tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62544002534292532942024-03-05T14:22:18.433-06:00Alert Status PinkCaution: IQ points may be lost after reading. Don't say I didn't try to warn you.oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-81968358133006664632011-11-15T23:10:00.006-06:002011-11-15T23:43:43.412-06:00I won't ask for much this Christmas I won't even wish for snow I'm just gonna keep on waiting underneath the mistletoe<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnqFYH7KVhPFi-uefdAQH5XOnppVv_j_3pG0kUOga32cAHY2h-DQfqj3GR7X-nUmDMtp5q9FHubKouva1jeNTq24X8j1J4tfRfZfwLRdm0riEV-3qe7495ajU8ODmaNoToFAv5yanA-58/s1600/stella-artois-beer.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 236px; height: 315px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnqFYH7KVhPFi-uefdAQH5XOnppVv_j_3pG0kUOga32cAHY2h-DQfqj3GR7X-nUmDMtp5q9FHubKouva1jeNTq24X8j1J4tfRfZfwLRdm0riEV-3qe7495ajU8ODmaNoToFAv5yanA-58/s320/stella-artois-beer.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675462167153799314" /></a><br /><div>I'm pretty sure beer was invented for retail managers during the holiday season. Case in point: I have just finally stopped moving for the first time today (aside from the drive home, it's also the first time I have sat since 1:30 this afternoon), and my bff Stella has managed to do a rather nice job of taking the edge off. Thanks buddy. You're the bestest.</div><div><br /></div><div>How does the holiday season bring out the worst in people? I have asked myself this question every year for my 15 year life in retail management, but seriously, what the hell is wrong with people? Here's an example of holiday shopper stupidity: A woman comes into my store today (November 15) with a jacket she purchased yesterday and her receipt. She is furious that the sales person who sold it to her assured her that she could return the jacket if needed between December 28th and January 9th. When I told her that that was, in fact, the case, and she could indeed return it between those dates, she shoved her receipt in my face and demanded to know why we were lying to her, when it states on the receipt that "holiday gift purchases made after November 15th were eligible for returns between December 28th and January 9th". I told her that we understand that not everyone shops for the holidays only after November 15th, and have never been strict with our return policy, and that the associate was being helpful and honest with her. She proceeded to shove the receipt at me 3 more times, demanding to know why we would print that policy on the receipt if we weren't strict about it, even though I explained that from a customer service standpoint, we do everything to make our customers happy, and that we will gladly return her holiday purchases even if they were made prior to November 15th. So you know what she made me do? Return the entire purchase and resell it to her so today's date would reflect on her receipt. Apparently me telling her that I am the store manager and giving her my business card was not enough to assuage her neurosis that we would laugh in her face and tell her to shove her prior-to-November-15th-purchase up her ass. To be honest, I would have liked to, but that would have been at odds with the wondrous joy of the holiday retail season, where Mariah Carey makes whale sounds (read: generic Christmas pop) on sound systems in malls around the world, and reindeers take it upon themselves to shit in peoples' Corn Flakes, leaving me to deal with the fall-out.</div><div><br /></div><div>40 more sleeps until you can all kiss my ass.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>*All I Want For Christmas is You - Mariah Carey*</i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-84316263256222658742011-11-10T23:25:00.008-06:002011-11-10T23:43:53.896-06:00This is how I roll come on ladies it's time to go we headed to the bar baby don't be nervous no shoes no shirt and I still get service<div>Say it with me: "Fat Russian Magnetic Kid".</div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_H2hddLvdVqhTc15HyPfQGLF5dhPVXY4CVtwd3DtXeMF2fQD1cgoMrFFhD0RJS0shrCtKkIkbXbIrMVsX-8kRz8ZqtH4xlhciZmJWod5XpeNSBHy4hXSNoVzzWs0CJxnT3lgMEO4Yk8/s1600/IMG-20110922-00426.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_H2hddLvdVqhTc15HyPfQGLF5dhPVXY4CVtwd3DtXeMF2fQD1cgoMrFFhD0RJS0shrCtKkIkbXbIrMVsX-8kRz8ZqtH4xlhciZmJWod5XpeNSBHy4hXSNoVzzWs0CJxnT3lgMEO4Yk8/s320/IMG-20110922-00426.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673606480409081778" /></a><br /><div>With spoons.</div><div><br /></div><div>You're welcome.</div><div><br /></div><div>This comes courtesy of one of my colleagues, a store manager in another province. He came across the picture of fat-russian-magnetic-kid while perusing the local paper one day. Apparently this kid is truly magnetic, and in order to demonstrate this wondrous super-power, spoons were judiciously applied all over his body. </div><div><br /></div><div>This kid must have the best parents ever! (cough)sarcasm(cough) I'm pretty sure if I did this to my kid she would: a) never speak to me again; b) put Neet in my shampoo; c) spit in my coffee; or d) all of the above. </div><div><br /></div><div>Anyhoo, my colleague decided this picture was too good to pass up, and meticulously cut it out and pasted it to a toilet paper roll, which he then mounted on a block of wood, and it is now an employee of the quarter trophy. I'm only jealous I didn't come up with the idea myself. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>*Sexy and I Know It - LMFAO*</i></div>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-91293813957636744392011-11-08T19:02:00.000-06:002011-11-08T19:02:33.120-06:00And it burns burns burns the ring of fire, the ring of fireI seem to do a lot of stupid shit. Today, for instance, as I was getting ready for a meeting, and choosing my accessories (it's a fashion company, this is how I get ready for meetings), I decided on this amazing ring I bought on my last trip to Cancun. It's a stainless steel square band with a small clear stone set in it, and looks very much like a very cool men's wedding band, but is clearly a women's ring, as it is a size 5 and even the men in Mexico don't have that small of fingers. At least I hope not, for the sake of all Mexican women... Anyway, when I spotted it, I immediately fell in love with it, and upon trying it on discovered the only finger it fit was the ring finger on my left hand. After much deliberation I decided to buy it anyway, but have barely worn it since, as I feel awkward wearing a ring on my left hand that looks like a wedding band and I so don't want people to think I'm that girl... you know the kind I'm talking about. So anyway, back to this morning. I take it out of my jewelry box, and decide what the hell, I've lost weight lately (10 pounds of being sick, 5 pounds of breakup - I don't eat when I'm depressed - I'll never be the fat ex-girlfriend), let's see if I can get it on my RIGHT hand. And I did. Unfortunately my finger seems to have swelled up since this morning, and now, after a vigorous effort involving olive oil, butter, and a lot of screaming and swearing on my part, the ring appears to now be fused onto my finger.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJbq8tDyBzQRKDZ0dFX4ndfrmxSklhrI7RK0bFP8YaJj7LwGwnIvD7zhO1NqpAHtaI0OrIar5hlfXEAaxnG-x0Mq8eou8bRS7a-hPuRsiOQKA0ayHaesN5K7WDkKkHOpxn6sgFynE6p7U/s1600/1108011850b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJbq8tDyBzQRKDZ0dFX4ndfrmxSklhrI7RK0bFP8YaJj7LwGwnIvD7zhO1NqpAHtaI0OrIar5hlfXEAaxnG-x0Mq8eou8bRS7a-hPuRsiOQKA0ayHaesN5K7WDkKkHOpxn6sgFynE6p7U/s320/1108011850b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Notice the angry red swelling and chafing. It hurts like a motherfucker too. Great ring though.<br />
