What Your Momma Neva Told Ya.

Among a million other things my mom never told me was how freaking time consuming it is to wrap Christmas presents.  Why I insist on sitting on the floor to do this task is beyond me because, as I get older, the whole three hour wrap session gets harder and harder to do.  So here I sit after just two hours and my back is sore and my shoulders ache.  I have to admit this year, since I was doing this festive funstuff alone, I brought a little "Naked Grape" along for the ride.  Can't wait to see what the gift wrap looks like on the big day.  (Ya, Ya so I used copious amounts of tape.  Whatever.)

I shall dub thee said wine "Momma's Little Helper".

Thats what i'm talking bout.

Merry Christmas People.  Merry Christmas.

SIDE BAR:  I know I have a firm rule about booze blogging but I am sure in this case you all will forgive.  I KNOW you have all been there and if you say you haven't youd be a lyin. 

Christmas Shopping

It’s official. I am getting old. This week I went out on one of my first serious Christmas shopping missions of the season. My intent was to get it all done in one day. Ha, freaking, ha. It didn’t happen. This is where the old part kicks in (or majorly intolerant part – whatever). I can no longer stand shopping! Oh yes, I said it. Almost out loud! There were days, back in my youth, where I remember meeting a friend at the mall to “shop” and all we did was wander around and look at stuff, maybe have a coffee, then wander around and look at more stuff. There were times we did not even buy anything! Just shopped for the pure love of shopping. I believe I was an honorary member of some exclusive shopping club back then. (wait a minute…. Just realized I had no kids then and lots of time and wayyyy more money – revelation number one! What the heck was I thinking…. I digress…. ). Anyway, as I walked around the mall like a crazed woman buying Christmas presents, I realized many new (and remembered some not so new) things about myself.

1. I hate crowds.
2. Standing in line to buy something seems like an incredible waste of time.

3. The mall is to hot (or I am to lazy to carry my coat).

4. Shopping sucks even more if you have no clue what you are looking for.

5. There is not a single place, I have yet to find, in the mall food court where you can get a martini (which would make the shopping so much more tolerable). Wait: revelation number two – must open up a martini bar at the mall. I would be rich!

6. Shopping would be so much more enjoyable if I had an endless supply of cash.

7. Every toy purchased that takes more than 30 minutes to put together should come with a labour rebate, since time is money.

Well short rant really long, I did not get the shopping completed and had to extend my “not putting one foot in the mall after this date” cut off. My next venture out I will start out tipsy, bring someone along to hold my coat and purchases and wait till the mall is open until midnight and shop at 11 pm. That should do it. Oh, and forget Boxing Day sales. Not gonna happen.

The Turkey - How Timely......

I have been trying with all my creative muster to re-create a story told to me by my good friend Sam. I have spent countless hours in my car or in front of my computer trying to spin a funny web of words to make even just a teeny, tiny bit of this particular story humorous. The end result is, there is pretty much no way in hell that a story about finding a pulsating, maggot filled turkey in the freezer section of a fridge that has been unplugged for quite some time, can even remotely be told as funny or even amusing. I have tried. Typed many a draft. Every single time I even think about the smell that my friend Sam had hit her right smack in the face when she opened that freezer, I start dry heaving. Heck, I can’t even handle a little mold on cheese!

I have however been extremely successful in drumming up creative ways for her to get back at the person whose turkey it was. Mostly along the lines of mailing turkeys in various forms of decay to said person every single thanksgiving or Christmas (pick desired holiday). Just for fun I also thought it would be a hoot to send pictures of turkeys in the mail throughout the year. Anonymously of course. This tactic is used mostly so the poultry offender does not let their guard down throughout the year.

Oh, and Sam, she got the pleasure of cleaning out the fridge, freezer AND the apartment that housed the appliance. Ummm I had a better idea: matches.

My New Pen Name

It occurred to me this evening that it might be a fun little adventure to start signing my name under the alas Karma. Could you just see it? There have been so many situations (some occurring very recently) where I was unable or restrained enough not to fire off an email with EXACTLY what was on my mind and adding a little reminder about our dear friend and judicial partner, Karma, would help with the inner turmoil one goes through while trying to be polite. One such email sent this evening was a single line and was blunt and to the point (however the author was seething with sarcasm). It would have been so much nicer to sign that email off with the pen name Karma. Hows this for example:

Dear So and So (polite, no?)

The email you sent was most informative and very helpful. I do wish to point out that the unwritten cheque you so eloquently pointed out to the entire email group HAS been submitted and in fact was cashed. Some. Time. Ago.

Sincerely,
Karma

Or how about:

Dear Vindictive So and So,

Thank you for your kind words to us and the entire email group. I appreciate the time and effort it takes to create an email address list, fire up a computer and email people on a daily basis. I do however wish to point out that the content of your last email was entirely fabricated and although I do not wish to "reply all" a counter claim to your comments, I would like you to know that your words have been duly noted.

Regards,
Karma

I really think this new pen name will not only bring me joy it may also cause people to pause. And maybe think before writing? If only.....

But they are really little chocolate bars......

Freaking little tiny bites of goodness.  They are the root of all November poundage.  You ever just tried to eat one?  Our intentions are so good.  Look at these little tiny chocolate bars.  Aren't they cute?  They are so small there surely can only be 10 calories in each one.   We buy a bag (or bags) with wonderful intentions of rewarding ourselves each day by having just one.  I can't believe we speak the language of 'bullshit' even to ourselves!  Seriously.  Eat just one.  Come on.  You'll be lucky not to put back half the bag.  Those midget chocolate bars are evil. 

Next stop: Christmas cookies (and spirits - but I pretend those are calorie free!  Need I remind you that life is short?)

This One You Gotta Read!

I was reading the Blog of author Jen Lancaster yesterday and was shocked and surprised after being directed to an on-line article in Marie Claire. I had to read it twice. Twice I tell you. Here is a link to the article: http://www.marieclaire.com/sex-love/dating-blog/overweight-couples-on-television
I have always been a huge fan of telling it like it is and understand that everyone has their opinions, however sarcastic and all that, but really lady? Are you freaking serious? There is such a huge internet backlash to this woman’s article that I would not be surprised if a sudden “sabbatical” comes her way.

Best part? Ole witty, Jen Lancaster put in her two cents: http://www.jennsylvania.com/

I couldn’t a said it better myself!

Another Blogger I follow provided her own rant if your interested: http://volcanicensemble.blogspot.com/2010/10/should-morons-get-voice-even-in-shitty.html

Oh Come On Ladies!

Seriously?

I was at the hair salon the other day and happened to overhear a couple of ladies having a little discussion that frankly shocked me enough to vent for a couple of days and then spew my opinion about the conversation. For anatomy purposes I will call Johnny’s mom Full Color, the chick she was talking to at the salon Foils and Poor Billy’s mom Grade School.

Full Color: You are not going to believe what happened last week at Johnny’s school?

Foils: Do tell.

Full Color: Apparently my Johnny said some bad words at school and it ‘upset’ Poor Billy so much he felt compelled to tell his mom.
Foils: Yah, and…..

Full Color: That is not the brutal part. I guess Poor Billy was so upset and dismayed about Johnny’s potty mouth that Billy’s mom, Grade School, decided she should meet with the teacher.

Foils: You kidding me right?

Full Color: Oh no I am not! The part I am having difficulty dealing with is that I had assumed before this that Grade School was my friend. I find it disrespectful on so many levels that Grade School would not come to me first to express her displeasure about Johnny’s Trucker Mouth. She just marched her ass to the teacher like a crazy tattler and now she seems to be avoiding me.

Foils: What’s Poor Billy’s mom going to do about the other 250 kids who cuss on the playground or heaven forbid call her kid a bad name? Home school?

Full Color: I don’t know. Seriously. I thought this kinda stuff didn’t happen once we moved out of our parents house and we had our own families?

Foils: You should sooo confront her. Tell her you know where her kid gets his ‘tattling tendencies’ and if she is going to run to the teacher every time another kid does something wrong she better quit her job and just park a tent trailer at the school. You might want to also reminder her what happens to those kids when they hit high school. Can you say ‘somebody gonna get hurt’?

At this point I am afraid I missed the rest of the trash talking because I was on ‘rinse cycle”. Damn. I gotta tell you, it was all I could do to keep my mouth shut during this little tirade. Oh my. Gee, do you think Poor Billy’s mom was coddled her whole life? How long is it going to take her to realize she can’t control every other kid in the school/worlds behaviour?

So I consult a friend who happens to teach children a couple years younger than this particular age group and she was not surprised. She informs me that some parents are just jumping at the chance to meet with her to “tell on” the other children. Especially if it makes their child look better. Apparently its fodder for the water cooler in the staff lunch room. Makes me wonder if, when they are doing up the class lists, if they have a little red star beside the kids name if their mom is a pain in the butt. Do they split up those moms so each teacher has to deal with an equal amount of crap each year?

I suppose by now you are wondering why I just couldn’t let this one go. Well, mostly because I have a problem with the “girl” thing. By this I most certainly do not mean the purse/shoe buying, gotta get my nails done, can’t stand a spider girl thing. What I’m talking about is the game playing, narcissistic crap that chicks pull instead of (for lack of a better word) “manning” up and just talking about it. Don’t get me wrong here, if Johnny were a two hundred pound school yard bully, tell away sister. Bust his bully ass. This particular situation pissed me off because Full Color and Grade School apparently have been friends for a few years and Johnny and Billy hang out, so to speak. What’s with that? Full Color seemed honestly hurt that her “friend” did not have the (for lack of a better word, again) BALLS to come and talk to her first. Wake up Full Color, Grade School aint yo friend any mo.

