And let it be known.....

"My Fancy Friend"

A good friend sent me this story a little while back because it was definitely, one hundred percent blog worthy.  It has taken me this long  to re-create and post this one because it needed to be written with best intention and sometimes I can come across as a bit sarcastic (stop laughing).   I will preface this story with a little background information.  My friend Bambi, who lived in a super small, no Tim Horton’s town, moved to a slightly larger small town that has a Tim’s (and a mall!) and has had the great fortune of meeting a new friend who likes the simple things in life – purses, shoes, designer clothing, having her nails done….. oh, you get it (I just have to name her Mini Guess.  You will get it later).  When Bambi met  Ms. Guess she emailed me right away to tell me all about her and how perfect she was and how she was so super nice etc. etc.  I was suspicious immediately.  Most of the time perfect is so totally flawed but I have a policy about getting to know someone first before I decide I don’t like them.  So I meet this new friend and low and behold she does seem nice and after reading Bambi’s email I realize Ms. Guess has a whole ton of class and truck load of common sense!

Here is a blurb from Bambi’s email: 

“ON another note, my friend here (my only friend here) had a baby last weekend! They live close by so I will get to see the baby lots.  This is my fancy friend...and I have a funny story...worth blogging about.....remember you met her at the tournament?   Big blonde hair?

So, her water broke on Friday night.....and what does she do...not call the Dr......she plugs in her hot rollers and does her face! And then she called the Dr.!   They went in for assessment and got sent home for the night and were told to come back the next day to be induced if she had no contractions overnight.    No contractions happened.

So they go back the next day ...she’s all made up and has her hair done, wearing a Guess maxi dress and wedges.  Got her Starbucks on the way.  She asked the Dr. and nurses if she could keep her Guess dress on through everything...(no hospital gown for that princess).  So she was in labour looking fabulous until the last few minutes when they did have her change in to hospital gown. Super funny.”

I had a great chuckle about this, firstly because when I read it the first time I thought I read Guess MINI dress and thought she must have been nuts (not to mention super fit?), but after a re-read, realized maxi and mini were quite different.   Secondly, I thought it was amazing that she seemed so cool and laid back about it – seriously, how do you tell the dude at Starbucks to NOT take his time with your Skinny Vanilla Latte because you need to get to the hospital and deliver a baby? 

Fickle?  Diva?  Princess?  Maybe.  However, I think if one took a poll of most women (one’s who do NOT wear Birkenstocks) they would begrudgingly agree that if they could do it again, they would most certainly have their hair and makeup done and be wearing something fabulous for the hospital pictures.  I mean come on, who doesn’t have a disgusting picture of themselves holding their new born baby in a hospital green, backless gown with your hair all over the place and no make up to be had anywhere?  Why not look fabulous?  All the time people.  All the time.

I leave you with a picture of a Guess Maxi dress that I found on line.  Of course I took a copy of the sexiest one I could find.  Just for reference purposes.

Why I Need Ladies Night - A Short Story

This is an almost exact replica of an email I sent out to my ladies regarding the need for the ladies night that was forthcoming that evening.  I have had to alter it a bit as the original email had quite a few extra special profanities and a bit of bad grammar.  This is the best "G" rated version I could swing:

Why I Need Ladies Night - by Jody

To start, today is the lucky day that I get to work at home.  Sounds like a good start, No?  So when 7:45 rolls around I simply shut off my alarm because my commute is super short (down the stairs) and I was so tired I figured I could sleep a bit and just work later in the afternoon.  Win, win.  I happily drift off to sleep until 8:01 when I am alerted by the manfellow that I need to get up.  He apparently did not get the memo about my flexible work schedule.  Uggggg.  So I get up. 

What do I get up to?  Well, the cat shit on the staircase should have been my first clue that it is going to be an interesting day.  I walk right by thinking “I gotta get a coffee in first before I take care of THAT” only to see cat puke on the carpet in the office of which I plan to spend my day.  Bugger.  I proceed to the kitchen to make my coffee and there is cat puke (I think anyway – it could very well have been a combo puke/shit.  No telling.) all over the family room carpet and on the kitchen floor!  Seriously!  What the hell did that cat eat?  I swear he is not the size of a Rottweiler just average cat size so he must have been on a new cat “cleanse” because clearly the entire contents of his stomach/bowels is all over the floor in my house.  So instead of my fabulous espresso that I was going to have to get over the fact that I was not still sleeping I spent the next 20 minutes cleaning up cat yuck and trying not to puke myself.  My work day just got even longer.  Also, I anticipate spending my happy day working at home with a sulking, moody teenager who got home at 1:00 in the morning, sitting around all day waiting for me to get out of the office so he can lock himself in here and play Xbox.  Three words: Get. A. Job.

What the rest of the day will bring…. I have no idea but you can bet I will be RUNNING out the door this evening to meet up with you ladies! 

Your sleep deprived, irritated friend