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

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

What If I Have Always BEEN Boring?

Blank screen....blank screen....ohbum bleebum bloggum blooogin.

Seriously...what the hell do they say at the beginning of that Def Leppard "Rock Of Ages" Song?

Okay. Now I'm distracted. I have to look up the lyrics:

"Gunter glieben glauchen globen."

This actually pisses me off a bit.  Now I have to pop it into Google Translate:

(German ~ detected) "Gunter glieben glauchen globes."


Now I must google "what does Gunter glieben glauchen globen" mean?


I hate you, Def Leppard.  I truly hate you right now.

Of course, any of you who are too young to have ever walked around with 10 batteries in your "ghettoblaster," being all 12 years old and cool as shit, blasting out Rock Of Ages to your quiet, conservative neighbourhood...well, you won't get it.  You just won't get it.

What the fuck was I talking about?  Oh yes, I haven't been here for a long time.

And you know what?  Five of you actually give a shit, and that's good enough for me, so I'm back!  And I think I forgot how to write.

So, what have I been up to?  Well, the usual:  having inane arguments with my mildly Autistic son, watching Adventure Time with my girlie,

Adventure Time is THE SHIT!!!

trying hard to exercise 6 days a week,

I'm particularly pleased with my arm
and shoulder definition
trying hard to eat healthy food, instead of melting gourmet cheese on everything.  Seriously--why even live if you can't have a platter lined up with some Applewood smoked cheddar, some Red Leicester, and some goat cheese with a whisper of red pepper jelly on it?  Why even live.

Oh yeah! I've also been trying to grow out my hair for three years.  This is big news.  But I have to wonder:  is there something truly wrong with me?!?  It has taken 3 years to grow almost 3 inches of freaking hair.  I saw this friend in person one time, and then a YEAR LATER she posted an updated pic on Facebook, and her hair went from chin length to draping like gorgeous satin sheets over her shoulders.  WTF, hair?  I'm 41 now!  I need to grow it so's peeps think I'm 38.

And guess what, guys?!?  If any of you know me, you know I've had my thyroid poked, many, many times, because it gots a big, ugly, stupid, idiot nodule on it.  Well, I just had it stabbed again at the beginning of October.  Then I waited til November for the results.  Trust me--I was happy about waiting that long.  I had NOOOOO problem with it.  My results were AWESOME!  My thyroid is completely clear, and there is no trace whatsoever of it being cancerous.

My specialist said he was going to forward a letter to my family doc saying that I don't need to get it biopsied or ULTRASOUNDED (that's not a word. I do what I want) and the only thing I need to look out for is if I HAVE TROUBLE BREATHING, OR HAVE TROUBLE SWALLOWING!  HUZZAH!  BOO YAH!  SUCK IT, UGLY THYROID!

Now, now, gentle hearts, don't get all caught up on the breathing/swallowing thang. Sometimes when I'm chowing down on some McDonk's fries, they get all packed up in my throat, and I'm FINE.  It could be the giant nodule in there, or it could just be that McDonk's truly does put out a shitty product.  Meh--bigger fish to fry, my friends.

So that's super duper good.  What else...let's see...

Oops, I almost forgot.  My dad has ALS.


say WHAT?!?

Yes, that's right.  My mom died in 2010 from lung cancer, and hand-wringing time has returned once again.  Now, how the hell do you head-crop your way out of that one?!?

Why, yes! It IS a terrible disease!
(seriously though--have my head-cropping skills not become totally amazing?!?)

Well, looks like I did manage to do a head-crop joke for that.  Truly I am made of evil.

Bah.  It's how we cope at our house: not with hugs...NEVER WITH HUGS, with inappropriate humour!

So, things pretty much blow lately, but it's weird, because if things have blown in your life so often, you still turn around and get the laundry done.  Very, very strange.

Oh, but the blogging thing.  I have forgotten that I like writing.  Writing is my thing.  I have gotten caught up in the hum drum and the routine.  I think I got really, really frustrated with my blog when I tried to monetize it and BLOGGER basically rejected my ass. And let me tell you:  I filled out  a FREAKING REAM of information, only to be rejected in the end.  So, I did the mature thing, and promptly kinda gave up.


that's RIGHT, Charlie. You tell em' buddy.

So, I am going to try to kick my ass to do a lot of things:  a) pushups, which are so gross they actually make me really, really angry.

b) write, because it's the only thing I've been good at for longer than a couple of months.