And we wonder why it’s been so difficult for chicks to climb the “corporate ladder”. Uh, how about because we can’t stop acting like pre-pubescent girls?

The Conversation - not to be confused with "the situation"

So I am sure if you have been paying attention you have noticed I put the funky little "bean counter" at the bottom of my blog. This is mostly as a result of a conversation I had with a fellow Blogger friend. It went something like this:


Nosey Blogger Friend: Dude, why don't you have a counter on your blog?

Me: Ummm, why the hell would I want one?

Nosey Blogger Friend: Everybody, who is anybody wants to know how many people are reading their stuff.

Me: Not me, don't really care.

Nosey Not So Much a Blogger Friend: Your totally lying!  You have to be curious.

Me: Um no, seriously, the best part of blogging for me is when a friend or really good friend/neighbour comments to me that I gave them a good laugh or (and not that this has really happened) they try to sneak in and out of the neighbourhood with their hockey jersey on in hopes that I won't see them and point and laugh or possibly take pictures (only to get busted -NOT that it really happened).

Blogger Friend: That really happened didn't it?

Me: Maybe. Not tellin.

Blogger Friend: That soooo happened!

Me: Whatever if it did or didn't. That's the best part.  You, my friend, will never know (unless said pictures turn up).

BF: Ah, I so totally get it. Still I am totally kickin your ass with the numbers, sucker!

(Footnote: for a teeny tiny brief second I considered logging into my blog a couple hundred times and sending a na na na email to my pal but then thought better of it. She is a serious blogger and would probably want names of all my new "readers". Not even I could expand my imagination that much and pull that off.  So to shut her up I put a counter on.  Now that its there, it's kinda fun.  She however is going to wish she never mentioned it cause every time the counter hits a round number I am sending her off a little note about it!)

True Confessions

Ok, so here it is... i'm a total geek, not to mention a bit of a hypocrite.  I'm sure I mentioned at some point that I emailed Jen Lancaster, funny author of the books I have been going on about, regarding one of her extremely, pee your pants, blogs that she wrote.  Honestly, right now I can't remember the topic however I know it was so funny that I could not stop laughing. Well, regardless of my "no beer blogging" rule, I emailed her to express my appreciation for her humour etc, etc.  And then promptly forgot I even emailed her. Well, the other day I was a working away and heard my blackberry a buzzin. Opened the desk drawer, pulled out the magical device and what? I got an email from Jen Lancaster? Weird. How did she find me? I thought for a brief moment that one of my pals must have sent my blog to her. Oh wow.  I had a moment of "holy crap" and then I read the reply (of course at this point I had still completely forgotten that I emailed her) and read: " So glad you like my work! Thanks for writing. Jen" Huh. Put Blackberry back in purse and thought about it for a few minutes. Ummmm, is this the email equivalent of a form letter? Seriously, she did sign it: Jen. Does that mean she is open to further communication? Oh I am such a geek. Is there a Geek Award? I spent the rest of the day wondering what possessed me to write to a book author however, I must confess, I still have not deleted the email from my Blackberry. Whatever. If you need a good chuckle - here is a link to her blog: http://www.jennsylvania.com/

Delirium Revisited

I understand that the life and times of sarcasm have all but fallen off the map. I apologize to those of you who have sent me stories and are patiently waiting for me to "edit" and post your unbelievable circumstances . I've been busy.  Ha, if you believe that lie then you be fooled bitches! Apart from being sucked into the train wreck I will call "Housewives Gate" I don't know what the hell happened. My only excuse is that I have been reading like a crazy fool and enjoying the company of friends and neighbours. Over the next couple of days I promise to post your stories. Really I do. (To be honest, sometimes I spend a great deal of time just changing the background of my blog to something that entertains me and then I find I have done nothing more with my time! Bit of a Formatting Junkie - yes that's me.)

Back to reality. I'm sure you are all wondering if I successfully evened out the "white bits".  Umm, how about we just say that about 15 sessions in I was lying there chillin, listening to the music in the bright lights and I suddenly thought "What the hell am I doing?" If this sucker is not burning fat cells and I can't read in here then I am completely wasting my time. After all that time I don't even resemble a berry picker or a construction worker. Nada. I gave up. I got better shit to do.

You will all be proud to know that I have successfully refrained from emailing any mayors or city officials about any complaints and I have managed to, for the most part, keep my opinions to myself. Maturity - no?

In the meantime I have learned even more life lessons (just when is that shit going to stop?).  One of the most important is that it is a good friend who is there by your side when times are rough, but a better friend who unselfishly recognizes that one needs help, without even asking.  Its never the wrong time to be there for a friend.  Never. 

White Bits

After a long debate with my multiple personalities over the past couple of weeks we finally came to a unanimous decision. Having half a dozen different tan lines and then sporting a bathing suit is not pretty. For everyone. The scary part here would be that as one’s eye moves closer to the core or pretty much the area surrounding the bathing suit, it gets shockingly whiter and whiter. Think nicely tanned lower limbs and vampire white parts where the shorts and tank top would normally sit. With that visual in mind, and my sudden realization that in a very short time I am going to begrudgingly have to put a bathing suit on, I decide its time to take immediate action. I gotta tan up the white bits. The struggle here is that I am not a fan of lying around in the sun. When I do get to the beach I am lucky if I get to lounge in the sun for 5 solid minutes. (“throw the Frisbee, lets get ice cream, lets throw rocks in the water, lets build a sandcastle”…… yadda yadda, you get the drift). So I have decided to hit the tanning beds! Honestly, I chuckled to myself all the way there. The lady who owns the tanning salon that I go to (ok, I have only been there once before) is a totally cute, non-barbie who sports a sunkissed suntan look, not the Raisonenette look one would expect from someone who is among bright tanning beds all day. I know she is going to feel my pain and has most likely seen this kind of tragedy before. I explain to my new bff that I have Capri lines, board short lines, a teeny bit shorter than the board short lines, t-shirt lines and 12 different tank top lines, she smiles with the kinda knowledge that only a trained professional knows. That and I am reeking of desperation. All I needed to tell her was that in a weeks time I will be forced to put on a bathing suit and be in front of people and I do not want to be the cause of any future psychiatrist sessions so I need to even up the Tanning Plaid I have going on.

I’m not looking for the Jen Lancaster homeless person tan here. I’m thinking more like Okanagan Orchard Picker or maybe the more subtle California Lifeguard. Whatever it takes. So I happily hand over my credit card and Ms. Cute Tahiti sets me up with a whole 8 minutes of tanning fun. Bring. It.

As I leave I hold back from asking if I can come back in an hour. That would seem a little bit OCD don’tcha think?

Business Savvy Side Bar - I will be writing a little note to the makers of the sunny coffin’s to request that they start putting money into researching creating a tanning bed that also heats up and eliminates cellulite. Now that’s a money maker! If it happens and it gets huge – you read it here first.

Vampire side note – don’t you think if the Cullen’s had hit the tanning beds just a teeny bit they would not have looked so pasty and might have not looked like albino outcasts with red lipstick? Synthetic sun can’t mess with a vampire can it? Not like garlic pizza!

Carrie Bradshaw Moves to the Country

All right. This little joke is officially over. So not funny anymore. Bambi’s husband has now turned into the cartoon hunter at the end of the movie with the gun (you know who I mean right?). For name calling reference we shall call him: Elmer. Like Elmer Fudd. Dude who shoots rabbits (OK, I had to pick something and Disney did not give us a bio on the hunter fella in Bambi so I had to go with the next best thing.) Elmer – you’re a big, friend moving, no good bully. Your day will come. Mark my words Fudd, Carrie Bradshaw karma is on its way!

Elmer – this message is for you: I was under the impression a year ago that you cannot take the city outta the girl because there is always access to the world via some other way. But what kinda brainwashing shit you got going on over in Deer Forks is beyond my comprehension (side note here: Bambi does not live in the place with all the hot vampire dudes, sorry). My pal used to be one gold card away from Carrie Bradshaw and now? Now she doesn’t even check her email. For days! I’m panicked. I’m planning an intervention. I will drive for hours and hours with all my reverse Elmerbrainwashing ammunition: Chicklit books, People magazine, Cosmopolitan mix (for me, Bambi doesn’t drink – wait, I see the problem all ready!, Cheetos, some form of really good cheese, my personal copy of Sex and The City – The Movie, the entire 60bajillion seasons of Sex and The City on DVD and pedicure appointments! Beautiful toes should pull her outta this country funk. Oh ya Elmer – I’ma comin.

Dude isn’t gonna know what hit em!

 

The Reason I Don't Wear White

Having lunch at my desk the other day and thought about how nice it would be to get myself a little afternoon go-go juice to keep the noggin clear for the rest of the day – and to avoid falling asleep on the drive home. Win, win. I was all but extremely pleased with myself at this point because I was eating leftovers from dinner the other night that happened to be slathered in red sauce. Yup, to-mat-o sauce. All was good until the absolute last bite – you see I had done so well NOT making an absolute mess of myself (and bib free too!) that I was filled with confidence about my utensil wielding skill. This is the reason I never wear white – last bit of tomato sauce not in mouth. Lands on camel colored jacket. Shit. Now I am sporting a couple of orange spots that are six times as large as the original splatter due to my panic cleaning methods with Kleenex and water (doesn’t work, don’t try it). So a this point I have not only messed myself up I have completely negated any option of walking over to the local coffee shop to get the dreamy afternoon java in my plan. Double shit. Might mention here that if you are going to eat the sauce with a fork there is a super good chance you will lose some of the sauce through the HOLES in the fork. Should have used a spork.

