The Resolution

So I have been thinking all day about the "Resolution" thing and this is what I have come up with: I am not going to, again, set myself up to fail. I mean why go there? This year is going to be different. This resolution is going to set the standards soooo low that I will have no choice but to succeed. Actually wait a minute, I am going to resolve to fail miserably at this. Here it is: In 2010 I plan to commit myself to eating everything in sight, drinking copious amounts of alcohol, NOT exercising AT ALL, and spending quality time watching myself grow (I am going to love french fries again and just you say something while I am cramming them in my face!). This way when I totally mess up my stupid resolution and eat a salad and finally get my running partner to commit to me again I will be clear. I won't feel bad at all. It will be the same crap different year. You all know how it goes: I am going to eat right, exercise, love everyone, be nice, let that jerk on his cell phone merge into my lane and smile at the cow at work who would throw you under the bus the second she gets a chance.

I will get back to you all on the success and failure of this endeavour. Right now I am being pressured to participate in the New Years celebration stuff with my adopted family. Yes, it involves cheer. Yee ha. Love it.

Oh So Merry Christmas To Me!

Got me that dream laptop! Woo freaking hoo! Love it! Get ready....
(Now to pay it off.......)

Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas Etc.

This could very well be my last completely sober moment for the next couple of days (already spiked my morning coffee) so I want to wish you all a Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas and all the other holiday wishes that are politically correct. Since I have a firm rule about blogging or emailing under the influence of Christmas Cheer (or any other cheer for that matter) I gotta get it done now (oh you have to know the reason why will be coming in a story very soon - once the embarrassment wears off and I begin to see the situation(s) in a funny, entertaining light).

Thank you to all of you with your amazing comments, pokes of encouragement and funny stories. Keep checking the blog - just when you least expect it....I will totally embellish your words and post them for all to see!

On to a new year and new possibilities. 2010 is going to rock! Seriously.

Even the Cat is Suffering from Sarcasm! Look!

Don't ya just wonder what he has on his mind right now?

Sleep = Work?

Currently looking for a sleep study so I can earn money AND sleep at the same time. Wait.... I might be on to something: Is there such thing as an eat study? Let's research the eating habits of a extremely tired person (two months sounds like a perfect study time to me!)hmmmmm

The Bag

I mean the Coach kind, not the Bag at the grocery store or the Bag at work who snarls at you every day when you walk by her desk unless she needs something from you (of course then Ms. Snarly Face is all smiles and sweetness). I’m talking about the obsession a few of us have with the accessory commonly known as: The Purse (who made up that name?) A friend of mine was trying to put her Christmas Party Outfit together and asked me if she could accessorize her outfit with my Red Purse. Absolutely. What’s more Christmasy than red? I went home immediately (my manager must have thought there was some family emergency, as I was at work) and pulled the Red Purse from its appointed area in the Purse Closet. Hmmmm. This is not Christmas red. It is more like Fall Pretty Leaf Red. I simply cannot send a friend out to a Christmas party with the inappropriate color of red hanging off her arm. Oh no.

As luck would have it my friends birthday just happened to be the Monday following this big event. So the mission began: Must find perfect red purse for friend’s birthday. Should be easy…… she seems to adore all of the purses I have sported over the years. I will just go out and buy a red bag that I absolutely LOVE and can’t live without. I interject with: oh ho ho right here (Christmas mood exclamation). So many facets of trouble coming I should have just handed over Fall Pretty Leaf Red Bag and bought the chick some wine.

First problem (I should have anticipated this): it had to be the right red, right size, right texture and (with my Kraft Dinner budget) the right price. Second problem: time. I only have a few days to find this needle in a hay stack. I go to the mall (instinctual gravitation) and go to every single store that has or might carry bags (even some stores that I would normally walk by and scoff at). I am filled with anxiety. Buying a bag is like interviewing for a new best friend. It is going to be there with you all the time, it must be ready and available to help you find stuff and if it’s a really great bag (friend) it will make you look fabulous. This is not going to be easy. As I am leaving the mall I see a red bag up high on a shelf in another one of those stores I would never go into. What the heck, it’s worth a try. The shape seems right. I walk in and the saleslady, who just happens to be young enough to be my daughter, says “Can I help you?” In the meantime I have walked over to the wall that has the elusive bag and see that the color sucks so I tell the Ten Year Old, “No thank you, just looking for the red purse”. Ms. Just Got Out Of High School Yesterday decides to correct my grammer and says: “You mean A red purse.” (at this point I stop walking out of the store and look at her) “No, I say, THE red purse” (seriously honey you work in retail – you don’t love accessories like pets?) I shake my head and continue on, stunned.

