And Let There Be A New Cast of Characters....

As with any new “season” (this one being hockey) there is a whole new cast of characters for me to laugh with, laugh at and bring into the fold.  This year is going to be no exception.  To start I will have to introduce you to a lady I met quite some time ago as I believe her and her husband will be heavily featured in my writing in the next six months.  Before I even met this chick I called her Coach.  Not because she coached hockey or because she wore track suits all the time like Sue Sylvester on Glee.  No.  She had the cutest pair of Coach flats and, at the time, I was a little Coach crazy having just welcomed my first Coach bag into the family.  As I have already dubbed the one and only real Coach with that name and if I used it for two people Coach’s First Wife would be sooo confused, I am forced to find another code name for my friend.  I was having difficulty with this one mostly because she is such a freakin nice person with no obvious flaws!  So I came up with Gucci.  Yes, Gucci.  Not because she has a Gucci bag (which she just might) but because the definition of Gucci is “good, awesome, high quality” and that seemed to fit.  Now Gucci’s husband is another situation all together.  I like to think of myself as being pretty high ranking on the Board of Directors in Sarcasmville but Gucci’s husband? – this guy IS the CEO.  I look like a sarcasm practicum student next to him!  (Dammit all if the chocolate bar names wouldn’t work in this case – Big Turk?)  Now that I think of it, I think I will just call the man Mr. CEO.  It works.  The reason I introduce you to these folks is because they are both insane enough to have a team party this weekend and, if things go according to my predictions, I will be writing about said party for quite some time.  Let’s just say I am thinking all kinds of Cracker Jack are coming to the pool!

To be continued………

Stripper names?

I have been on a particularly long run of insomnia lately and I have to confess that I am not the most creative human while I toss and turn trying in vain to fall asleep.  Most of the content that flits in and out of the neuron holder is drivel.  Senseless, crazy drivel.  The last absolutely brilliant idea was to give all my pals stripper names and let them try and figure out who they were as the stories unfold.  Although the idea sounded fun and a little wacky, once I used up Bambi and Barbie I was stumped!  (I already have a friend named Bambi and she was not named for her pole dancing abilities.  Strictly for the love of deer.  Which is weird all in itself!)  Apparently my stripper name knowledge is not extensive.  So once I discovered I have no imagination at all in the creation of new stripper names, at least at three in the morning, I moved on to chocolate bars.  Mostly because I had watched a re-run of the best show ever - Sex in the City - and there was a reference to Mr. Big in the episode.   It occurred to me shortly after that not a single one of my friends would like to be referred to as "Oh Henry", "Eat More" or "Butterfinger".   Don't get me wrong here I had a fabulous time coming up with sufficient chocolate bar names like: Bounty, Cherry Blossom, Big Turk, Crunchie and of course Skor (like Thor?).  Just to put the name to the character would be an issue.
I am infinitely grateful that I do not sleepwrite or sleepblog.  I am positive I would confuse myself as well as you all!

There is just no "quiet" space anymore.

The other day I found myself at a level of pissed off that was so extreme I felt it was necessary to leave my home in search of a quiet place where I could calm down. I decided, since it was mid week, that the beach would be relatively quiet so I got myself a coffee and drove to the water. I get there, find a nice shady spot to park my car and get settled in for a little people watching session between chapters of my book.  (Of couse you are only hearing about the rational part of this rage.  I did go online to see if there was a "Voodoo Doll Making for Dummies" book.)
As you can imagine my peaceful, serenity session got foiled. Three parking spots over a very, very old couple were sitting in their compact car, windows open, having a full blown, knock em down screaming match! I was taken aback. I guess I thought that by the time you hit your 70's you would be too tired to scream at your significant other. It was all I could do not to yell at the fella out my car window to cut the old bird some slack. This is the second time in as many weeks I have had the misfortune to hear couples toss it up out in public. After the first time I thought to myself "being a couple shouldn't give someone a license to treat another human being with disrespect." Does being in a relationship with someone make it ok to treat them poorly? Is it any wonder most marriages end in divorce? It's pretty sad when a person treats their friends with more respect than they do their spouse.