But then I had to wonder:  what if I'm boring?  What if I've ALWAYS been boring, but I quickly run in and blow some gold and sparkly powder in your guyses' eyes, and shout something witty then quickly run away, and noooobody realises that I never did actually have anything valid to say?

Oh well, that's your problem dudes.

Sorry :)

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Rant About Pants

How annoying.

Okay, so I've lost a bunch of weight in the past year.  I currently have an obsession.  A clothing obsession.  A shallow clothing obsession:  skinny jeans.

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shoes are good too

Ever since I walked into Old Navy about a month ago, and wondered "hrm...I wonder if I should even try these skinny jeans on...oh, what the hell," and tried on a pair, and admitted to the young sales girl that I'd never tried on a pair, and she said; "really?!! You look GREAT in those!"...yes, ever since then, something short-circuited in my brain, and now I'm obsessed.

Yes, I crammed the swaying, jelly wreckage of my mummy tummy into those jeans, and it looked pretty darn good.

There was only one problem--

no--actually, there were two:  ONE, my stupid legs are about as long as my arms, and they didn't have my size in SHORT.  Nothing like the sales girls calling across to each other, asking if they have your size in SHORT, even though, clearly, I am not short.  Meh.  Whatevs.  TWO:  if the waist band actually fits properly, and doesn't fall down, there is way, way, waaaaay too much muffin toppage.

CranberryMuffin.jpg (1207×937)

and you know, if you're young enough, and you've got that nice smooth skin, I don't even think a muffin top over your pants is that big a deal.


If your stomach, thanks to squeezing forth some children, now looks like a BEFORE picture in an ABDOMINOPLASTY ad, therein lies the problem.

So, to recap, you can either wear skinny jeans that are in constant danger of falling down, or you can have your lower half spilling over like so much unbaked bread dough.

I have been online googling.

For days I've been googling! I've been looking for "high waisted skinny jeans."  Or, "high rise skinny jeans, " or even 'hi rise skinny jeans.  Oh my god, I've even been looking for JEGGINGS.  F*CKING JEGGINGS. And not just any jeggings--no--HIGH WAIST JEGGINGS.  And this is all because I stumbled across an article saying that if you have a post baby body, you will fare better with HIGH WAIST GODDAMN SKINNY JEANS.

BUT GOOD LUCK.  GOOD FREAKING LUCK.  YOU CAN GO INTO EVERY STORE YOU WANT THAT SELLS THESE TRENDY SKINNY JEANS AND THE 20 YEAR OLD GIRL HELPING YOU, WILL VAGUELY COMPREHEND YOUR PROBLEM, BUT NOT REALLY.   She will,  however, tell you that they DID have high rise skinny jeans and high rise jeggings but they FLEW off the shelves.'re not feeling me on this one.  You're thinking, karen, have you turned totally lame and shallow and stoopid?  The answer is kinda not.  But I do have the same problem I've always had: when I get a clothing VISION for an event, it NAGS at me until that vision is fulfilled.  So, that means, if I picture a certain pair of earrings with a certain shirt, I will hunt EVERYWHERE for that pair of earrings.

Yes, enormous first world problems.

So, what is my vision with the stupid skinny jeans?  First, I had this fantasy, before I went to Florida in March, of getting off the plane, wearing SKINNY JEANS and a sexy tank top, and maybe even a flower in my hair.  No skinny jeans.  But, in reality, I got off the fart-choked plane, and stepped into 100% humidity, my hair turned into a broom IMMEDIATELY, and I probably had some substantial pit stains happening.

I shelved the skinny jean dream.

That is, until I bought tickets for the

JillianMichaels_940x400.jpg (940×400)
look at her! Glowing with sexy, angry gorgeousness. I didn't go on the 26th, but I AM going VERY SOON! SQUEE!!!!


And I, probs like every other Jillian-ite who will be in the audience, who has suffered through her workout vids, want to be there at that show looking BADASS in skinny jeans.  BADASS in skinny jeans, and not shlumpy in the only pair of  faded wash bullshit jeans I wear every single day.  Jeans which actually only fit properly now when I wash them and run them through the drier.  Jeans that have distinctive bling on the ass, so that anyone who walks behind me each day, as I walk my kids to school, will be able to say; "hey, there's those saggy ass jeans again, snicker, snicker."