Day Two – after hours of internet research and another stupid mall I am starting to think this is hopeless. I start to devise Plan B.

Day Three – I find a beautiful red bag that screams “take me home and love me forever” and I would have if the damn thing were not a million dollars. I briefly consider selling my car to buy it but change my mind. Keep looking. That will now become Plan B.

Day Four – I realize that I am not going to get anywhere with this search unless I leave the country. I love you Canada but the Bag Hub of the Universe is not here. I cross the border and refrain from telling the border guy that I am not leaving his country until I find The Red Bag (fearing being denied entry or another “you mean A red bag” comment.) Groceries it is buddy! First store I hit and I find two beautiful red friends – now to choose just one. That’s easy. Put them both on my arms and ask the Wipper Snapper to pick the best one (sorry to ruin the story at this point – I had to bring two family members with me, mostly because I would choose to spend all the grocery money on everything OTHER than groceries!) He carefully picks the most appropriate bag (the kid has amazing taste) and I smile for the rest of the trip. Even when I have to see hard earned money going to food and dream of the boots that I could have purchased with that money instead.

I get home and put the purse on my dresser. After two days I am starting to develop a relationship with it so I wrap the sucker and give it to my friend early. She is so happy with the newest member of her Accessory Family that she takes a picture of it and makes it her Facebook picture (mostly to make other people jealous). Darn if I don’t have to see that bag every time I see my friend and wish I had bought two.

Future note: If you are going to buy something for a friend that you covet, save enough money to buy two and bring yours out six months later. Then you can use a lame excuse like “No way, really, it’s the same bag! I had no idea. Well I loved how it looked when I bought it for you and I loved how it looked yesterday when I bought it for me. Crazy coincidence.” (I’m sure they’ll by it?)

If I Ruled The World - Part 1

This is just the beginning of a rant like no others, hence the Part 1. In my world, there will be only "Enhanced" clothing. You have seen it out there already. Jeans with tummy control, tops with extra stretchy stuff in the middle to help you suck it in. Do I even need to mention Spanx? Why the heck do you think they used to wear girdles back in the day? Not to mention those great big ole skirts. It was simply to do what we want to now: suck in the tummy and let the junk be free to sway. My world clothing is all that and more! Every single article produced will suck in, tighten, firm up, and make you feel fabulous. Ok, some of us will not be able to breath but look at it this way, your yoga pants will feel magical when you get home! Heck, even the yoga pants will be comfortably enhanced in some way (just in case you have unexpected guests). Forget this dieting crap. Just wear the stuff that shows your good stuff not the fluff. Just think, you will put on your tushy and tummy control thong (or grannies depending on the day); matching "look 20 again", lift em up bra; tummy, breast enhancing top; and the hip, thigh, stomach, tushy AND ankle control pants or jeans and you will radiate self-esteem and get in touch with your inner "oh yah". You will never have to worry about looking good in your stuff again! Just make sure your shoes are outstanding and your bag is it and your good to go.

Oh, there will be a Buyer Caution on the packages ladies. Do not under any circumstances let your significant other actually see you naked. It will blow your cover. He will think you have lost 10 pounds all the while watching you stuff that chicken wing in like a football tailgater. He will never know as long as you don't give it up.

Bathing suits are a completely different story. Sadly, unless the brilliant genius behind the Spanx empire gets involved, bathing suits are a hopeless cause. I think that Cellulite Reduction Lighting will need to be installed at all pools. Beaches - I don't know. How about unless you are freaking perfect, you just stay away from the beach? Sand sucks anyway.

Merry Christmas???? I think not.

Ya had to know I was not going to leave this one alone. It just took me a bit to post because I had to calm down. This little ditty starts with a call from the Old Boy to me at work (a couple of weeks ago, yes it took that long) breaking the news that his entire shift of workmates were coming to our house before they head off to the nearest drinking establishment for their Christmas “thing”. Hmmmm. Well, those of you who know me well could just imagine my next reaction. I laughed. Seriously. Then I said “better get in your truck and hussle your ass home to clean up the place before they all arrive”. (That comment was mostly said because I had a funny feeling Mr. Party-Time was sitting in a room full of men making the call to his “little woman” and he was manning up a bit.) Man up all right. I am tempted to leave embarrassing items around the house and then have to take the kids out grocery shopping or for shots at the doctor or something. See how he likes that.

Those people mentioned above who know me well probably have already thought to themselves: crazy chick most likely ran home and cleaned up the house. Yes, you know it. They may be a batch of barbarians but I certainly don’t need them to have to walk over the three feet high cat hair tumbleweeds in the hallway on the way to the bathroom with unidentified substances on the toilet and teenager toothpaste globs everywhere (why oh why can’t they get the toothpaste down the drain?).