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If I get the damned thing off it's staying in my jewelry box.<br />
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<i>*Ring of Fire - Johnny Cash*</i><br />
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<br />oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-3422160626820051712011-10-31T00:27:00.000-05:002011-10-31T00:27:47.373-05:00All these places had their moments with lovers and friends I still can recall some are dead and some are living in my life I've loved them allStolen from S...<br />
<br />
I have...<br />
<br />
1. been in love<br />
<br />
2. been heartbroken<br />
<br />
3. given birth to a child who decided that "posing" with her hand on her head during the labor process was an acceptable alternative to an "easy" delivery. <br />
<br />
4. walked face-first into a glass patio door while I was brushing my teeth. Lucky for me, one of my best friends witnessed the entire thing and will likely never let me forget it.<br />
<br />
5. smoked pot. Like, a lot of it.<br />
<br />
6. successfully escaped a bad relationship and have not looked back.<br />
<br />
7. had an amazing, movie-scene-worthy makeout on a beach in Mexico at night with a guy I had just met that day. <br />
<br />
8. flirted my way out of what would have been a $400 speeding ticket.<br />
<br />
9. regretted not getting that cute police officer's phone number.<br />
<br />
10. become close friends with both my sisters.<br />
<br />
11. partied until sunrise with one of my best friends since we both turned 30 (this one's for you, S)<br />
<br />
12. found a career I love.<br />
<br />
13. perfected a recipe for the best white chocolate brownies you have ever eaten. And no, I will not give out the recipe, but if you're lucky I'll make you a batch.<br />
<br />
14. yelled at my daughter's principal and told her she sucks at her job and should quit. <br />
<br />
15. tried caviar. Disgusting slop...<br />
<br />
16. realized I am coming up lacking as a Mom in so many ways, and try to be better at it every day.<br />
<br />
17. adopted a cat from the Humane Society. ♥Frankie♥<br />
<br />
18. locked myself out of my car not once, not twice, but 3 times. And one of those times was because I flushed my keys down a public toilet.<br />
<br />
19. been "caught" singing and sit-dancing while driving by other drivers. And I don't give a rat's ass.<br />
<br />
20. tried to make peace with the fact that my mother and I just do not see eye to eye. On anything.<br />
<br />
21. envisioned what my life would be like without various people in it just to see if I'll cry. I always do.<br />
<br />
22. made a lot of choices in my life that I may regret on the surface, but am glad I made them, because without those choices I might be in a completely different place. <br />
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<i>*In My Life - The Beatles*</i>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-35084153103852434152011-10-28T22:43:00.006-05:002011-10-28T23:20:05.699-05:00Yes, I said it's fine before but I don't think so no more I said it's fine before I've changed my mindOnce again, it's been a while...<div><br /></div><div>So it seems like I had my life exactly on track the way I wanted it last time I was here... oh how things change. </div><div><br /></div><div>Once again I find myself in old patterns. In the past year or so, anytime I find myself "between" relationships I call on an old "friend" (read: someone I dated and got along great with, but not on the same page dating-wise, but great sex nonetheless). Oh, by the way, "man of my dreams" from a couple of posts ago and I have had a parting of the ways, as we unfortunately found ourselves to be in different phases in our lives and not as compatible as we once thought. But this isn't meant to be a pity party, this is the about-to-be-drunken-ramblings of me, needing to figure out where the hell my head is, and thinking, possibly mistakenly, that my seldom-updated blog is exactly the venue in which to do it. (Oh, in case I forgot to mention it, I cracked a bottle of red, and am systematically showing that motherfucker who's boss).<br /><br /></div><div>Where the hell was I going with that?...</div><div><br /></div><div>Ok, think I got it. </div><div><br /></div><div>So I am the girl who lets everyone think that I'm all anti-relationship, that I am fine on my own, that I don't need anyone. What a load. I finally found someone who I completely, 100% fell in love with, thinking he felt exactly the same way about me, and what happened? I got suckerpunched, that's what. If I go into any details at all I will be blubbering in my aforementioned shiraz, and that would be a ridiculous abuse of unsuspecting wine, but suffice it to say, I feel I got my butt handed to me on this one. So now I am doing my usual... running straight back to C in desperate attempt at distracting my brain from thinking about what happened with ridiculous hot sex the same night of the breakup. So now I find myself wondering if this makes me a bit of a slut? I was at a poker game with a bunch of girls back in the spring, some good friends mixed with some girls I had never met before, and near the end of the night, after I found myself sans poker chips, I found myself in conversation with a girl I had just met that night. (Just to preface this, everyone at that poker table was married with the exception of myself and J, who is in a long term relationship). Anyway, the conversation came around to my relationship status (something I find all married people are pathologically unable to sidestep), and after more than a few glasses of whatever it was I was drinking that night, I told her I was single, but sleeping with a few different people. I swear I could FEEL the eyebrows raise in that room (married women scandalized). At the time I couldn't care less what anyone thought about it, and still don't really (I advocate safe sex, and am very careful), but now I find myself wondering if I am avoiding the pain of breakups and loneliness by engaging in meaningless sex, and thinking I might be the emotional equivalent of... um... fucking shiraz. </div><div><br /></div><div>Oh fuck it. I'm having more sex than married women. Eat me.