay.  Fine.  Luckily they didn't get TOO far ahead--like, not SCARY far, and the train doesn't have a cost, only a donation box, so that's alright I guess.  Plus, as they're just getting going, some charming old guy came over from his Government of Canada tent, and gave all the little kids little plastic Canadian flags, and just to up the cute factor, all the little kids immediately begin waving them around, as they happily cruise around at 2 miles per hour in a circle.

Aw,  that's nice.  karen is even stoopid enough to burble out:  "TODAY IS MAGICAL!"

Hope springs eternal, @$$hole, hope springs eternal.



Look!  My sister and I are even having enough fun to take retarded photies, and she makes a goofy face for my little pink camera/celly (she's not going to lurv me posting this perhaps.  Whatevs.)


Next stop, a magic show for the children, already in progress.  Okay, it's freaking hot.  FLIPPING hot.  In fact, why is it so hot?  It's OCTOBER.  I'm starting to melt a little. Jack is actually liking the magic show.  He wants to know if he can get a magic wand for his birthday.  I'm charmed.  Sure, I tell him.

Even better--magic show guy finishes his show (which is good, because it's about 10,000 degrees outside), and is now selling plastic magic wands for two bucks a pop.  Best four bucks ever spent!  The kids are thrilled--especially Jack.

This is when Jack first asks when we're going home.  We've been there about 15 minutes.  Great.



This is Ella, riding a stupid pony.  There goes another five bucks.  It's 20,000 degrees in the direct sun, and there are six kids ahead of Ella and her cousins, but there is no way that kid will be persuaded away from having a pony ride.

We wait forever, and even I feel like rolling on the ground in agony when finally Ella gets her ride.  Amazingly she doesn't get the pony that keeps making the hairball sound, like it has a wad of grass stuck in the back of his throat.  Sheesh.  I hate these pony ride things.  Eventually the stupid hurking horse has a big drink at the huge bucket that's RIGHT THERE and stops making that noise that is cracking Jack up, but mildly disturbing me.

Have a small tousle with Jack after the pony ride debacle:  he wants me to take the lid RIGHT OFF the reusable drink bottle I've brought from home.  I say NO WAY, because if the klutz spills all of our water, we're screwed.  I tell him to just drink from the convenient sippy spout on the top.  Jack loses it, grabs my arm and digs his chin in as hard as he can.  We've been "chinned" about one billion times, but this one particularly hurts, and honestly--if he were a grownup, I'd have punched him right in the f*cking head.

But,

I am his mother, and I'm in public, so I'm not even allowed to screech, but instead must do what all FURIOUS mothers do in public, and hiss in an angry whisper to Not. Do. That. Again.

So, now Jack and I are fighting, and it's 50,000 degrees outside, and I'm thinking such black thoughts--the likes of which I could NEVER type out here, not even for you good people.

Next stop:  to buy a crappy steamed hot dog and a couple of apple juices.  So, we get our horrid little snack, and all the picnic tables are DIRECTLY IN THE SUN.  This is bad, because it's 80,000 degrees by this point, and even my knees feel prickly they're so sweaty.

We're all quietly munching/sipping away when Ella FREAKS, and starts SHRIEKING AND SOBBING AND FLAPPING AROUND at the table.  There is a wasp casually walking around on her apple juice bottle, and the kid is losing it SO BADLY that I can feel the eyes of basically everyone on us.  I actually saw my life pass before me, as I leapt out of my skin with that first blood-curdling shriek.

And so we head off to the craft stalls to see if there's anything fun to buy.

I'm feeling fairly burnt at this point.

Jack has now asked me approximately every five minutes when we're leaving.

So, we round the corner into crappy craft alley, right near some ditzo who thinks she's the blonde shiznit, as she sucks away on a cigarette.

Jack:  "what does it smell like???"

Me:  "cigarettes."

Jack:  "cigarettes?"

Me:  "someone's smoking.  Disgusting habit."

Then, I ambled five feet over to my sister, and the girls, and we looked at one seller's wares for a moment, and then Jack disappeared.

"Where's Jack?"

"WHERE'S JACK?!?"

Jack was gone.  Gone.  Completely gone.  Not up ahead. Not behind.  Not back at the hand-wash station a hundred feet away from whence my dad was now returning...ALONE.

Parents.

Have you lived this?  Have you had this gut-dropping moment of IMMEDIATE terror?  Suddenly I realised how HUGE the park is.  The first image that popped into my mind was THE BAD MAN, silently taking Jack's hand, and swiftly leading him away.

Oh, the sickening, swooning terror, as I run down the row shouting "JACK!  JAAAACK!"  People are turning to look at me.  Why isn't he hearing me?  Why isn't he RIGHT THERE?  How am I going to find him???  All I could think were the terrible thoughts I'd had in my mind after he'd dug his chin into my arm, and now he'd vanished.

Then, miraculously, a vendor woman all in white linen steps out from her stall and asks if I'm looking for my son, because a boy ran by looking distressed, crying.  She tried to stop him, but he kept going and she pointed in the direction he had gone and I couldn't see him and then I saw him, way back over by the picnic tables where we'd had our snack, and he had his "Jack the Pumpkin King" shirt on and he was crying and

it took everything in me not to sob, right then and there.

Deep breath.

And the rest?

Well,

Ella got a stupid balloon animal shaped like a rabbit.  That lasted ten minutes before it popped.  Bye-bye three more dollars.  The girls ended the day happily painting a little wood craft, while I nearly passed out.

Since the day was so suck-tacular, I said f*ck it, and bought myself the $40 necklace that caught my eye.  Actually, The Man bought it.  I figure he'd owed me one for this day anyway.

Ooo...look how yummy with it's shiny glass and stones and polished pieces of wood, and  glossy pieces of shale that I want to put in my mouth and suck on a little bit

See?  All better now.

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