So, on my drive home I wonder do I get beer? Will they stay longer if I do? Going to have to have a discussion with the old fella about this obvious lack of warning! Does he not know that us women need more than six hours notice before having people over? I mean really, how am I going to lose 10 pounds and get my hair colored in six hours! This is bordering on an emergency. In my crazy head I think: Can I get all the decorations out of the crawl space and up in two hours? Strike that. Not even Martha Stewart could pull that off. I’m now wishing I still had my maid of honor dress from a friends wedding from about a hundred years ago – remember TEAL? I would totally put that sucker on and make a grand entrance (yes, I am back to thoughts of embarrassing him in front of “the men” – these are truly happy thoughts that reduce my stress).

Here’s the skinny: Pick up a kid at school, tell him his dad invited everyone over to our house and I will not be able to feed or tend to any of his needs until I have cleaned the house, so figure it out on your own. I then proceed to run around the house like a crazy mad women for two solid hours. Clean, hide stuff in closets, do my hair to the best of my ability, tell the cats to stop shedding or I will put them in a kennel, forever. After what seemed like eight hours, I’m done! Pour myself a tiny (figure of speech) glass of wine to congratulate myself for a job well done (then realize that I have not seen the youngest child for quite some time and I better make sure he is not repainting his room with felt pen or using hockey tape to tape the cats tail to his back legs.) Phone rings – don’t panic, I am expecting the call. This is the conversation I am expecting: “Hey, just on my way home. I will pick up beer. Everyone should be there in an hour or so”. That was NOT the call I got. This is how it went: “Hey, we all had to ‘work’ late and we are just going to head right to the drinking establishment. I’m just gonna run in and change and then head out.” I am pretty sure all I could get out was: “Huh. Ok.” I hang up the phone and look around. What just happened? Oh dear. Sooooo I walk around the now clean house and think up new, amazing ways to punish the Old Boy. To add insult to injury the man comes home, changes and gets ME to drive him to his “party”. I’m pretty sure he made certain his credit card was locked away before he left. After I put the starving, youngest child to bed, I sit in front of the tv, drink whats left of the bottle of wine, admire my super fast cleaning abilities and realize something truly amazing: I am sitting here by myself with my new friend Jackson Triggs (yes, I realize that's a contradiction) watching tv, reading a book during the commercials in a clean house and no one is there to bug me. Does it get any better than this?

(Just an aside: not sure still if Mr. Party realized the house was clean but for a few days following that evening he would open cupboards and closet doors and I would hear him say “what the heck is this doing in here?” Well, what does he expect?)

Winter Fat

I have always been a firm believer in our relation to the bear species (stop laughing). As I reminded a friend just today (who coincidently asked me to attend her kids SWIMMING party – what the hell she was thinking I don’t know). I am in the process of putting on my winter fat. How can we not! I feel obligated to bake stuff, it being Christmas time and all, and I do have to try the stuff before it leaves the house. (Actually the last batch we will officially call the Sample Batch. It did not even leave the house!) I think we should all try to make an active effort to not have Santa feel so bad during this giving time of year. I’m currently sporting a fine looking roll that would put any junior Santa in training to shame. Back to the bears: So why not, right after all the Christmas broo haa haa, we hunker down and do a little hibernating? I could do with a two or three month “napping” period. Isn’t that why they invented the internet? So we don’t have to leave the house? It’s like a mandatory rest period. We would certainly NOT have to order any groceries on line – what with all the winter fat we will be sporting. Just take the eat out of this equation: eat, sleep, read, sleep, watch tv, read, sleep, surf internet, sleep. I had to take drink out of that one because I think at this point we are all ready for a little rehab anyway. Get the liver all dressed and ready for the summer season. Oh, just had a horrible thought. Better put this ditty in the rules: The kids are still required to go to school during this time (dodged a bullet there). We, being old and all, paid our dues and deserve this sabbatical. They, being young and mostly stupid, must continue to learn. Crap, whose going to teach them with all the teachers during the Rehab Hibernation Period? Ah.... back to the internet.

Question for ya all to ponder today: Exactly how old do you have to be before you get the pleasure of tossing your cookies whenever you want and no one asks if you are pregnant?