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>*Erase-Rewind - The Cardigans*</i></div><div><br /></div><div><i><br /></i></div>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-30925106032527804602011-09-13T22:28:00.002-05:002011-09-13T22:51:40.514-05:00You want the sunrise to go back to bed I want to make you laughJust watched "Dear John". Cried what probably amounts to a keg of beer (what can I say, I drank a lot of beer this summer). Strangely, I enjoyed the movie more than the book, which pretty much never happens. This may possibly be due to 2 things: Channing Tatum (yum), and a much happier ending than the craptacular ending in the book (boo-urns). I won't ruin it for you, in case you like cheesy romance novels as much as I do, but suffice it to say that I might have to write a strongly worded letter to Nicholas Sparks and demand a re-write.<div><br /></div><div>I hate sad endings. They ruin books, movies, love songs, etc... You get the point. Oh, except for Beaches. Best sad movie ending ever. As soon as I hear the first few notes to Wind Beneath My Wings I have this Pavlovian reaction and instantly start welling up like one of those cartoon puppies with the huge eyes who want the kid to adopt them. It's such a girl thing. Seriously, you find me one man who doesn't roll his eyes when Debra Winger, or Barbra Hershey, or Julia Roberts dies, and I will eat my handbag. Studded handbag. My best friend S, who I lived with for about 2 years, used to work for a video store, and once brought home <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0165874/">this movie</a>. One of the best lines in it is something along the lines of "women like movies where one person dies slowly, and men like movies where many people die very, very quickly". Pretty profound, for a movie with Carmen Electra...</div><div><br /></div><div><i>*Paperweight - Joshua Radin feat. Schuyler Fisk*</i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-66388391688433499232011-08-30T23:11:00.004-05:002011-09-13T23:10:19.721-05:00I can see you your brown skin shining in the sun you got the top pulled down radio on babyI am a fairweather blogger. <div><br /></div><div>Sigh...</div><div><br /></div><div>So it appears as though summer is nearing its annual finish line, as evenings become cooler, daylight hours become shorter, and cellulite of short-short-wearing women gradually is covered up in deference to cooler evenings and less sunlight. And I have to admit that, barring numerous cellulite sightings (seriously ladies, gym and tanning next year!) this was a pretty good summer. Shall I recap? </div><div><br /></div><div>My summer Top Ten:</div><div><br /></div><div>10. Great tan (par for the course, but always noteworthy)</div><div><br /></div><div>9. Lots of alcohol-fueled evenings spent on the patio at Muddy Waters with best friend</div><div><br /></div><div>8. Days at the beach plentiful as hottest summer in Winnipeg in a bazillion years</div><div><br /></div><div>7. Discovered a-maz-ing rollerblade path at Birds Hill Park</div><div><br /></div><div>6. Promoted (finally!) to Store Manager, so now have my own store and can really kick it into high gear with this whole bossing people around business:)</div><div><br /></div><div>5. Happily let my daughter go to Calgary in July for most of the summer</div><div><br /></div><div>4. Enjoyed freedom of being non-Mommy for 6 weeks</div><div><br /></div><div>3. Freedom including but not limited to copious beer consumption, endless hours spent sunbathing at pool, and deciding to go out in the middle of the night simply because I could</div><div><br /></div><div>2. Happily got my daughter back mid-August as freedom was beginning to get to me a little...</div><div><br /></div><div>1. Seem to have met the man of my dreams. </div><div><br /></div><div>Not a bad one. Hoping fall continues where summer leaves off...</div><div><br /></div><div><i>*Boys of Summer - Don Henley*</i></div>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-2226032527661187672011-07-11T20:39:00.003-05:002011-07-11T21:08:36.811-05:00No second billing 'cause you're a star now oh Cinderella they're all sluts like you<b>spec-ta-cle</b><div><b><br /></b></div><div>[<b>spek</b>-t<i>uh-</i>k<i>uh</i>l]</div><div><br /></div><div>-<b><i>Idiom</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div>1. make a spectacle of oneself, to call attention to one's unseemly behaviour; behave badly or foolishly in public: <i>They tell me I made a spectacle of myself at the party last night.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>2. this season of <i>The Bachelorette. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Ugh. Bowlegged, airheaded, personality-deficient twit. </div><div><br /></div><div>Ok, yah, I watch it. I'm one of those people you make fun of for wasting 2 hours of precious living time each week watching some dumbass woman claim she is looking to find her husband (a.k.a. "soulmate", a.k.a. "yin to my yang", a.k.a. "love of my life", "Prince Charming", or other such drivel) among 25 or so perfect strangers, whilst going on dates in perfectly mundane settings such as Thailand, or Bali, or Belize, often in group settings (awkward, anyone?), while engaging in such activities as helicopter rides, tight-rope-walking to picnics, or elephant Safari rides. </div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, and did I mention the goal is to sucker the last sap standing into proposing after, like, 2 months of knowing her?</div><div><br /></div><div>Right. </div><div><br /></div><div>I want to see a "real" version of this show. Some guy picks her up in his Honda Civic, takes her to dinner at Olive Garden (bleuch) where there is that awkward moment when the waiter brings the bill and she makes the mandatory show of reaching for her handbag to make it look like she's willing to pay (but she's really not), then go for a walk near the river, while trying to ignore the smell coming from various mushroom plants and meat packing facilities nearby, and with him wishing he knew her well enough to feel comfortable to tell her she has a huge piece of spinach stuck in her teeth, and her trying to figure out why he hasn't kissed her yet. Then there's the drive home in awkward silence, both of them talking about their plans for the weekend ahead (embellished, so the other knows how cool and in demand the other is), and ending with a vague "I'll call you this weekend" (which really means a text message, sometime on Monday evening, that reads: "sry didnt call u this wkd supr busy wit frenz. u feel like movie l8r?") ...and so on ad infinitum. You get the picture. </div><div><br /></div><div>Boring? Hell yes. Realistic? You betcha. This couple will probably end up dating and breaking up at least 3 times over the course of a year or so, have a pregnancy scare or two, and finally get engaged after realizing this is about as good as it's gonna get. </div><div><br /></div><div>Reality t.v. at its finest. I'll even volunteer to be the first Bachelorette. Watch out everyone, my Prince Charming is out there!