So, I have a renewed VISION and it included some dark rinse skinny jeans and this shirt:

renderImage.image (158×170)

this little bolero style cardi

renderImage.image (133×160)
also from ricki's dot comn

an arm full of sparkly gold bangles

img-thing (300×300)

some fierce, gold dangly earrings which I can't find a freaking pic of

gold flip flops

and a vintage gold bag I got at a second-hand store

nevermind the bracelet and necklace in this pic.  Vintage-savvy girlfriends: tell me how I would describe this little purse thingy in proper vintage-y terms!!

So you see, clearly there are so many important things going on in my life.  Everything was falling into place for my outfit vision...except the stupid freaking jeans.

I went out tonight and tried on a lot of jeans.  Twelve pairs of jeans in fact.  I went to two different stores, and then finally ended up at Wal-hell.

Wal-hell was actually the worst part.  I hate them.  I hate them so hard.  I hate them because they're SHIT, but I still always always always ALWAYS end up back there at some point.  I curse you Wal-hell!   So I was in there, trying on like, seven pairs of stupid jeans, and this is where I lost my love of skinny jeans pretty much entirely.  Why?  Well, because these mythical HIGH RISE SKINNY JEANS that will hide my mom junk are a UNICORN, okay??  They don't exist.  They are the Loch Ness Monster of denim.  So, I am left with all the other stupid skinny jeans, which are low slung, right down to the hair line.

Not only that, but I had two pairs of the same brand of jeans at Wal-hell, and they were supposed to be the same size, and one fit nicely, and the other one I couldn't even do up.  I want to rant, and complain, but at Wal-hell, there is NOBODY to complain to, because there is not a single person there who gives a shit.  In truth, you will never, ever ever be able to find a person within the entire corporation who gives a shit.  Maybe if you went to the third world country and found the sweat shop and the poor souls who have to stitch the freaking jeans, maybe then you could say; "hey guys, can you make sure there's some sort of quality control and that if two pairs of women's pants are supposed to be the same size, that they actually ARE?"  THANKS, I KNOW YOU ONLY GET PAID LIKE TWO DOLLARS A YEAR, BUT I NEED TO LOOK GOOD FOR THE JILLIAN MICHAELS SHOW.

As I was shuffling in and out of all these stupid, teenagerish pants, they kept trying to drag my baffed out underwear down with them.  And let me tell you something:  not only did I learn that shopping for jeans is STILL PURE HELL, I'm also completely sick of having a hole in nearly ever pair of gitch I own.  Because as my underpants kept getting dragged down, revealing my scrotum-esque Mummy tummy, they also revealed the stupid, faded pink, cotton underpants with the big RUN in the front, with all the bush poking through.  Yes, that's right.  I said it.  Bush poking through.  And it was then, that I got out of the change room, threw the ONE PAIR OF BOOTCUT GUT SUPPORTING WOMAN JEANS that actually made me look like the hawt babe I'm meant to be into the cart, and I wheeled over to the underwear section where I  bought two frigging packages of underpants, and MARK MY WORDS, I am going to throw out all the other holey ancient gitches I own tomorrow.

And then, because all that squeezing in and out of pants, and bush spillage and dough toppage, and battling against camel toes and all the other ridiculousness, my normally decent self esteem flushed itself down the toilet, and I found myself at home self-medicating with a handful of corn chips and some of that plastic Mexican-ish pourable cheese in a jar (I also have the PMS), and let me tell you, it's a damn good thing The Man ate 3/4 of the bag AND the plastic cheese, because that stuff is shit, and if you actually microwave it, as it says on the side of the jar, it tastes



And THAT, my friends, is all I have to say about THAT.

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Sunday Inspiration: Up With The Birds

press play first, please

Might have to go where they don't know my name

But I won't show or feel any pain

Even though all my armor might rust in the rain

a simple plot, but I know one day

good things are coming my way.

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Look Into The Face Of This Boy And See Your Future

I had a very interesting experience yesterday.

I don't know--does everyone know by now that I have an 8 year old son somewhere vaguely on the Autism Spectrum?  Okay, well now you do.  If you're interested in the Autism thang, you can always scroll down to the bottom of my blog and find the "labels" on the right side bar.  If you click on "Autism," or "Autism Spectrum," or "Jack", you'll find where a lot of my angst is stored here in this blog.

But I digress...

So, yesterday after school, as always, I was letting the kids stick around to play, along with one of my mom friends, her daughter, and another classmate of Ella's whom she was babysitting after school.  There is now a good-sized snow hill on one side of the school, and kids LOVE a snow hill, so they were having a great time.