Side note to the never wearing white: I belong to the Never Wear White Pants Club. Really. (Ok, I made that up. But if there were a club I would be on the Board of Directors). I have multiple examples to prove this however the old boy refuses to let me take pictures of the backside of complete strangers.  All I have to say now is: “Look, dude, that’s why one should never wear white pants”.  Hello pantylines and see through fabric. Not to mention it limits where you can sit down and will always sport more dirt than anyone should visibly walk around with.  Actually, come to think of it I’m out on white skirts and white shoes as well. It may or may not have any relation to spilling shit on myself all the time or being forced to live in the House of Boy a.k.a. The House of Sand and Dirt.

I have three words to back all this up: White Yoga Pants.

 

Nuff said.

The Marriage and the Mulligan

Well my oldest and dearest friend finally got it done this past weekend. Yup, she got married. Again. I spent most of the entire wedding with tears welling up in my eyes. I just couldn’t stop. Mind you my pal decided to pull ‘princess’ and show up late. I was getting a tiny bit worried when she would not get out of the limo. Thought the woman changed her mind. I woulda been first in line to kick her ass, after the groom of course. All was well and it turned out to be one of the most elegant, relaxed weddings I can recall ever having been to. My pal looked amazing – seriously, freaking amazing. I jokingly teased her about showing up with a banjo but thought better of it and I managed to not heckle anyone during the wedding or the reception. Maturity? Yes?

It was a little odd however being at a wedding where some of the first husband’s family was there. It was all I could do not to say: “Ha ha people, in your face, see whatcha all are missing?” But alas I couldn’t because the ex-family members have moved from the camp of evil and have sided with good so I had to let it go.

My friend’s new stepson gave an amazing speech during the reception. He talked about the importance of family and how lucky he was to now have sisters and be a part of this family. The best part was when he said “Marriage is forever.” (Insert really long pause in speech here.) “But you guys get a mulligan.” Well said buddy, well said.

What's it all about?

What is life all about really? When I was younger I often wondered what the meaning of life was and what we were supposed to do with it. As a young person I always had a strong connection with the idea behind karma and the fine balance between being a good person and being personally assertive. This begs to question: Are we put here to each do something important or have an impact on the world, however small? Even now one has to wonder what it is that makes our lives meaningful. What the measuring stick really looks like and who does the measuring. Is it having a loving, trusting relationship with one other person? Having a career that offers up the balance between fulfillment and success? Is it having a group of people around you that you can call friends? A loving family? Or could it be the rewarding feeling of helping others? The memory people have of you when your gone? Your legacy? What is the measure of a successful, full life? All of these? Do we live in a constant state of trying to achieve all things that we assume will complete us? At the end of the day should we be able to say we did all we wanted to do and experienced all that we wanted? What about regrets? What about the hours and hours we spend watching tv? Are we going to wish that we hadn’t? Would we regret the time we spent doing useless tasks when we should have been ‘living’? What about the days, weeks, months and years spent working at a job that we ‘have’ to do, not that we ‘want’ to do? Since life, as we all know, is brutally short should we all have a blueprint for a life well spent and proceed accordingly? Would we do things differently if we knew the “end date”? Would we wish we had spent more time with the people we love or more time finding people to love? Or helping others? Seeing new places or experiencing new things? Is the man who travels the world meeting new people and exploring places more satisfied than the man who never leaves his small village? Is the woman who spends countless years going to school to get a well paying dream job better off than the woman who finishes high school and works as a waitress? Are we ultimately squandering a gift? Are we recognizing in ourselves what it is that makes Our Life?

No Shoes on the Deck

I'm going to chalk this up to one of the things that really annoy me.  Ever gone to the public pool and sat back and watched the people who are not swimming?  I did just that a few days ago and was so tempted to pull out my camera and start taking pictures of the 'stupid' people with the hopes that someone, anyone would ask me why I was taking pictures of people.  This would have been my reply:  "I am writing a feature article on the ignorance of people for my blog and wanted to have picture evidence."  This is what the picture would reflect:  full grown adults bringing their child in to the pool for swimming lessons who not just walk by ONE five foot high sign that says PLEASE NO SHOES ON THE DECK, but TWO signs.  What of it?  Does this sign apply to only people who can read?  Clearly they must be able to read at least a little bit because they managed to sign their kids up for swimming lessons, which must involve some educational skill.   What happened to setting an example for our children?  Oh, Johnny, that sign does not apply to ME, they must have put that sign there for the 'regular' people with dirty shoes.  Maybe it only applys to the people who walk in from outside and circumvent the changing room and just jump right in the pool with their "outside" shoes on?  Maybe the sign should read: If you step in dog poo and then walk on our deck, your kid is going to step on it with his or her bare feet and then drag the poo into the pool where you all get the pleasure of swimming in it!  Come on people!  That's it.  I have resolved myself to going to the pool at 7 a.m. when they open and sitting there until 11:00 p.m. when they close and take a survey of how many people walk by both signs.  I might just take those photos and send my article to the local newpaper.  Can you just see the headlines now:  Swimming lessons include added feature of exposure to dog poo! or City full of parents who can't read - frightening example for the future of our children?  or But My Shoes Were Clean, Really!

If you dish it you gotta take it

Is it still a standard rule amongst us that if you dish you gotta take? Of course a certain level of maturity must be involved because heaven knows there are people out there who are just flat out mean and openly and freely dish with intent to hurt. The situation I am talking about is amongst friends. If a pal feels comfortable enough to say they hate your shoes, new hair cut or, heaven forbid, a personality trait, is she fair game? Can you dish back when appropriate? What kind of friendship is it really if a constant disher cannot handle being the dishee? One sided? I don’t think it takes all that long into a friendship to realize when someone can’t handle the “return”. That’s one of the fundamental problems with ‘girls’. You know the kind. She’s a total bitch and happily puts people down but turns into a raging, pmsing mess when someone turns the tables. Somewhere along the way their mothers forgot to tell them not to do or say anything to someone that you would not like to have done or said to you. It would be a nicer world if people remembered this…. don'tcha think?

Things we know but always seem to forget

I often wonder if humans have a predisposition to forget stuff that we have had happen to us before or should be just flat out common sense. Ever flushed the toilet in a public washroom before having yourself completely put together and watched as the water overflowed all over your shoes while you are frantically trying to get your pants back on? Or put on that pair of pants in the closet and, only after leaving the house, do you realize that they should have been in the ‘too small’ pile. Or ‘seriously, was I twelve when I wore these last pile?’ What about taken something out of the oven without the fancy mitt? Or the ever popular leave your coffee mug on the top of your car and drive away? Who hasn’t done that?

Is lack of common sense carefully disguised as stupidity? Are we just so overwhelmed with information that we tend to forget the easy stuff? I swear people only half listen and half read nowadays because they have a million other thoughts going on in their melon (or in the case of any given man - three thoughts). Maybe if we napped during the day, like we used to before we started this whole rat race, we would be better equipped to handle all the important and not so important stuff – like what to wear today, do these shoes go with this outfit and how to deal with frizzy hair.

Road Trip Continued....

Dear Mr./Ms. Hotel Manager:

Thank you for your hospitality and great service this past weekend. The rooms were clean, the pool was excellent and the complementary breakfast (read: coffee) was very nice. I do however have a few comments for you for future reference.

Firstly when your reservation staff books a ‘team’ of any sort you might want to do a little demographic research on the team. In this case you have a team of 16 six and seven year olds and guess what? They all, but one, have siblings. You gotta at least double the number of children checking in. In our case there were some families where 2 or more siblings came along. Do the math buddy – the number of kids just tripled. Can you say kids freaking everywhere?

Secondly, excellent idea to put most of the team on one floor, but the top floor? What were your people thinking? Sixteen or more kids running up and down the four flights of stairs to get to the pool. You ever told a seven year old to be quiet while running up the stairs with a half a dozen of his buddies? Ya, not going to happen.

Thirdly, not sure if you noticed but you have a pub attached to your hotel. I can drum up at least a dozen reasons where problems are going to arise from that alone. Need I say more?

Lastly, and most importantly, what in the heck possessed your people to fill an entire floor with a team of orangutans EXCEPT for one room? And in that one room: old, cranky people who want to go to bed at 7:30 at night? To add insult to injury you stick the curmudgeons right beside the stairwell where, you guessed it, the kids were running up and down the stairs from the room to the pool, pool to the room. Who the heck goes on vacation to stay in a hotel room and go to bed that early? And where do these people come from who feel compelled to yell at little kids. Bed and breakfast people, bed and breakfast.

Thank you for an entertaining stay. If we ever come to your lovely town again we will be sure to book under a different name, however I do expect that you will take my suggestions into consideration.

Yours truly,
Team Manager

Road Trip - Part Two

No you will not be reading a detailed diary of the aforementioned Road Trip mostly because I spent the entire time searching for Monkeyboy who, with his clan of merry men, decided to practice his magic disappearing act the entire weekend. So between looking for my delinquent, fielding complaints from the hotel staff and answering questions about the location of places in a town I have never been to before (do I look like a concierge?) I wrote almost nothing.