</div><div><br /></div><div>... cue gagging noises...</div><div><br /></div><div><i>*Celebrity Skin - Hole*</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-44166696904812774282011-07-10T15:43:00.006-05:002011-07-10T16:03:57.737-05:00Yah pass that bottle around got the rock from Detroit soul from Motown the underground stoned f*cking pimp we trash the mack and slap back the wackJust dragged my ass in from the pool... <div><br /></div><div>Did I mention I was drinking beer by said pool? Guess not, as I just started this post.</div><div><br /></div><div>Guess what beer in the sun does to your brain? In my case it appears to have pickled it to a nice fuzzy consistency. Am I making any sense at all? No... but due to aforementioned fuzzy-pickle brain, who cares?</div><div><br /></div><div>So I'm seeing a pattern emerging in my posts, that being that I am an approximately-once-a-month blogger. You may think this is due to my fascinating, fast-paced, glamourous (Canadian spelling) life. It's not. I'm just that lazy. That, and nothing that exciting really seems to happen to me. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was at the beach with one of my best friends -JG- yesterday. And as the norm, the conversation came around to relationships, and sadly, my lack thereof. I have gone through my fiercely independent stage, my lonely stage, my short-lived "I have a vibrator, who the fuck needs a man?" stage. and am currently in my "what is wrong with me?" stage? JG's opinion is that I may be too focused on looks, and that there is a possibility that I am overlooking great guys who may not be so great looking, and maybe I need to give these other guys a chance. I realize that what she says has a distinct ring of truth to it, and wonder how I got like this. I mean, I'm not exactly a supermodel myself, but I fully admit that I won't look twice at a guy if I don't find him wildly attractive on first meeting. And I know full well that I am not the only woman out there like this. It makes me wonder why it is that average women will not deem a man worthy of their time unless he is gorgeous? And why are we not looking at things like "is he a good person?", "does he still feel the need to go on all-weekend benders with his high school buddies he still hangs out with?", and so on. </div><div><br /></div><div>Holy fuck this is way too SATC Carrie Bradshaw sitting at her laptop in front of an open window for my barley-soaked brain right now. </div><div><br /></div><div>I need a Slurpee...</div><div><br /></div><div><i>*American Badass - Kid Rock*</i></div>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-5329960030179310722011-06-03T20:50:00.005-05:002011-06-05T14:36:37.042-05:00Don't pretend I think you know I'm damned precious and hell yah I'm the mother f***ing princess I can tell you like me too and you know I'm rightSo. Been a while. Miss me?<div><br /></div><div>Whatever. You did so.</div><div><br /></div><div>You will all be so happy to know I survived my now 10-year-old daughter's sleepover birthday party. I say "survived" because, as anyone who has been in the company of 5 pre-teen girls at a given time knows, you have to be pretty savvy in order to see the sun rise again. Some of the highlights...</div><div><br /></div><div>1. "Whatever". Apparently this is <b>the</b> word if you're an adolescent girl. It became only slightly annoying after the thousandth time I heard it.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. Hot pink nail polish spilled all over my living room carpet after a lapse in judgement led me to allow each girl to do her own mani/pedi. This, in spite of an old queen sized sheet and a lengthy admonishment to all of the girls to "BE VERY CAREFUL". Famous last words. Did you know nail polish remover does not remove nail polish from beige carpet?</div><div><br /></div><div>3. Listened to the girls discussing classmates "boyfriends", and "some girl who trash talks me because she thinks I made out with her boyfriend". ?!?!?!?!? They're 10!!! OMG, it was like listening to me and the girls, minus the martinis. I needed a drink after that...</div><div><br /></div><div>*editor's note: did not have a drink after that. I was responsible for children. Duh.*</div><div><br /></div><div>4. Successfully mediated several earth shattering intellectual debates (read: petty arguments) that leads me to believe I have missed my calling as a hostage negotiator/crisis manager. </div><div><br /></div><div>5. Cleverly sidestepped being made-over by a bunch of blue-eyeshadow-wielding, giggling girls by negotiating aforementioned mani/pedis instead. Regretted it, as per nail polish-carpet debacle.</div><div><br /></div><div>6. Made the scientific discovery that sugar <b>does, </b>in fact, cause hyperactivity in children. </div><div><br /></div><div>7. Made the scientific discovery that alcohol <b>does</b>, in fact. counter the hyperactivity-causing effects of sugar. </div><div><br /></div><div>*editor's note: <b>I'M KIDDING. GIVE ME A BREAK!</b>*</div><div><br /></div><div>8. Endured hours of squealing and giggling about how cute Justin Bieber is. </div><div><br /></div><div>9. Threw up in my mouth a little as a result of #8.</div><div><br /></div><div>10. ...and did it all without any help from my besties Ernest and Julio.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ta-da!!! </div><div><br /></div><div>And I get to do it all again in another year. Where's that box of wine?</div><div><br /></div><div><i>*Girlfriend - Avril Lavigne*</i></div>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-27752159881778932642011-05-02T10:08:00.005-05:002011-05-02T10:48:34.914-05:00Can we film the operation? Is the head dead yet? You know the boys in the newsroom got a running bet. Get the widow on the set we need dirty laundrySo...<br /><br />Last night as I was working on a project online (read: downloading music and shoe shopping) and half listening to the t.v. (I'm one of those people that always have the t.v. on for background noise), I heard the news that Bin Laden kicked it. Now, obviously good news right? I mean, I know there are bleeding hearts out there who are all "all human life is a gift", and "everyone has an eternal soul", and blah blah blah. Clearly I'm not one of them. I tend to think Americans are pretty much gun toting, flag waving, gum flapping fanaticals, but I do think they hit the nail on the head with capitol punishment, which we unfortunately do not have in Canada. I believe the punishment should fit the crime - you off someone, you should be offed yourself. I would take it one further than the U.S., though, and decree that your execution should be in the exact manner as that which you used on your victim. That might actually be a real deterrant, rather than letting criminals spend their sentences in country clubs with bars on the windows.