Not long after we had been out, a raucous snowball fight broke out nearby among a small group of older boys.  One boy in particular seemed to be extra aggressive, and kept whipping snowballs right at the head of the little sister of one of the boys, at close range.  One of the snowballs splattered right across the back of her head and fell down the back of her coat and everything.

What an obnoxious kid, I thought.

The mom I was with was really horrified by this kid's seemingly "bully-esh" behaviour, and decided she should teach him a lesson and throw a snow ball at HIS head.  It was a misguided idea, sure, but she was trying to make it more of a light-hearted, mischievous thing than a stern lecture.  So, she got a snow ball and lightly through it at him, but he turned his head just in time for the snow to hit him on his cheek near his ear.

And the look on his face???  He was STUNNED.  He couldn't believe it.  He had the widest eyes of disbelief.   He stopped and said; "YOU THREW A SNOW BALL AT MY HEAD!"

Well, things kind of escalated from there, and he got angrier, and mouthier and stood back so he could throw snowballs at the mom (who, by the way, felt mortified by the whole scene, because she really is a nice person, and isn't malevolent at all).

And the more belligerent and mouthy the kid became, and the more he threatened to get his CELL PHONE and CALL THE POLICE about the ICE BALL that had been WHIPPED at HIS FACE, it was like a combination lock suddenly clicked into place in my brain:

That boy was the 13 year old version of Jack.

It was all there before me:  the over-the-top outrage, the total lack of connecting the wrongness in HIS actions to the wrong that had been done to HIM, the mouthiness, the inability to let it go even as someone tried to mollify him.

As he was whipping snowballs in our direction, there was my boy, up on the snow hill calmly saying; "would ya please stop it?" to him.  At one point the kid said; "SHUT UP, JACK" and made a face at him.

And I stood there fascinated.  Taking it all in.  I had never met a kid who was basically like my son;  looked like any other kid, but had that social cluelessness, that mouthiness, that total inability to "learn a lesson."

By this point, the poor kid was on his way home, shouting anger at us from across the street, and I was pleading for him to come back so I could explain to him that I KNEW what he was; that I understood.  That nobody was angry anymore.

But he just kept shouting "WHY DON'T YA MAKE ME?!?"

And then all night long, I was haunted by the look on his face.  I can't explain it as well as I'd like.  It's a special Autism Spectrum kinda look.  It's the look Jack gets on his face when I do or say something to him that mimics the bad thing he has just done.  It's a look that says; "no matter how bad I am, you are never allowed to be angry at me because I need you to love me 100% of the time."

Not that I'm saying that kid wants me to love him no matter what.

I thought about that look all night long.  And I thought about that kid going home and saying that some kid's MOM threw a snowball at him, and I thought about how upsetting the whole confrontation would be to him, and I thought about how the parents would feel, because even though they'd probably know their kid had done something wrong in the first place, it would still be another one of those stories they'd have to hold on to in which nobody understood.

I sat on Jack's bed last night, and talked to him about what had happened, and how I regretted being a grouch to the kid at first.  Jack helpfully agreed that I was "too mean," and needed to be "more patient."  Thanks, Jack.

And then he remembered the face the boy had made at him, and he got all ticked off.  "He was a JERK for making that face at me!"  And this after we had this big discussion on tolerance, and sympathy, and how some people can't help what they do or say.  But just don't do these things to JACK personally.  Ha.

It was a very strange experience.  The only good thing I can say is that I am so thankful I recognised this poor kid for who he was, albeit a little too late.  How many other ignorant people simply conclude that he's an obnoxious kid?

I have no idea what the future has in store for us with this asshole Autism in our lives, and quite frankly, I try not to imagine, but yesterday I feel like I got a small glimpse into the future.

Don't know how I feel about that.

Monday, January 14, 2013

I'll NEVER Live This Down

Haven't you seen the horrible, heinous offense I committed against my girlie?

An offense she will never ever ever ever ever let me forget???

Well come on, already! Click HERE!!

(and in other news...I feel the EIGHTIES coming on soon...)

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

karen Does The Decades: THE NINETIES!!

Hey Everyone!  It's a BRAND NEW YEAR!

So, what better time to look back on the style and makeup of the past decades?  Okay, actually I've just had this idea stuck in my head for ages about recreating the makeup from the past, because it's winter, and I'm trapped in the house, and it will be FUN!

So, since we're already IN the OH-OH'S (I created that term myself.  You like?  Maybe it will go VIRAL), I thought I'd start instead with



You know, the EIGHTIES takes a lot of flack from people.  Everyone's always dumping on the eighties; the fashion, the music, the garish colours, etc, but NOBODY ever talks about THE NINETIES.