Shouldn't we do better? I say if you can't get along with others then learn to live alone.

Dead Bodies, Penguins, Stupid Catch Phrases, For the Love of TV and Scrappy Goes Wild!

To update you on one of the current frustrations - No the air conditioner has not blown up or caught on fire or any of those other dastardly things I have been dreaming about. In fact our wonderful, hearing impaired neighbours have purchased another air conditioner for their lower floor as well!  I have a conspiracy theory going on in my head now of course. Who the heck runs two air conditioners twenty or more hours a day and leaves their doors and windows open? Especially now that it is getting cooler out at night. What exactly are they cooling? Bodies? Oh goodness I can’t even go there. Maybe the fridge is broken and they have their food in front of the air conditioners or maybe they have a penguin (personally a huge fan of the penguin idea even though I know deep down inside that not all penguins need to live in cold climates and of course I am going to assume that it is totally illegal to have a penguin. They are just so freakin cute and it’s better than imagining a makeshift morgue taking up shop in the hood!)

Getting seriously sick of the new catch phrase“It is what it is”. Honestly people. Isn’t that just stating the obvious? It wouldn’t be bad if I didn’t have to hear it over and over again! That leads me to wonder if other people notice the repetitive use of the same phrase or is it just me? Am I word or sentence sensitive? I’m gonna guess that I am since I am still NOT going to read the repetitive sentences and descriptors in the other Fifty Shades books even if my pal Scrappy plants them in my car, house or anywhere else for that matter. I WILL NOT READ them (Sam I am). Although the Fifty Shades series have brought me much joy in the sheer fact of just ridiculing them and laughing about the effect they have had on the chicks who have read or are reading them. What the hell, if it’s getting people to read who am I to complain.

The new year has begun (Not losing my mind. Someone screwed up the calendar and made January the beginning of the year instead of September, which is really the start of the year.) School has started. The extreme joy of what appears to be never ending hockey tryouts and of course my personal favourite – my shows are back baby! Although having a break from regular programming has allowed me to expand my television viewing horizons and I am now addicted to Canadian and American Pickers, Pawn Stars, Long Island Medium and almost any show that involves the food network. I am on my way to becoming a very knowledgeable, well rounded (insert snicker here) human with interests in many things. Thank goodness for PVR. What did we do before that? Oh ya, VCR. Ha. Sounds like eight track now doesn’t it?

Speaking of Scrappy – I had the pleasure of being invited to the surprise party her husband put on for her oohhhh lets say 30^th birthday. Hell no. Let’s make that 25^thbirthday, mostly because the damn chick has more energy than your average six year old. Although I have been told she does not drink caffeine or alcohol, I am convinced she does some kind of illegal, back alley drug to keep up that energy level. I plan to conduct a full investigation and report back. I am not opposed to stalking.   (Although I might mention here that the chick WAS walking around with the biggest wine glass I have ever seen with, I am assuming, alcohol in it.  Unless she had her husband install a Slurpee machine somewhere in the house.  Then my money is on Slurpee!)

So New York and I ditch the kids with New York’s kind husband, Chatty Charlie, and head out only to get to Scrappy’s house and not know a single, solitary person. Notta. Scrappy, who has at some point figured out her husband is putting on a party for her, hasn’t even arrived yet. Apparently she is “shopping”. This in itself is extremely probable as I personally elected Scrappy the Captain of the“Shop Team” last year some time, however, when the chick finally shows up at her own party she is wearing a super sexy dress, sweet new shoes AND her hair is done? I call bull monkey on the supposed shopping trip and I am going to say that girl spent the day at the salon! She looked freaking fabulous (in hindsight I am pretty sure this is the first time I have seen her dressed up because who the hell shows up to lacrosse wearing anything other than jeans or yoga pants) and was, as usual, the life of the party. Note to Scrappy: Lady, I think all that bitching paid off. The house renovations are fantastic and your husband still appears to like you! Win, win sister!