<br /><br />Whoops... I digress...<br /><br />So here's where I'm confused: One of the networks claimed that the body is in the custody of the U.S., and is undergoing DNA testing to determine that it is, in fact, the body of Osama Bin Laden. Here's where I'm a little fuzzy: this man has been the most elusive fugitive on the planet for over a decade, evading capture despite the best efforts of the military. So it's all well and good that there is a body to take DNA samples from, but precisely what are they comparing to? I sincerely doubt he volunteered a blood sample at some point, just in case he died and wanted to assist in his absolute indentification. Another news station claimed that his body has been buried at sea. Really??? The U.S. government just decided to toss him overboard a navy ship just as the story broke? Sure. I have some excellent land in Florida to sell you if you believe that one.<br /><br />The good thing about this story, aside from the obvious being that a terrorist is (possibly) dead (pending "DNA identification"), is it overshadowed the gong show that was the royal wedding. Now, instead of weeks and weeks of post-mortem on Kate's dress (too much lace), the Queen's hat (who cares), and William's thinning hair (seriously, he's not even 30 yet and he's bearing a startling resemblance to his dad, and no one is running out to make a calendar of him), now the world will be hearing some actual relevant news, and the people affected by the events of 9-11-01 can now perhaps get some kind of closure knowing the man who perpetrated these crimes is, in fact, dead.<br /><br />We just have to get the news from a hairsprayed, overly-made-up news anchor with a shit eating grin. Oh well. I guess we can't win 'em all.<br /><br />*<em>Dirty Laundry - Don Henley*</em>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-55520005958573697072011-04-07T09:23:00.002-05:002011-04-07T09:50:37.949-05:00Well you must be a girl with shoes like that she said you know me well I seen you and little Steven and Joanna round the back of my hotel oh yeah<strong>Signs of spring in Winnipeg:</strong> <strong></strong><br /><ol><br /><li>The overly excitable residents of this fair city go through their summer wardrobes and shorts and skirts and cropped pants begin to make their appearances. This would be all well and good, if it weren't for the lack of exfoliation and exposure to sun for an entire winter. Tip: Blindingly white skin = lost retinas.</li><br /><li>Open toed shoes appear along with aforementioned shorter hemlines... ...along with the nastiest feet known to man. Not deliberately trying to make anyone vomit here, but I got on the escalator at the mall the other day, and right at eye-level with me were the crustiest, scaliest, YELLOWEST feet I have ever witnessed in my 33 years on this planet. </li><br /><li>Pot holes the size of moon craters all over the city. Driving to work lately has become a combined effort to avoid the pot holes myself, and avoid the morons who swerve into my lane to avoid them. So far my poor Rico has escaped unscathed, but he's had a couple of scares.</li><br /><li>Warm temperatures = open car windows = getting to eavesdrop on other people's conversations and hilarious singing while driving beside them and attempting to keep a straight face.</li><br /><li>Warm temperatures = open car windows = me getting busted for my hilarious singing while driving beside other cars.</li><br /><li>Geese, geese, everywhere. They're all cute and goose-like until you get too close to one and it hisses at you. (Freakiest shit I've ever seen!)</li><br /><li>Not being able to go anywhere without someone talking about <strong>THE FLOOD</strong>. Now maybe I'm being insensitive here, but I live nowhere near anywhere that will see any overland water, nor do any of my friends or family members, so I'm really not all that concerned. If you are so gung-ho, rather than flap your gums about it to complete strangers, go fill a few sandbags and make yourself useful.*</li><br /><li>My kid squelching around in her pink rubber boots. Does anyone else remember getting booters?</li><br /><li>Not being able to leave home without allergy meds so I can actually breathe through the dust and mold. Ahhhh... Otrivin.</li><br /><li>Shirtless joggers. Happy thought, only when assuming said shirtless jogger is a specimen straight off the Firefighter's calendar. Not so happy thought when said shirtless jogger is closing in on 60 with saggy man boobs.</li></ol><br /><p>*While do feel badly that many people will likely see flood damage to their homes in the next month, I just want to point out that when purchasing property, it is only good sense to research the area you are looking to buy in, and therefore should be aware if your future home is on a flood plain. Just pointing out the obvious.</p><br /><p><em>*Chelsea Dagger - The Fratellis*</em></p>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-4724448201826483202011-04-06T12:41:00.011-05:002011-04-06T20:30:41.077-05:00You know I've seen a lot of what the world can do and it's breaking my heart in two because I never wanna see you a sad girl don't be a bad girl<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMBbTmHDHejP2BKXOkEZesdd8KGCsEyzwhBl7Jz-zEhQY5-THYyLwfz3Hp6cf0_WYyQBnlfBnPNhXI59lx_WmHDf0U4ykk78QZIoe_28R2Y9Ir_CF_9pqUVZER6wmQA9qNW7hbr6VB7R0/s1600/wonder+woman.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 187px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 269px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592529562039291138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMBbTmHDHejP2BKXOkEZesdd8KGCsEyzwhBl7Jz-zEhQY5-THYyLwfz3Hp6cf0_WYyQBnlfBnPNhXI59lx_WmHDf0U4ykk78QZIoe_28R2Y9Ir_CF_9pqUVZER6wmQA9qNW7hbr6VB7R0/s320/wonder+woman.jpg" /></a> <br /><div>Have I mentioned what a trainwreck my personal life is? It never fails to amaze me that I can manage a very demanding career, successfully pay bills on time, have a social life, and raise my daughter singlehandedly - essentially in control (as much as anyone can be in control) of my life, and yet when it comes to making decisions about men I am about as intuitive as Pamela Anderson circa the whole Tommy Lee debacle. I have been trying to self-analyse lately, and get to the root of the problem, and I think I may have it... probably not, but what the hell, I'll test this theory. I think that I try too hard to portray the "independant woman" to everyone I meet, and insist that I need someone as independant as I am, but when it comes down to it, I am really a 1950's housewife at heart, and just want someone to make a martini for at the end of the day. Problem is, by telling everyone I don't want anything serious, I meet these guys who believe me, and are thrilled to have met a girl who isn't looking to "tie them down", and then when I get involved, and start picturing martini shakers and aprons, I realize that, once again, I have managed to meet the wrong guy. <br /><div><br /><div><br /><div>Following me?