That's right. As everyone's all shit-talking the eighties, the nineties quietly sneak under the radar, relieved that nobody realizes that they were actually WORSE.

So come on!  Let's go back to THE NINETIES!

I'll Be There For You by Rembrandts on Grooveshark

 Ew! It's the 90's! The music is gross, the fashion is yuck, and flammable polyester has made a huge come-back--and not in a good way.

So here's me, in the photie below, with my usual non-style, style.  I like to think of it as, "just enough effort to not look like a hag."  Har har.

Incidentally, I'm at a hair colour crossroads.  On one hand I'm completely sick of colouring my hair, dealing with roots, and dumping CHEMICALS ALL OVER MY HEAD.  On the other hand, is it mousey?


So this is me, pre-makeup.

So, if you recall, the 90's was all about the super thin, hideous eyebrow.  And if it was shaped like a clowny-clown semi-circle, even better.

So, what I'm going for here, is the look of a totally over-plucked eyebrow.  Hard to tell in the photie, unfortunately.

Next, you'll want to coat your face with foundation.  MATTE foundation.  And, you'll probably be using a SPONGE.  I never use a sponge to put on foundation these days.

OH, and don't think you should ever wash that freaking sponge.  The grimier the better.  After all, this is the 90's and you use whatever cheap garbage you can get your hands on.



There. All coated.

Next, you're going to want to line your upper and lower lids with EYELINER.  And don't be thinking you're going to use BLACK EYELINER.  HELLZ NO.  It is THE 90'S, and since each subsequent decade is a reaction to the previous, there will be NO garish, bright, unnatural colours.


You will only use EARTH TONES, like brick and brown, and some brown-y mauve, etc.

Even your mascara must be brown. You might go as far as black/brown, but let's not go crazy.

all lined up with the brown eyeliner.

And the same goes for blush, DAMMITT.  You must use some bricky, orangey, brown kind of colour.

does the blush look any different from my naturally blotchy face?  Hrm...

Coat the hell out of your face with pressed powder.  You need a COMPLETELY MATTE look.  NO SHINE!  SHINE IS BAD!

Next, you must line those lips with a SUPER POINTY, WELL-SHARPENED lip pencil.'s darker than your lipstick...OH WAIT! THAT'S OKAY! IT'S THE 90'S and that disgusting look is IN!

Oh...and don't forget to put a little foundation on your lips first. It'll help your lipstick last longer.  Because your lipstick should never come off in the 90's.  Never.


Now, fill in your lipstick.  I have a poopy shade of browny...something called "Fawn."

Aren't you glad I've never listened to those boring experts who say you should always throw your old makeup away?

You're welcome.

oop...I see some shine on the face.  Better re-powder.

Okay, so lipstick's on, but there's one problem.  It's a bit shiny.

In the 90's, SHINE IS THE ENEMY.  You must not have a BIT of shine on your face, and definitely no shine on your lips.  So, you actually mush your blush brush around through that pressed powder, and apply it over your lipstick.

It helps to make the SMOOCHY face before you apply that powder, so you can emphasize all the natural lines in your lips.

And now comes the worst part: THE HAIR.  Oh, the stupid hair.  Straight hair was super in.  Now, part it in the middle.

That was not the middle.  I was almost phyically incapable of finding THE MIDDLE.  Try again.

Yes, that's better.  Oh, and those chunky bangs will have to go.  In the 90's, if you had bangs at all, they were WISP THIN.

No problem-o:  you can clip your hair back with some stupid ass little butterfly bobby pins.


Don't style your bangs with your hair straightener though.  No.  You must give them a light curl with the curling iron.

Godz...I've almost forgotten quite how to do this!

Oh, curl your hair under and forward too, because you'll want to emphasize that haircut you got.  You know--you told the hairdresser to only layer it in the front?  Yeah.

Oh goody! Time to get dressed!  Do you have any completely sheer polyester  blouses with a little tank top to go underneath?  How about a ribbed polyester shirt in a nice burgundy colour?  Maybe a ribbed crop-top with a cowl neck?


Just for you people, I have put on my burgundy velvet dress, circa 1998.

Oh, and don't forget the jewellery.  It must be as teeny tiny as possible. Some stupid, too-tight necklace with tiny little details and MATCHING earrings will do just fine.

Good thing I also kept some of that crap too.

There!  You're all set!



Hey, I'll be there for YOU.


It goes to show you NEVER can tell.  


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