Speaking Without Thinking

This summer we loaded up the truck and all went to our friends place for a week. (For anonymity purposes, we will call this place Tim Buck Too. Anyplace in Canada without a Tim Horton's is officially under the United Republic of Buck Too!) What follows is one of those blunders we all make ladies. You know it. It shall be called: "Speaking Without Thinking". Let me set the stage: its dark out and the four of us proceed outside (meaning the only four left out of the 9 of us who have any common sense. Although now in hindsite I question this.) We make sure the crazies are locked up in the house in various forms and we set up four lawn chairs in the front lawn to bask in the glow of the un-smogged up stars and quite peacefulness of our friends fabulous neighbours (who at this point I have to mention are all dead. Nope, not drive by dead, but seriously, they are all dead. The neighbours are currently residing in a very long term care home. Yup, a cemetery.) Back to me: I, in my glow of finally getting away from the Hormone Fest and "Dude, let's play Spiderman", sit in my appointed lawn chair and proceed to my happy place. At this point it's just three out of the four of us sitting in our lawn chair row as the fourth member is off running with the wild deer trying to over feed the poor suckers so they get fat and end up being laughed at by the deer in the next town over. (Better then being laughed at by the town "cougar" - and I mean cougar in the literal sense, not some old, hot chick). So I sit with my fellow man (really, a couple of guys - sometimes I am serious!) and proceed to tell my friend's husband that I love his wife. Cricket, Cricket (those are the noises that happen after I profess my love). I will admit at this point in the story that yes, you guessed it, I had had a couple of drinks and was in the "I LOVE YOU MAN" stage of alcoholism. You know it, it's that stage you go to in between: "I am just having one drink" and "You wanna argue that, cause I am way smarta than you!" (Please keep in mind that no matter how much liquid courage I have, I always only say what I really mean. I usually think first. Not so much in this case or I would have worded it a bit different.) I then proceed to try to explain myself in the most unsuccessful manner ever. I would like to think that if I had said that same thing and my audience was a couple of chicks, they would have gotten it. Right? No further explanation needed. Well the dudes look at me like I have made some life changing decision and have decided to play for the other team. (Not that there is anything wrong with that.) I think my friend's husband said something prolific like: Huh? He normally is a pretty witty dude. I must have thrown him off his game. Anyway, I try to explain myself in the most non-lesbian like manner possible. I try to point out to Mr. Huh that his wife is the most quirky, amazing person I have ever met and her enthusiasm for all things deer (oh, and shopping and boots and purses and dogs and oh you get it....) is so cool. No one I know is quite like her. She is contagious and passionate. Blank look still forthcoming from Mr. Huh and his co-hort. Uggg. Dug myself into a hole here. At this point they are BOTH staring at me like I am completely crazy. (Hey, just found out how to get a man's attention!) I look at those blank, empty eyed, had one to many beer faces and realize that they have most likely not heard a word I have said. They are both thinking about the two of us rolling around naked in a pit of (and I would like to say jello for the awesome effect here but alas that will not be the case!) beer and chicken wings! I continue with the "no really, ummm....." yes, I have lost them. They have gone to the other side. The three of us find a more neutral topic, like bad drivers, traffic or something mundane and all is well in Testosterone Town. Shortly thereafter my quirky deer loving friend bounces back all a glow because she saw a baby deer, a couple of neighbours dogs, a cat in the field, deer jumping, deer pooping, deer eating, oh another dog ("is it a stray? should I bring it home and let it sleep on my bed?") her current obsession: Twin deer Sparkle and Shimmer (yup, see what I mean by quirky, she names them!) Ah whatever, I think to myself. Men just don't get it.

Simple Girls Mac Lipstick

Ok really. I understand the need for Blistex and those type of products to NOT make a lip balm that works for more than 2 minutes because it is really fiscally irresponsible to create a product that works for a long time, hence not needing as much of that product and then us not purchasing the product on a regular basis. Can’t someone invent a lip balm that lasts? Maybe if it did not taste like Tuttie Fruitie we would stop eating it! Make it taste like dirt, maybe we will leave it alone.

So if I must admit, this whole lip balm addiction is not a new one. Nothing like the new Blackberry addiction. Oh no, nothing like that. This addiction is bad (I think) or good. Or under the category “could be worse?”. I know I am not the only one out there. Some of you just hide it better than I do. Is it unhealthy to want silky smooth lips? I don’t think so. I mean come on, who wants to see someone with yucky, flakey chapped lips. How seriously unattractive. Gives me the shudders just thinking about it. Oh wait. There is something else yuckier: a moderately attractive man lathering on the Blistex right in front of people. Ewww. I have actually seen that. Not pretty. Come on ladies, you ever kissed a guy with lip pieces flaking off? Dude I ate lunch! Ok, I should have written this BEFORE lunch.

Still, it’s winter time and the lips are crying out for help (or in my case whining for Blistex Triple Tropical Fruit Smoothies – see what I mean – its like having desert – all day!) What did they do back in the day? Wonder if I need therapy? Will Google “Lip Balm Addiction” later. Or not.