The weekend did start off as odd as it ended however. Parked my vehicle at the ferry terminal to wait patiently for the next boat and was approached by a lady (and I use that term loosely) who wanted to know if I could give her husband a ride. Apparently their, what looked like 1970 VW, van broke down and he had a “gig” to get to. Well, let me think about that? Huh, sure lady, I’m gonna take your half baked, Birkenstock wearing husband with all his band stuff and give him a ride to some undisclosed location. What the heck. I like living on the edge. Does he have a weapon we should declare to? After I give the kid, who I am not pissed off with at this point, the “look” and tell him to get back in the vehicle I politely tell Mrs. Purple Hammer Pants that I don’t have room. Well, if nothing else she gave me something to chuckle about for a couple of hours.

My very enthusiastic plans to hit the pub and have a few bevys fell through as well. This event alone causes my blood pressure to rise. My babysitters were lured away. That’s all I can say.

Although I did not manage to document enough back up to politely tell the coach NO to the road trips next year I do have enough personal ammunition to remind him why this weekend should never be repeated. And remind him I will. Often.

The Road Trip - AKA: What the fuck was I thinking

I continually amaze myself at the predicaments I get myself into. Why, oh why can I not just sit back and do things the easy way? Alas, I must challenge my patience and inner resolve to be all that I can be in the parenting arena. This weekend I embark upon one of the great challenges of having a child who participates in sport. The Road Trip. (I can hear you all groaning now however, I am sure you cannot wait to read about and come along for the Ride of Pain.)  Yes, you read that right: A Road Trip with 16 six and seven year olds, a whack of siblings and all the respective parents who drew the short straw.

When the coach suggested a road trip at the beginning of the season it was all I could do to conjure up thoughts of what exactly will be fun about travelling with that many kids. I suppose it will be fun to play teams from other towns? Oh, honestly, that’s all I can come up with. I can just picture it now: 16 crazy Amazon children running all over the ferry, hotel and arena reeking havoc all over the place. Vacation you say? Oh no not for me. I have to stay in a hotel room with one man, two stinky teenagers and one Monkeyboy. I might just sleep in the car!
To make matters worse I was elected the Manager of this whole shin dig. I am sincerely hoping that by now the parents on the team have recognized my winning charm and propensity for sarcasm because, after an entire season of planning and abuse, if even one person complains I may go all Jerry Springer on their ass.

When I stop yelling I will keep a journal of the events that occur for your reading pleasure and for me to have a detailed record of the shenanigans so when I get asked again to book a road trip I will have sufficient documentation to back up my NO.

The Other Nine Reasons To Live in A Small Town

After much consultation and careful review, here are the other nine reasons to live in a small town:

 

1. You are almost certain to get healthy.  What with no McDonalds or any other restaurant with a drive through, your stuck living off the land.
2. Everyone knows everyone so when a local messes around with someone else’s spouse – you probably know that person enough to say you were either shocked or saw it comin.   
3. You are up to date and shockingly current on all celebrity comings and goings – what the heck else are you gonna do? Thank you satellite tv!
4. You know the names of every single dog in town. Even the strays. (And in some cases where they live, what their parents names are, what brand of dog food they eat, etc.)
5. Everyone just moves slower, especially when they are driving and you only have to put gas in the car once every two or three weeks, instead of every two or three days.  
6. You can just stop mowing the lawn and invite your neighbours goat, Bob, over.  
7. One day out of every 14 the local police force decides to throw on the siren, just so you know they are still around and protecting the place. From errant jaywalkers.  
8. There is a really high probability that your neighbours are going to be either farm animals or resting in the local cemetery.  
9. You can drive around in your pajamas with no make up on and no one gives a crap.

 

Goat Follies and One of the Top Ten Reasons To Live in a Small Town

I honestly think my pal Bambi is making this shit up. Who on earth do you know who "rescues" a goat, yes a goat, on the way to dropping her daughter off at work on any given morning? This is a bit of the email I got last week:

Scenerio this morning: drop daughter off at work, I'm in my pajamas because of course I don't anticipate getting out of the car. We drive by the same old farm that we always do and the goats have hopped the fence and are grazing by the side of the road. It's a gorgeous day so far so windows down, slowly driving and we hear "bahhhhhh, baaaaahhhh" as loud as can be.....and there's a goat with his head stuck in the fence. We turn around, pull over, the young man and I hop out and he runs over to the goat to comfort him. (I remind you, i'm in my pajamas). Cars are driving by, and now my son is bawling he's so upset about this poor goat. I phone a couple people and of course they know the owner's name, so I call him and he says he'll be right down. Meantime (I'm still in my pajamas!!!) we free the goat (not an easy task). All was right in animal kingdom.

I don't know about the rest of you but the most wildlife I see while driving in the morning usually consists of the road kill variety. So I am starting a new list: My top ten reasons to live in a small town - saving animals in pajamas (I should also include being able to get a strangers phone number in minutes within a couple of calls! What's with that?) The other nine reasons to live in a small town to follow.

Hoarders

Have you happened to catch the show Hoarders on the telly lately? The show is like a train wreck I tell ya. One of those things that completely grosses you out but you can’t NOT watch. It is amazing that a person or family can live in that much filth and clutter. I find myself at the edge of my seat for the last 45 minutes, waiting sooo patiently for someone to run into these houses with a Dr. Seuss size Cat in the Hat vacuum cleaner. You know, the kind that sucks up everything – even the spots! I wait in anticipation of the ‘big clean up’ at the end and rejoice with the people when they can finally sit at their dining room table after 8 long, junk filled years.

It is also amazing that some of the ‘hoarders’ look totally normal. Hair done, clean clothing, make up – the works. Where do some of these people get ready in the morning? Work? A hotel? I have seen the bathroom and there is no way someone can look that put together surrounding by that much yuck. Perhaps it’s a result of television camera crews following them around. Do they bring their make up people?

A friend and I had a little discussion the other day about this show. She confessed to being a hoader but not a ‘hoarder, hoarder’ (definition: obsessive keeper of things but not at the level of some of these poor, crazy people on the show). Don’t we all have a little hoarder in us? This show has caused my mother to watch religiously and deliberately get rid of a bag of stuff the next day. My fear is that in a couple of months I will show up at the old girls house and it will be completely empty. Is there a reverse hoarding disorder? If there is my mom’s got it.

What I want to know is if the network is going to do follow up shows? Are they going to go back in a years time and see if the hoarder is cured or have they begun the process of re-stocking the stuff and not tiding up? Does the network pay to have their therapy continue or do they run in with a fly-by-night psychologist, clean up the place and leave? Forever?

The bandwagon is calling. Time to start cleaning – one drawer at a time. Hey C – does the liquor cabinet count?

And Again?

Ok, seriously. I have not eaten any carbs or sugar now for 12 days and I am fine. Really. I have not tried to eat my purse or chewed on any office supplies at all. I swear. I have, however, put a large image of jelly beans on my blog to remind me how wonderful sugar is. This time, if you all don't see it (like the larger than life hamburger that once lived happily in the background) I just don't give a shit because I know I am not crazy and you people are messing with me. (Statler, sister, I know you can see them, I just know you can!) If the beans are in my imagination please forward all my mail to Riverview. The "special place" for special people. Oh ya, that's where I will be! Can I bring my blender?

I Finally Had To Break Down

Yes I did.  I finally had to break down and go to the library to satisfy the never ending thirst for something to read.  It was that or re-read the books in my own library, which is fine, however when I do that I always spend the entire time I am reading trying to remember the conclusion and then when I do, I most certainly get pissed off at myself and don’t finish the re-read.  So the trip to the library turns out ok, however I don’t find a single book to take out in our little library and promptly hit the computer library service and had to reserve a few books.  Seriously, it’s not like the population here is 350 or even 1,000.  It’s a pretty big city.  I happily made my request for one book and was promptly notified that I was 27 on the waiting list.  Really?  I blame this totally on Oprah.  All these people reading and me having to wait weeks for a book.   When Bambi and I go to Chicago you can bet I am going to mention to Ms. O that she send some of her book club picks to EVERY library to alleviate this problem in the future.
 
On another note, since it is illegal to smoke almost everywhere, even at the beach, could we not impose a “don’t smoke when in the presence of a library book” law?  There is nothing worse than getting a book out of the library that is not even that old and the sucker smells like it has sat inside a bingo hall for the last year.  Not to mention turning a page and finding some one else’s leftover lunch!  Come on people.  Let’s respect the book.  I am so vigilante about my personal library that if I even slightly suspect that a friend is a lazy, non-bookmark using, page folder I will not even tell them I read.  Oh no you don’t.  You are not folding the corners on my books and making them look all dog eared and nasty!  Go to the library if you want to destroy a beautiful book.  I suppose my next step will have to be a letter to the movers and shakers of the anti-smoking laws.  May the book be with you.
 

The All Mighty Email

Ever go an entire day without getting an email?  It’s those days you begin to question whether or not you are still connected to the world.  Some of us, not mentioning any names, have multiple email accounts, some of which go directly to our Blackberrys.  So after a few hours of not hearing the Blackberry Buzz one has to wonder if the sucker is working properly.  A progression of tasks follow: check connection on phone – good. See if email accounts are still connected – good. Email yourself and see if it goes through – ah, good?  What the hell?  Where is everyone?  How often is it that my people don’t have something to say or comment about?  Almost never.  I have even suffered from a mini nervous breakdown when a friend took two days to respond to an email.  As it turned out she went out of town for a couple of days and neglected to inform everyone via the multiple ‘status’ methods we all have become so dependant on.  Remember back in the day when all we had was an answering machine and you had to leave a message in order to let someone know you were looking for them?  Wow.  Glad that’s over.  That almost rates as bad as actually getting up out of your seat to change the channel on the tv.  Wait – is that why we are all getting fat?  I digress….
 