</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Didn't think so. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>By trying so hard to be Wonder Woman (love the boots), I have effectively shot myself in the foot, because I'm not the tough-as-nails chick I have let everyone think I've been for the last 4 years, I'm the opposite. I'm insecure, afraid, and lately, very alone.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So now what?</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Wonder Woman made it look so easy...</div><br /><div></div><br /><div><em>*Wild World - Cat Stevens*</em></div></div></div></div>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-21103808036482103032011-04-04T22:10:00.008-05:002011-04-04T22:52:52.293-05:00Cause I'll be kicking the flavor that makes you wanna jump how high? Real high cause I'm just so flyWhoops... Seem to have forgotten about this place for a bit. Ok, in the interest of getting all caught up in the least word-vomity way, here's a top 10 list of the highlights of the last 3 months so we can all move on... <br /><ol><br /><li>Survived the holiday season working my 14th Christmas in retail. Barely. </li><br /><li>Went to Cuba. Hated it, but loved the tan I came back with to make all my fellow Winnipeggers jealous with. </li><br /><li>Got the happy news that I will be going to Cancun in June for work, hopefully getting the bad taste of Cuba out of my mouth. </li><br /><li>Hooked up with my ex. Twice. </li><br /><li>Immediately regretted said hookups. </li><br /><li>Engaged in a lot of shopping to distract myself from aforementioned stupidity. Two words: Retail Therapy. </li><br /><li>Dodged the late night booty texts from a retardedly hot 28-year-old who, in the past, has demonstrated his remarkable abilities in bed. </li><br /><li>Am currently wondering why the hell I am dodging the late night booty texts from a retardedly hot 28-year-old who, in the past, has demonstrated his remarkable abilities in bed. </li><br /><li>Am also shoe-shopping on line while composing this post. </li><br /><li>Am thinking it's possible I may suffer from ADD.</li></ol><br /><p>There. All caught up. Now there's 5 minutes of your life you will never see again. </p><br /><p>You're welcome.</p><br /><p><em>*Jump - Kriss Kross*</em></p>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-38761593848294469812010-12-15T18:05:00.005-06:002010-12-15T18:32:28.336-06:00When they found her Christmas morning at the scene of the attack there were hoof prints on her forehead and incriminating Claus marks on her backPeople's idiocy cracks me up.<br /><br />Case in point: I'm checking the customer voicemail at work on Tuesday, and this voice reminiscent of Marge Simpson's mom grates across my eardrums with "hellooo??? hellooooo?? Is anyone there? Well... it's 10:30 and your message says your business hours are from 9:30 a.m. and I'm supposed to call during business hours and yet NO ONE is answering the phone. My husband is outside in the mall parking lot and I just need to know if you're even located in the mall *note: we actually say in the outgoing message that we are located in the mall* and I need to tell my husband" CLICK. So I move on to the next message, and it's "is anyone even there??? my husband is out in the parking lot and he's just driving around not knowing where to go, and I don't understand how to use this message machine and... HELLO???? HELLOOOOOO???" CLICK.<br /><br />I literally laughed my ass off.<br /><br />11 more shopping days until everyone can kiss my butt:)<br /><br /><em>*Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer*</em>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-35751757693103508572010-12-08T22:17:00.003-06:002010-12-08T22:56:03.994-06:00My words are like a rope that's wrapped around my throat wash my mouth with soap for words unfit to quoteSince we last spoke...<br /><br />Last Friday I decided it was time to bite the bullet and take my ancient (read: 1997) Cavalier in for service, which is guaranteed to result in at least one technician, and my sister (who is a service advisor) and her deskmates all having a good laugh/eye roll at my expense (just to give you an idea, the last time I took her in, it was because her muffler fell off. And yes, it's a girl. Her name is Carmelina). Anyway, my plan was to tough it out until my loan was paid off, and go ahead and buy a new car sometime in the spring, without doing any major work to Carmelina, who, by the way, sounds a lot like a hot muscle car, but is really a very rusty 4-cylinder who has seen much better days. So my sister comes out to the waiting room to tell me the news, much akin to a doctor coming out of surgery to let the family know, yes, your loved one has made it, unfortunately he no longer has a left foot. Ok, maybe not really, but whatever. So Carmelina has, in the last few months, sprung an oil leak somewhere in the engine, and me, fed up with yet another repair, said to hell with it, and bought myself <a href="http://www.hark.com/clips/nrbwjmksxg-a-new-car">A NEW CAR!!!</a> I am now the proud mama of a 2010 Dodge Avenger SXT, and am fully in love. His name is Rico. I blow kisses to him as I leave him in the parking lot at work in the mornings, and may have checked on him before bedtime, you know, just to make sure he's not lonely.<br /><br />R.I.P. Carmelina. I'll miss you...<br /><br />As I mentioned in an earlier post, I am knee-deep in the holiday season at work, work being a retail clothing store, and every year I am astounded at the people I encounter in my days. Today, for instance, I had a rather pleasant (sarcastic, for snotty bitch) woman come to the counter with a $15 scarf, who then proceeded to demand that I gift wrap it for her (ok, yes, we are a high-end retailer, but we still don't actually gift-wrap. You can have a box and wrap it yourself), and gave me supreme attitude when I told her I was sorry, we had just run out of tissue paper. I'm thinking this shouldn't be the end of the world, I mean, it's not like I ran out of SCARVES, I ran out of tissue, but she stood there staring at the scarf as though debating whether she now wanted it, and after a moment of awkward silence, said to me (in the most condescending voice) "HOW do you run out of TISSUE during CHRISTMAS?" which, of course, hit my jackass button with a vengeance, causing me to immediately bite back the plethora of sarcastic responses that were swirling around in my head like whirling dervishes. After telling her I was terribly sorry, but it's BECAUSE it's the holiday season that we unfortunately ran out, and have tissue paper on order, and would she like me to box it for her, she stared me down again, and asked for our head office number. I MEAN REALLY?!?!? Are you going to tell me you are actually going to call my office in Toronto to complain that my store didn't have a sheet of paper to wrap her scarf in? Where do these people come from? I would love to have the kind of time some of these people have. And it's still early in the season... let's see what other dumbass issue someone has next week...