Is it time to lobby to have the missing persons time changed from 24 hours to a couple of hours?  Could you just see it: walking into a police station to file a missing persons claim because your pal has not emailed you back in the required two hour window? Seriously, there HAS to be something sinister going on? Don't ya think?
 

1,800 Channels and Nothing On?

What the heck is wrong with the world when you have access to over 1,000 channels of tv shows and you spend the entire night surfing the online tv guide?  What has happened to us?  Can there not be something done about repeats?  Why oh why do they get us hooked on a show and then torture us with repeats?  I’m just about ready to pull the pin of some of the weekly shows I watch.  I was trying in vain to find out last week if one of the shows was going to be a repeat and found an online B fest, ranting about the lack of new episodes.  It is so cruel to lead a person on with the joys of watching the pretend trials and tribulations of characters and then put repeats on for two weeks in a row.  It essentially forces us to watch another show in the same time slot and therefore making competing networks very happy.  HGTV never looked so good. 
 

The Burger???

Seriously, a few of you have emailed me and said you cannot see the burger in the background! What. I can see it! Is it my imagination? If anyone else can see the great big burger in the background please, please email me! If I don't hear from anyone in a few days I will be calling my therapist. Apparently, I am now starting to imagine pictures of food. Kind of creepy.

Dinner, Drinks and A Red Faced Waiter

Yes, it has come to this. I had to make plans a month in advance to have dinner/drinks with one of my dearest friends ever. Every time we make dinner plans I always have a teeny bit of guilt for whatever poor waiter/waitress who happens to serve us. You see, we don't get to see each other all that much, so when we do..... Oh Nelly! We take advantage! A minimum of four hours later we finally drag ourselves, reluctantly, out of the restaurant. Where the feeling bad comes in is that although the waiter did not necessarily need to worry about us (except to keep the drinks coming) he or she most certainly loses tip money when we show up. Our table most likely would have had at least a half dozen other people sit there during our lengthy stay! Opps, sorry for cutting your college fund or weekend beer money short dude. We got stuff to talk about. National world problems to discuss and people to laugh at. (This is the same friend that will engage in a hour long conversation with me regarding salad do's and don'ts, and the inner workings of anything, just about anything.)

So this dinner outing with my friend I am so excited to be out without people who order chicken nuggets, that I get to the restaurant 30 minutes early. Yeh, bellinis! As I sit there by myself sipping my lovely drink I wonder what one does while waiting in a restaurant alone. Of course the obvious answer is to people watch, which I must say I am very proficient at. I secured a seat near the door and I am carefully watching all incoming patrons. Watching people eat makes me want to vomit so I am out on that activity! The next step is to, of course, listen to other peoples conversations which at this moment is proving to be certainly interesting. A chick and her Mom are sitting in the booth to the right of me and she has been talking on her cell phone the entire time and eating. At the same time! (oh, and I know its her mom sitting in front of her because when she answers the phone she loudly tells the caller that she is having dinner with her mom) Talk about a combination platter of rude and disgusting at the same time! I mean, come on lady, I could totally see if you were perhaps the President of The World or maybe the Queen of something or other but seriously, to sit in front of your Mother and talk on your cell phone WHILE eating is just flat out rude and disrespectful. Ack. No respect.

Its about this time that I am multitasking effortlessly and with the swiftness of a lazy house cat. You see, I am not only watching the door, listening to the people around me but I am also emailing myself. Ok, I know this sounds odd but I, sometimes in the moment, email myself the blogs you read (after careful editing and swear word removal). This is when I get a call from my dinner date. Call goes something like: fuzzy, fuzzy, bleep - late, fuzzy, crinkle - work, leaving. Huh? The only answer I could give is: "Dude, I'm at the restaurant, having a drink, see you when you get here." I hang up and hope she shows up and curse speaker phone. I resolve myself to possibly eating alone. Whatever. Bring me a martini and some chicken nuggets! Ha ha.

Friend shows up. We talk like a couple of chicks hopped up on Red Bull. During this time, the booth beside us to the right has couples come and go without us really noticing. We visibly upset the poor young waiter (and laugh about it later) and realize on the way home that this is not the first time some poor unsuspecting waiter has misunderstood our reason for spending six hours in his section and resolve ourselves to continue the legacy. From this day forward, we shall continue to 'celebrate' just because we can and always because we want to.

Holiday Eating - Best Intentions

We have all set out on vacation all excited with the promise of not having to go to work, taking off our watches and experiencing new places and things. Vacation planning also comes with that little voice in our head telling us “you are not going to eat like a cow whilst on vacation”, “you are going to eat salads and love them” and the ever popular “fast food is bad and makes you fat. Don’t do it.”

So we set out in the car for our fun and fabulous journey with the best health conscious thoughts. That is until we have been driving for hours and your stomach starts to rumble. It is at this point the diligently packed rice cakes begin to taste like cardboard and you start obsessing about the burger. With a side of salty fries.

This is my friend’s painful vacation journey with the Health Conscious Food Fairy on one shoulder and the Just Eat The Burger, You Know You Want To Devil on the other shoulder:

Before I left on holiday, I already had in my mind that I wanted to start Weight Watchers but, NOT while on holiday, of course. My intention was to keep a food journal to see where I go wrong and to fix it from there. While on holidays, "where I went wrong" was blatantly obvious (Cheesecake Factory twice, McDonalds 3 or more times, In N Out Burger, Denny's, TGI Friday's, couple of hot dogs here and there.......need I say more). Anyway, I didn't get far in my so called journal but here is what I wrote.

Titled: Diary of a Food Obsessed, Trying To Watch What I Eat Woman - On Vacation.

Day One
Breakfast Day 1 - bowl of Mini-Wheats with skim milk - I tried not to be excessive with those scrumptious little devils - probably ended up with more than I should have anyway - that was at 7:30 am.
My stomach's been a little nervous as I get this way before travelling. Good news is I usually don't feel like eating much.

12:30 - We've been on the road for 5 hours. Just had 1/2 of granola bar. Stomach still a little "not right" but hungry too. We passed a McDonald's about an hour ago but if you thought the kids were hungry then, you should see them now. We're in the middle of Nowheresville with not a building, restaurant (person!) in sight.
BTW - I almost started my vacation last night with a Teen Burger & onion rings. I went for a jog and swore I was going to get home, jump in my car @ head on down to A&W. Thankfully I did not.


1:32 pm - Oh. My. God. (Jen Lancaster style). THAT WAS THE BEST BIG MAC EVER!!!

7:30 pm - Arrive in Cottage Cove, Oregon for our sleep over before driving to San Francisco in the morning. We head over to a lovely little diner and I order salad and soup (given the days earlier burger fiasco).

DAY TWO
I'm a day late writing so all I can remember is dinner at the Rainforest Cafe - Veggie burger minus the bun - but - I had it with potato chips. The rest of yesterday is a blur (or I blocked it out).

DAY THREE
Before I begin - we did a bit of walking today so chop some calories off the following:
Breakfast buffet @ the hotel (Hyatt). I truly only had 2 slices of bacon, small scramble of eggs, slice of canteloupe, decaf coffee, 1/2 blueberry muffin. Not so bad right?
We ate lunch at what is basically a sourdough factory (yum). I ate maybe 2 bites of my sandwich then a slice of the boy's thin crust cheese pizza (I'd like to emphasize the thin crust part), water to drink. I wasn't overly hungry. Possibly full on Jelly Belly's.....or I was saving room for the Cheesecake Factory later that night (best restaurant ever btw).
Our day carries on after lunch - Alcatraz, walking lots, trolley bus and public transit to Golden Gate Bridge and then the cab to the Cheesecake Factory - 2 words my friend - FETTUCINE ALFREDO. I also ordered the Strawberry Shortcake, took it back to the room but never ate it. Did I mention they serve warm, yummy bread?

UM…. THE REST OF THE TRIP

The rest of the 2 weeks went to hell in a handbasket. If I could draw a hill and me going down it....well, you know how it is. Ironically, I did come home weighing 1 pound lighter than before I left. Maybe I didn't eat as often? Maybe it was the walking? Hellooo Weight Watchers!

Hockey Playoff Wardrobe Etiquette

So I mean this in the nicest way possible. Ladies, if you feel so inclined to wear a hockey jersey to support your local team, wonderful. I implore you to please, please look in the mirror first. Especially before you leave your house. If you don't have mirrors - just refrain. Don't freaking do it. Yes, you are great and all for offering up your unwavering loyalty to a group of men on skates but seriously, you know how there are outfits out there that only super tall skinny chicks can wear (think skinny jeans) and chicks who are so awesome they can wear the proverbial burlap sack. The hockey jersey is not one of those things. At all. It does not matter how hot you are or how hot you think you are, you look like a complete idiot in a jersey. Really, you do. I know its a double standard here as far as the men go but again I would have to point out that its not to often you see a hot guy wearing a hockey jersey. Do you know why that is? Its because Hot Guy gets all excited that his hockey team is in the playoffs and plans a great party with martinis and appys and all that stuff. Just before the game Hot Guy throws on his hockey jersey and ...... Wait for it........ Looks in the mirror. Yes he does. Guess what he does next? Hot Guy takes the jersey OFF. And so should you.

Again, I am sorry. Damn it!