<br /><br />This is why malls are always in close proximity to lounges. Customers drive me to drink...<br /><br /><em>*All Hell for a Basement - Big Sugar*</em>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-40292806188499952422010-12-01T21:10:00.004-06:002010-12-02T10:20:59.934-06:00Working hard to get my fill everybody wants a thrill paying anything to roll the dice just one more timeWhat's a girl gotta do to get a Red Wings game televised in Canada? (Yes, I already know... subscribe to NHL Centre Ice. I get it. I also get that I can buy at least 2 new pairs of shoes with the money I would spend on a hockey season's worth of cable bill. Hmmm... cable... shoes... cable... shoes...)<br /><br />I love hockey games. Great butts. Get over yourself. You were thinking the same thing.<br /><br />So I am ankle-deep in my 13th Christmas season at work (I'm a retail store manager and regional trainer), and, as such, am compiling my annual top-ten list of un-favourite things (Oprah would hate this) about holiday shoppers. Read on...<br /><br />10. People who respond with "I'm just looking" to every statement I make, then proceed to make a huge mess in my store, because they have refused my help, and think they can find what they're looking for more efficiently than I can.<br /><br />9. People who think that it's perfectly ok to let their children run amok in my store, smearing their grubby little hands on mirrors, walls, and, oh yah, $1300 shearling coats.<br /><br />8. Snapping fingers for service. Ditto for whistling, and, believe it or not, "yoo-hoo-ing". (Yes, I've been "yoo-hoo-ed". By someone who likely thought she was Zsa Zsa Gabor) Let me tell you this: If you do this in a restaurant to your waiter, I put my money on the waiter spitting in your main course. Don't do this. It makes you a patronizing git.<br /><br />7. Customers who think they can treat me like "the help" because I am in the service industry. Here's a head's up, my friend: I probably make more than you do, AND I'm better looking.<br /><br />6. People who ask me if a particular item makes their butt look fat. No, it's not the garment. It's your ass.<br /><br />5. Handing me your empty coffee cup and saying "get rid of this for me, will you?". Um... again, not "the help", and probably make more than you. Throw out your own trash.<br /><br />4. Acting like what I'm showing you is the most hideous thing you have ever seen, all the while sporting faux-fur lined Crocs, a fanny pack, track pants with "JUICY" emblazoned across the aforementioned humongous ass, and a scrunchie.<br /><br />3. Women who think I'm trying to hit on their husbands/boyfriends, and proceed to treat me like I'm wearing the scarlet A. Here's the thing ladies... I've dated a lot of guys, and all of them have been way better than your pencil neck boyfriend. You can keep him.<br /><br />4. Men who hit on me because I'm helping them. Please know this: I am paid to be pleasant. I will laugh politely at your bad jokes, listen earnestly to your "fascinating" stories, and make you want to spend a lot more money than you probably should. This does not mean I want to go home with you when I leave for the day.<br /><br />3. "Big Spenders" who return their entire purchase the very next day. Thanks for that. You only took up an hour of my time...<br /><br />2. Women who want me to shoehorn them into skirts and dresses that were never meant to fit over their girth. What did that poor dress ever do to you?<br /><br />1. People who feel the need to swear profusely while speaking to me in regular conversation. Doubly so people who feel the need to scream and swear when they don't get their way. Lovely. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?<br /><br />I feel better now:)<br /><br />Funny story... as a die hard Red Wings fan, I am obviously glued to the t.v. during playoff season (because, obviously, the Wings will never miss playoffs), and last year one of my best friends came over to my place a few times while the home games were on, and was convinced that everyone who lives in Detroit must be a huge Journey fan, as they played the song at every game. After I gave him the "gimme a break" face (something I've perfected over the years), and had a good laugh at his expense, I told him to listen to the words, and to get back to me when he figured it out. A week later he got it. Poor guy... not so quick on the uptake...<br /><br />I though it was funny...<br /><br /><em>*Don't Stop Believing - Journey*</em>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-31841919966994087262010-11-29T11:16:00.004-06:002010-11-29T11:59:49.225-06:00The poets let a generation down and modern music could be the healing sound it's the only waySigh...<br /><br />Happy Monday. Well, it is for me, as I, a retail manager (a.k.a. work monkey) work almost every weekend, giving me weekdays off instead. Quite lovely really, in its own way. While everyone else is scraping the ice off their cars, fighting Monday morning rush hour traffic, and cursing the beginning of another work week, I am holed up in my cozy living room with a cup of coffee and my buddies Ellen and Rachel. It's a trade-off. I've been working this routine for over 13 years now, and I really don't know how anyone can stand working 9-5 Monday to Friday. I love having a day off, work a couple of days, have another day off, work a few more days, and so on. It's kind of like having early dismissal when I was in school.<br /><br />God, wasn't life a lot less complicated then?<br /><br />So... my messed up, insane love(?) life... I swear, I just split up with Velcro Man not even 3 weeks ago, and was wondering how I was ever going to keep myself busy in the months to come, when not one, but 2 boys from last summer get back in touch with me in the last 2 weeks. Hmmm... could the tide be turning? The great part is that neither one of them are looking for anything serious (thank God for that, Velcro Man was practically measuring my ring finger. Bleuch. Although, if I had to get married, I could be convinced to wear <a href="http://www.net-a-porter.com/product/108391">this</a>...), so this could be a fun winter after all. Winters in this city can be very long and cold...