Ok. I am sick of getting in crap from the lot of you for not posting. I have been writing still. Longer stuff that is not blog worthy. I have also been very unhappy with the Blogger platform that I am using. They keep teasing me with cool layouts, which I promply use, then there are glitches in the darn things that freak me out. I am currently searching for a new platform. I promise to be more diligent with posting. I have at least fifty or so odd stories stored up just waiting for you all to use as ammo to laugh at me the next time you see me. I also have a couple of great stories that have been sent to me by friends that I can't wait to share with all of you. One of which is a friends "travel food log" which will have you killing yourself laughing not just at her but also at yourself for recognizing how often we have all set out on vacation with the intent of not eating like a pig and then doing just that! I, again, have to thank you all for your kind words. Nothing is better than sharing a private joke (at my expense mostly) with my pals.

A Bunch of Days.... And Not Counting

Just checked the marathon website to see how many days until the half marathon when my attention was directed elsewhere. Cool running gear. Oh yes and I am pretty sure you don’t have to be an official runner to buy this stuff. However, I believe not having stomach rolls is sort of a pre-requisite to wearing any kind of shirt that starts out looking like a girls size 6 and stretches to fit the average adult. Why did they call these shirts underarmour or dryfit? How about Sausage Bag?

I have taken a slight detour from regular training and have started the ever popular “Get primed and ready for Summer” marathon training program. This is a very intense program that, as it turns out, is much more time consuming than any other training I have done in the past. I have noticed that I have also not had any trouble finding people to ‘train’ with. Especially on the weekends. Or when there is something in particular to celebrate. Like the sun coming out or getting the lawn cut. A friend and I even made up a new rule a couple of weeks ago: When dieting, pick one: food or bevys? The rationale here is that if your going to consume calories, why not consume the good ones? So far, I believe, the new rule is sort of back firing on us because although we do not eat copious amounts of food during the training session, there is something peculiar that happens the next day. It is a crazy desire to eat a Big Mac. Still working out the kinks in the training program.

Now where did I put the blender?

If your following, yes i'm messing with it.....

Don't be alarmed if you check and my Blog looks completely different (anyone check out the cool shopping bags from yesterday? They looked so awesome on the laptop but when I checked the Blog on the home computer was a teeny bit shocked to see that the shopping bags were sitting on top of the words and I could hardly read them. I must have done something wrong.) Needless to say I am having lots of fun messing with the formatting etc. and will hopefully find one that fits my Blog. For now....pink stripes are kinda fun. Feel free to let me know if you have a favourite.

A Day of Firsts

Short sampling of a day of firsts:

New hairdresser. Yes you read that right. Went to a new hairdresser. Started out great. Turned to panic (think full head of strawberry color). Went back to great. Then turned to "oh my" strawberry fields with blondes running through it. Oh holy blonde chick. I was sitting in the hairdressers chair thinking about my hat collection and whether or not I could get away with dressing up a Corona baseball hat and wearing it to work.

That's not the only first. Get this. A man, yes a man washed out my foils. A MAN. Ok, so I'm a bit of a weirdo but seriously, A MAN and not just any man he was most certainly a straight man (the hairdresser's husband - who I am going to add here is also a hairdresser. Oh, I am now wondering about the straight thing?) Nice fella really. Funny to boot. But really a dude washed my hair? What does one say about that.

Funniest thing... When I left I was a little shell shocked. All I could think about was what the hell am I going to wear with red hair. Then I looked in the rear view mirror - waaaiiitttt a minute. My hair isn't red. What happened? Were the lights red? Ok. Post traumatic hair disorder averted. Holy hair batman. For about 20 minutes there I thought I was going to need to go into therapy. All is again well with the world. Well, the hair world anyway.

Side bar: Bambi, love ya sister but you would have gotten the therapists bill (something about abandonment comes to mind). Statler, love ya to sister but I have to tell you for about 20 minutes today YOU were buying the beer the next time we went out. Your off the hook, unless of course I go out tomorrow and some chick I know sees me and says something about my red hair. Then the beer bill is back to you.

The 'Party' - Part Two

I survived. Oh yes I did. Got myself a little glimpse of our future and my oh my let me tell you it is not pretty. People actually drop off their crazy children, leave them completely unsupervised with which our future leaders proceed to beat the crap out of each other. For. Fun. I was completely, utterly horrified. Listen people, if your going to let your six or seven year olds watch ultimate fighting that's your gig. You deal with the little hellion after he ingests this behaviour and then tries to replicate it. In. Public. Keep them at home please. The rest of us DO NOT want to have to stop your kid from breaking another kids arm or jumping off the top rope onto another six year olds head. Seriously!

The 'Party' - Part One

Tonight I get the pleasure (read: sarcasm right off the bat) of going to one of those crazy ass loud places where some brilliant genius rents himself a big warehouse and throws a jungle gym of sorts into it and invites every germ infested, snotty, smelly rug rat in to run around, yelling and screaming and generally partaking in all the behaviours that us parents highly discourage our youngsters to be involved in. I have begun the pre-party personal preparations:

- Advil infusions started hours ago so that I will be sufficiently medicated before entering the scream fest.

- I have texted my partner in sarcasm to ensure her attendance – think Statler and Waldorf from the Muppet Show – you remember right?

- I have an emergency beverage or two in the fridge to enjoy if I happen to live through this adventure without hurting someone.

- I have been practicing meditation to calm my mind and get the images out of me tripping kids as they run by me like rabid dogs.

- I have my “I’m just his Aunt, I don’t know why he did that, find his mom”, cover story completely formulated just in case the kid I bring acts like a complete idiot and I have to save myself from any embarrassment.

If I live through it, Part Two will follow.

Many Greatful Things

A couple friends have emailed and spoken to me personally wondering where the hell I have been. Well, long story short - still writing, to busy to post. I know, lame excuse. I will try to stay on top of it. For now I am again forced to resort to sappy with a little story that started this evening.

While watching a sporting event of sorts tonight, a friend asked me "How was your weekend?". Standard question, yes. Standard answer, no. I was forced to admit that although this weekend had some very tough moments (not to mention a few tears) it truly was a weekend where, upon reflection, I had to realize how extremely grateful I am for so many things. Friday night I realized that a friend is not just lucky, she is super, crazy, "your not gonna believe this lucky". With many chuckles and some new found great sushi rolls, Friday ended only to bring a very long Saturday. You see on Saturday the neighbours all came together and found a new appreciation for the land, and by this I mean DIRT. Stinky, smelly, cow poo filled dirt. Woo weee. There is nothing like a huge pile of dirt in someone's front driveway to bring out the best in this neighbourhood. Not to mention multiple wheelbarrows, a ton of shovels and more kids than we think actually live in the area. Six hours or so later and a new appreciation for muscles we did not know we had or have not used in at least 15 or 20 years, the smelly pile was gone. It turned out to be a neighbourhood beautification project and perfect timing too. We all seemed to need a break from one thing or another. What started as a determined project to get the sixteen yards of shit off the driveway ended in a huge pile of friends sharing an amazing meal outside while the kids ran around like Mogley from the Jungle Book (think covered in dirt!). Sunday brought a collective moaning that probably could be heard for miles and Advil runs to the pharmacy. Sunday also brought a family birthday dinner, the knowledge that friends who were crazy enough to drive for six days to go on vacation, made it safely home and that special feeling of knowing that tomorrow all the kids would be back at school. Wonderful school.

The answer to the question was "I had an amazing weekend. Thanks. And yours?"

With Great Sadness....

It is with the greatest sadness that I have to write that we have lost one of our most loved, faithful members of the hood. Many tears today and many more to come. There will be the fondest of memories, including glow sticks at halloween, missing tennis balls and a sparkly clean garage floor after every party. Our lives have all been better having met him and our thoughts and love are shouting out for his family. Although his years were not long enough, the love for his mom, dad, brothers, neighbours and friends is never ending. We will miss you dude.

113 Days and Counting

Yes, there are 113 days left. Sounds like a lot of time but really it isn't. Not when you are still eating like a cow and working out only in your imagination. This is my next letter to the Race Commissioner:

Dear Sir:

You have to know that the excitement of the race itself is great and all but I would like to formally request that you provide at least one "Martini Station" mid way and a "Margarita Station" at the end. Come on. A girl has to have something of a reward at the end of this thing. What better than a nice blender drink? Throw a real lime in the blender. We will call it a "fruit drink".

Respectfully yours,
Betty's Best Customer

Oh Come on.

Seriously, I had to sit through weeks of stupid tv and he picks the chick with roots and she can't even pull a whole paragraph of intellect? Oh, I am so mad at myself for wasting hours watching this drivel. Hours I could have spent ummmm reading or having a really great conversation with someone (oh wait... telemarketer....soo gonna mess with her ..... be right back)

I'm back. What was I going on about? Oh yah. Stupid tv. I'm really just going to suffer through Survivor tonight in order to get to Grey's Anatomy. McDreamy is almost as nice to look at as Mr. Michael. Bambi had a crisis this week wondering why I was not first to get tickets to his concert here in our great city. I know myself better. I'm not sure I will be able to become a spy for the FBI or CIA if I have a criminal record. Wait - is it a criminal offence to rush the stage and caveman (or woman) like drag Michael off the stage and bring him home to keep forever? I won't hurt him, I swear. I am now questioning whether the FBI still needs spys. I honestly have a great cover: laid back, easy going Canadian chick then BAM your busted bad guy, i'm really a spy working to eliminate the world of annoying people. Big job but someone's gotta do it.

Happy Canada Day!

Yup, you read it right. Yesterday officially became the next Canada Day. Yesterday was one of those days in Canadian history where, ten years from now, we will be all sitting around moaning and groaning about our aches and pains and then out of no where...... Someone will say "where were you when Canada won the big, huge, life changing hockey game at the best winter Olympics EVER?" Everyone will have a story. A memory. A fond reminder of a hangover. How amazing was that? Not just the "kick ass" hockey game but the humble, smiling athletes who did us all proud, medal or not; the hands down best city ever and a whack of crazy, flag waving, touque wearing fans who will forever remember the past two weeks. I have heard so many people say today that they are sad its over. I have to agree. It was a crazy time but one our country is not soon to forget. A friend and I both agreed that yesterday was a great day for another reason as well. After watching nail biting hockey on tv and watching our Canadian athletes get beautiful, gold bling, we had the pleasure of climbing in our cars, driving to the rink and watching another amazing hockey game. It just doesn't get any better, not to mention Canadian, than that! Go Canada! Go Colts!

And now, Vancouver, back to freaking reality. It had to happen i'm afraid. Time to get back to work. Ah well, I have to tell ya right now i'm not just excited about the awesomeness of the Olympics but my daytimer is once again crazy busy. All the tv shows are BACK BABY! No more repeats. Life is good. Didn't I tell ya 2010 was going to rock? And its only the beginning.....

Olympic Fever

Yes I have it. That's were I have been. Glued to my tv. Took me at least four days of coverage before I realized they repeat the winning events, over and over and over. Now if its 9:00 at night and they are showing some ski type event and its daylight on the tv I totally have it figured that they are showing the event - again. Brillance comes naturally.

Little tip of the day: Don't put mushrooms in home made soup. Super yucky, slimy globs of tasteless bla. Wonder what the person who empties my work garbage can is going to think tonight? What the hell are all these mushrooms doing here? (Am I the only one who wonders if the people who empty the garbage cans at work have, um, specific opinions about the person whose desk it is under?)

Running out of time...

Just checked the half marathon website. It informed me that we will be running in 123 days. Holy crap. Better find my runners.

I am going to email the race officials with a couple of notes, observations, recommendations. First issue: Please state very clearly on all registration documentation that if you are planning to WALK during the half marathon and you have registered as a super fast runner, you better be having a freaking heart attack or some other similar medical emergency. These people are duly holding the rest of us up. Not to mention that when they STOP suddenly they create a domino effect and subsequently make fifty or so other runners behind them have to slam on the brakes! I suggest hiring race officals to fine people if they register under an inappropriate running level and then decide to go for a stroll. Have the fine money go to charity if you have to. That or paint "walk only" lines along the race course, just like the slow lane on the highway (not that too many people know the rules around "slower traffic keep right" but that's another rant all together) At least if a slow lane is provided when the actual runners need a walk break we can just signal, and move in. Yours truly. Self Proclaimed Turtle Runner

Bring Back That Lovin Feeling....

You know that happy, giddy feeling you get on Fridays, usually as the end of the work day draws near? That blissful, “don’t have to come back here for two whole days” kinda feeling. That “oh look, the sun is poking through the clouds better get a six pack” feeling? Or that “run through a field with bare feet” kinda happiness? Actually, strike that. That is just visual stupidity. Everyone knows that is just exercise. Nobody exercises on Friday! Well, I try to pretend every day is Friday – hence my name on the waiting list at Betty Ford. Whaaattt? It’s really more of a mental state I figure. You can really trick your mind into thinking its Friday (just don’t do such a good trickery job that you don’t get up for work on any given Tuesday). I say it’s better to have a good time on your “Mock Friday” and be tired the next day at work than to walk around all depressed four days a week. I think I might just start a movement. I mean really, you only live once and who doesn’t love a good Friday?

You Called Us What?

Was watching the news last night (which is something I don’t usually do. To depressing) but with all the Olympic frenzy going on I feel compelled to watch the news for two reasons: to give my brain a break from constantly watching the Olympic coverage and hey, a girls gotta know what is going on in the hood, right? Anyway, there was a report about a certain comedian calling Canadians “Syrup sucking ice holes”. For about 2.5 seconds I chuckled. Mostly because the word “ice hole” is super funny. Now, I am as a rule pretty tolerant of others humor, bad or good. I, in my Canadian laid back glory, also feel that people are entitled to their own opinions etc. etc. and all that crap. This time I was actually offended. I have not quite put a finger on it yet but the first thought in my head was: “What the hell, I don’t even like syrup”. I don’t think the dude has ever been to Canada because I know after I parked my snowmobile in the driveway and went out back to feed my polar bear I was still a little put off about this uneducated remark.

Sort of reminded me of the time I was in Dallas, crammed in a little cab that was going so fast I thought the cab had inadvertently moved onto an Indy circuit, and had a very enlightening conversation with the driver (who was from New York – which I might mention here may, or may not be all that far from Canada.) The driver of course noticed my bizarre accent and asked where I was from. After duly explaining that I was from Vancouver, Canada NOT Vancouver, Washington (something I have done a thousand times – especially in Portland at the marathon. I ended up just saying we were from the “other Vancouver”. Most of the people asking got it) I had to explain to the gentleman that I did not live in an igloo and in fact I did not even own a snow shovel. He was so seriously shocked about the snow shovel thing I had to tell him a few times (please refer to blog blot dated February 10, 2010) So I proceeded with the secondary tactic that is used when people don’t know much about Canada – I asked if he had ever heard of Seattle? (Thank you Grey’s Anatomy) Oh yeah, broke through the cultural barrier there! I explained that we were just a couple hours drive from Seattle and that in fact we drive there to see baseball games. For the day. We then go home after. Really. (Ok, only if we did not drink a beer an inning.)

So I suppose you are wondering if I am going to fire off an email to someone expressing my dismay about this serious injustice? Nope. Not going to do it. I try to make an effort to only email nice stuff – like thanking people and that jazz. I want to be one of those people who buck the trend and actually take time out to be kind. It’s a work in progress. So what am I going to do? File this sucker away in the “Burn” file in my brain and will most likely, in the years to come, try to work the word “ice hole” into a conversation. Seriously.

Sorry but nice only lasted about two minutes (commercial break) Rant - Telephone Technology

I make no bones about it. I pay for call display, voicemail and all the other telephone bells and whistles because I really only want to talk to the people I want to talk to when I want to talk to them. Why the heck would I bother paying for the services? If the caller id says “unavailable” or “blocked” happy days! I’m not answering. If you have to block your number then I’m not wasting my time answering. If you have something to hide, please don’t bother calling me, i'm so not interested. Call some other poor unsuspecting sap who actually wants to answer the phone. I have often thought about changing my voicemail message to say something to the effect of:

“Hi, I am just plain old not answering my phone and I most likely won’t be answering in the near future. If you want to leave a message feel free. If you are someone I actually want to talk to I will see that your number has come up on my fancy call display and don’t bother leaving a message. Unless some dumb ass erases the call display I will see that you have called and call you back. Seriously. If you have a blocked number, don't call back. Ever."

I already have friends who it is clearly understood between us that we may or may not answer our phones and just our respective phone numbers showing up on the call display is the queue to call back. Although this seriously backfires when your neighbour is calling you and they can see you walking around in your house and you don’t answer. I suppose (if it’s a good neighbour) that just might border on rude. Again, in this situation I have been known to call a couple of my neighbours and leave a message stating “I know you are home! I can see you!”

Just an aside – I have a few friends who are a little bitchy about my lazy phone etiquette – they will phone and leave nasty messages assuming I am home. There is nothing funnier than getting a voicemail message from a friend that says: "I know your effen home. Pick up. Where the hell else would you be? You there? No? Um, then call me."

And Now For Something Nice: Don't Freaking Get Used To It

For a brief moment I would like to take a commercial break from sarcasm and actually send a shout out to my people. Yes, I know it’s not like me to do this but heck it’s been one of those weeks.

I have had times in my life that have been so stressful that I honestly wonder how I made it through. (For those of you who require a visual think me, my car, driving at mach speed into a Tim Hortons, smashing through the window, getting out of the car and eating every donut in sight until the police or that "special" police car comes to get me. The only thing stopping me is thinking about the 3.2 million calories I would ingest.) This week I have had a couple of friends inadvertently be there for me without knowing how much their time and/or words really helped keep me from the crazy bin. Small gestures to them yes, huge to me. It got me thinking about how a friend can pull you through difficult times and how important it is to be a good friend. I believe the saying is true: Good friends last a lifetime. I also believe that people are brought into your life for a reason – good or bad and that you attract those people to you. I can also say that I have been seriously blessed in the friend department. I have neighbours who have become some of my closest friends, ex-coworkers who have become so seriously dear to me and people I have met through sport, school and of course running that have forever changed my life. To you all – I will, for now, raise my celery stick but mark my words come summer time I will have a martini to thank you all. (One of said friends better walk my drunken ass home after the “I love you man” celebration. Thank you in advance.)

Bored to Death? Reallly?

There was a story on the news the other night that hit me like a bad insult on a good hair day. It went on to explain to the viewers that in a recent study “experts say there's a possibility that the more bored you are, the more likely you are to die early.” Oh crap. Should I be going to the doctor? Apparently “people who were chronically bored should be worried.” This is one of the parts of this article that I question: “Someone who is bored may not be motivated to eat well, exercise, and have a heart-healthy lifestyle. That may make them more likely to have a cardiovascular event," said Dr. Christopher Cannon, an associate professor of medicine at Harvard University and spokesman for the American College of Cardiology.” Ok, I get this. But I question if the not eating well and lack of exercising does not come well before the boredom factor sets in. Kinda like the age old question: Which came first, the chicken or the egg? I can totally see how, once you stop exercising and eating well, you then become bored.

Isn’t everyone’s perception of being ‘bored’ different? How do the researchers decide if someone is chronically bored or chronically lazy? I know I consider myself bored if the show I am watching isn’t extremely captivating. Hence the simultaneous tv watching and book reading. I myself think the boredom that preceeds a nap is a gift. I know sitting around with nothing to do is ultimately boring but if you just add a nice glass of wine it’s suddenly a one woman party. Is that still boring? Who decides if the activity falls into the boredom category? To some sitting around watching your cats beat the crap out of each other is very boring, I on the other hand relish in this feline sport. May the best, most pissed off cat win! How about going for a six hour drive to Tim Buck Too? Boring? I suppose. Unless you spend that six hours shouting and trying your best to not tell people to shut up. Painful yes. Boring? Not so sure.

So I have to ask: Who was involved in this study and how did they measure boredom? I know a few teenagers who, unless they are constantly stimulated and are having a small fortune spent on them, are in a pepetual state of boredom. Do they need help or should we take out a loan for their entertainment purposes? Heaven forbid should we let them get bored and therefore depressed. Was the study riddled with teenagers who had their Xbox taken away?

The article went on to say that “boredom was potentially as dangerous as stress.” Well I’ll be. I know the last time I was stressed it certainly felt a bit different than practically being in a coma with boredom. I can’t say that I have ever noticed my blood pressure rising while I was bored. Wait, does your blood pressure rise because you are mad that you are bored? Do you then move from boredom to angrydom?

This part made me chuckle: “People who are bored also tend to eat and drink more, and they're probably not eating carrots and celery sticks." So why not strike a deal with youself: How about if I promise to eat carrots and celery while drinking and watching tv? That would be a multiple activity, right? What if I really go wild and eat vegetables, drink, watch tv AND yell at someone? That’s healthy entertainment, right?

Ok, I have to say it. Hello people, if you are that bored, pick up a book. (See list to the right if you know someone who is bored to death? Seriously, going to chuckle every time someone says they were bored to death. Oh you doooon't know the half of it! Call the medics!)

The Evolution of the Stupid Person

Back when I was younger, way younger, I really had a serious dislike for stupid people. I know, I know, this sounds like a terrible thing to say. I learned in a hurry that expressing my dislike for stupid people was, well, not a good idea. It would seem that some people I came across thought I was an extremely negative, pessimistic person. Not so, I say. Honestly, it was never a negative connotation, simply just a statement of fact. By no means did I ever go about my business thinking that I was smarter than other people. It was just one of those things that seemed to constantly come up and annoy me. I suppose you are wondering what I mean by “stupid”? This term was used to describe people who, although they appear to have their mental wits about them, make a concentrated effort to not use the grey matter that is carefully lodged behind their eyes. You know these people: they are the ones that will take 30 minutes explaining to you how to do something when it would take them less than a minute to do it themselves; or who will call you and ask a question because they are just too darn lazy to find the answer themselves; or people who like to remind you how educated they are but are apparently to “smart” to listen to simple instructions and then require you to explain these instructions over and over and over. (Don’t even get me started on what it looks like when these people attempt to drive and try to do another task at the same time! Like eating or heaven forbid, using the radio.) I am most certainly not talking about the stupid stuff we all do, like leave your bank card in the machine after withdrawing money or leaving your coffee cup on the top of your car and then drive off. I am no stranger to pulling a stupid maneuver, as I so eloquently point out, often. I am strictly talking about people who do something and leave you to think to yourself “honestly, could you really be that stupid?” Sometimes followed by “Where did you get your degree, a Cracker Jack Box?” What I have noticed about this group is that, as I get older, they seem to be multiplying - or perhaps I am just a little less tolerant?

I have now learned to squelch my verbal dislike for this special group of people. I suppose it really is discrimination on my part. I have decided to take the high road on this one. I am now choosing to look at these people as ‘entertainment’. They truly amuse me. I have even decided to start a list entitled: Top 10 Stupid People of the Week. Yes, week. It’s that bad. (OK, what the hell did you expect, daisy's? The Blog is titled: The Sarcastic Side. That's just who I am. I have dealt with it, so should you!)

Pretty in Plaid - Jen Lancaster ~ Book Review

Knowing I did not have another Jen Lancaster book to read right after this, I read at sloth pace and tried to savor each page. Not only did this book not disappoint in the funny area it was like a walk back in time (as it happens the author and I are very close in age). In this book, Jen Lancaster takes us on a journey through her life as seen through the clothing and shoes she happened to remember wearing/coveting/squeezing into at the time. Remarkable really. If I had to write a book about my childhood I cannot say my memory would be triggered most by the clothing I was wearing (although there were a few choice articles of clothing I can distinctly remember, but would be to embarrassed to mention.) Maybe what boy I had a crush on at the time or the best girlfriend I was constantly with, but no clothing (Purse/bag addiction came later in life. No I am not seeking help or waiting for a bag intervention. Leave me alone. I have it completely under control.) Actually with my memory I remember very little about my childhood. Excellent really. I can re-write my entire childhood/adolescence. Will add that project to the list. The bottom of the list. Anyway, enough about me, back to the book. Here’s what I suggest: If you have a friend that you are having a difficult time finding a gift for, go buy her all four of these books (she can buy herself the next one – out in May, or did I mention that somewhere?) This gift will absolutely show that you really, truly care about your friends emotional well being and you will look like a freaking genius for picking out excellent literature. Only the best for you sista! The first Jen Lancaster book I received from a friend was Bitter is the New Black and it was one of the most amazing heartwarming gifts I have ever received (ok, whatever, she mailed me her copy. So what. It came wrapped in brown paper, in the MAIL. It felt like a gift!) It made me laugh, it made me cry (with laughter of course) and it made my family think I was just a titch odder than they thought I was before (keep em guessin). What gift can you give that will afford all that?

Welcome Back To Elementary School

This week I had the bizarre pleasure of being plummeted right back to elementary school. Remember elementary school? When you were all young, stupid and did not have a care in the world. Your biggest worry was getting home on time to catch the afternoon cartoon line up. Oh the bliss. Um, except the catty elementary school bitches. No vending machines. The same teacher for every single subject and most of all the teachers pets who would do ANYTHING to get on the teachers good side. (I know there is a more appropriate, modern term for "teachers pet" but I was trying not to use words like "ass kisser". Wanted to keep this story readable by all ages. Screw it. There are some words that just need to be used to explain more thoroughly the point you are trying to get across. That and I just now realize that there is a swear word six sentences in. It's caution to the wind now. Reader beware.) Back to the funny, unfortunate story. It seems there are still people out there, who no matter how professional they like to appear to be, are still just big ole tattle tailers! Yup, I said it. Tattle tailer! Tattler! (Ok, really I told a friend this little story, with a tiny bit more detail and her word was Fucktard. I politely asked her not to use inappropriate curse words. The situation really lended itself to the addition of immature in front. Immature Fucktard. That's better.) So at first glance one could be a little pissed about said tattleing and the resulting ass kissing but then I took a better look at the situation. Oh my goodness. I have not had someone tattle on me for at least a decade or so (ok, maybe add a bit more time to that) and when I realized the extent of the immaturity it was all I could do not to fall into an insane hysterical state of laughter (good thing I was alone). I mean really, how grown up would that conversation had to have been. I wonder if it sounded like whining? Or maybe it was delivered in a mature, na na na na boo boo kinda way. Oh, where did it all go wrong. I am definitely going to ask that Recess be added to my contract. Why not? If I have to go that far back in through some age maturity filter than I certainly want to be compensated as such. Ha. My dad can beat up your dad!

Blogging Oddity?

Well, since I am the princess of all that is efficient and organized in the world and all the items in my day timer have been completed (meaning: all tv shows are repeats), I got this great idea to find other cool Blogs out there in the cyber world. Well it was like I slipped into some kind of bizarre reality world that shocked me. No it was not what you expect. It wasn't all dirty and nasty as I scrolled though blog after blog. It was riddled with people posting pictures of their kids and every SINGLE damn thing their kids do! Right down to what they ate that day, potty pictures etc. Um have you people not heard of those bad people who surf the internet? Ugggg. Watch Dateline or 20/20 once in a while ladies. I'm even leery of posting pictures of my cats on the internet just in case some crazy cat-o-phile hunts me down and steals my furry entertainment! Well, after scrolling through blog after blog of people posting their "family" stuff I suddenly realized that the second favourite blog topic is infertility. Talk about ironic. One half of the population posts their pain and suffering about not being able to conceive and the other half rubs their noses in it by posting a second by second picturelog of their kids every move. Yikes. I have to tell you honestly that there seems to be a whack of those short people who think they know everything in the house I live in but they are really NOT that amusing. And definitely not amusing enough for me to want to follow them around, take pictures of everything they do and then spend time posting them on line with cute little stories about what said kid is doing in each picture. I have better things to do with my time. Like watch tv and write stories. Not only that, once they hit that age where they are all long limbed and bad hair they really lose their appeal. Could you imagine how thoroughly embarrassing it would be to have your mother post pictures of you during some of your firsts: Johnny's first chin hair, Johnny's first "oopps, that was supposed to just be gas", Johnny's first gushy zit. Ewww. I'm going back to good old Google searching up the people and shows I love: like Michael Buble (have I mentioned him already?) and the cast of Weeds, Rent a Goalie (Cake in particular), Rescue Me (gotta love ole Tommy Gavin) and all the other shows that fill up my daytimer and make it impossible for me to work out.