<br /><br />So I plugged the car in for the first time Saturday night, as I've been noticing Carmelina doesn't seem too enthused about starting in the mornings lately. As I was walking out to the car yesterday morning, I was thinking "don't forget to unplug Carmelina again". So what do I do? I brush all the snow off the windshield (right in clear view of the extension cord), get back in the car, and reverse out of my space, while wondering "what was that sound?" which, of course, was the sound of my block heater cord being yanked out of my engine compartment. Bugger. I only do it like 4 times a winter. Great work. Guess I'm going to have to go in for service this week after all.<br /><br />Whatever. <a href="http://www.neimanmarcus.com/store/catalog/prod.jhtml?itemId=prod111490032&parentId=cat30190738&masterId=cat30190731&index=19&cmCat=cat000000cat000141cat13030734cat30190731cat30190738">boot shopping</a> makes everything better.<br /><br /><em>*We Will Still Need a Song - Hawksley Workman*</em>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-55307036573400928362010-11-25T09:37:00.000-06:002010-11-25T10:38:49.487-06:00He's gonna buy a parrot that speaks her language but all it'll say is what are you doing with him let's take off take off take off take off<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy5iD58ET3HMdXjEb82wpj3ITWINmSz_iUlinx81XiTtMSnr6z2VSIaK5OOIxdldBN_ywPMheULi3vM2NWKHsExNOkOeKCWZ82Emv9ua5dvdNUZN6mquO0QFZRx8ctjRl9vbjSCCxIj1U/s1600/happy+bunny123.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 214px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543519583973936146" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy5iD58ET3HMdXjEb82wpj3ITWINmSz_iUlinx81XiTtMSnr6z2VSIaK5OOIxdldBN_ywPMheULi3vM2NWKHsExNOkOeKCWZ82Emv9ua5dvdNUZN6mquO0QFZRx8ctjRl9vbjSCCxIj1U/s320/happy+bunny123.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Have I mentioned boys are stupid?<br /><br />So the boy I just broke up with a couple weeks ago is apparently not familiar with the terms of the "clean break" I suggested. Or maybe in his mind sending me text messages does not constitute actual contact as there is no face to face, or voice contact. Really, I don't know. So anyway, after getting several "hey how's it going?" I got annoyed and, rather than telling him to take a hike, asked him exactly what was "too independant" supposed to mean? (I know, dumb move. It was bugging me ok? Seriously, most men WANT a woman who is not clingy or needy. Just my luck I get someone who needs someone needier than he is). So he has the nerve to tell me that I am too closed off, and am afraid to let anyone close to me, and implied that not only am I unable to be in a serious relationship, I am also an emotional cripple... -deep cleansing breaths, deep cleansing breaths, deep cleansing breaths...<br /><br />My darling pink cell may have taken its maiden voyage across the room after I read that one. Serves me right for not just ignoring the guy. Lesson learned. No further contact. If I want an educated opinion of myself I'll get my girlfriends drunk and ask them.<br /><br />So anyway, not 2 days after I broke it off with Mr. Velcro do I get a text from this guy I had dated briefly in the summer, had a lot of fun with, and it never really ended exactly, but we just kind of lost touch when I had to go out of province for work and he had some kind of seminar in Toronto. Anyway, this one is all about having fun, not getting boring, and has the cutest ass I think I've ever seen. And we're getting together this weekend.<br /><br />Things are looking up.<br /><br />So tomorrow is Black Friday. Yah, I know, I'm Canadian, we don't have Black Friday here. But in a fun way we do, because all the stores here do something magical sale-wise in order to deter dumb Canadian shoppers from driving through feet upon feet of snow, over ice-covered highways, and through hostile border crossings in order to save the equivalent of a few bucks once you factor in gas, hotel, and the greasy fried fare that seems to be de rigeur in American restaurants... <ahem>...rambling. Anyway, if the retail gods are kind to me, I shall be boot shopping to my little heart's content tomorrow. Sigh. There is nothing like the feel, smell, and sight of a lovely new leather boot to make the world a better place. I firmly believe that if you took all the world leaders and forced them to go shoe shopping together, there would be no more war.<br /><br />Don't judge me.<br /><br /><em>*Rico - Matthew Good Band*</em>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-25036369565695816972010-11-15T11:10:00.000-06:002010-11-15T12:04:55.349-06:00Way to go, way to flip off everyone I steal your thunder then I try to bolt But I could stand a little pity now and thenI'm soooooo not 21 anymore:(<br /><br />How is it I used to be able to go out every night of the weekend until 3 or 4 am, while consuming copious quantities of alcohol, and still be able to work the next day? Granted, it was with a nasty hangover, but still, I did it. Fast forward to this past weekend, when I worked all day Saturday, went out to the club, where I quit drinking at midnight and drank water the rest of the night, was in bed by 3 am, and when my alarm went off at 7 am I truly felt as though I would die. And the feeling of a slow and painful death followed me through the entire day.<br /><br />Oh well. I survived.<br /><br />I find it amazing that people actually go to bars to meet people. I mean really... the guys at the bars have not changed a bit. Case in point: As I was walking across the dance floor from the bar back to where my friends were standing, some totally random guy grabs me and starts grinding against my ass. Lovely. That's a great way to introduce yourself to someone. Will this eventually devolve further to the point we just sniff eachother's butts by way of greeting? So after I extricated myself from that particular gentleman, I had a few minutes of downtime before I felt a clammy hand on my arm. After I pulled my arm away once, clammy hand reappeared, this time on my waist. So I turn around and some guy is like right in my face staring at me. Creepy... Is this something that really works on other women?<br /><br />Actually, I bet it does, if we're judging by the number of women who feel the need to wear micromini's and no underwear (I saw an alarming amount of cooter Saturday night. Amnesia would be pretty nifty right now...) It makes me wonder about the type of gene pool that is being created by bar-hookups.<br /><br />Yikes. Scary thought...<br /><br />So going to visit bff in hospital today. She had a sudden intense pain on Thursday, and by Friday she was in the hospital having tests run. Turns out she had a baseball-sized mass on her ovary and had to have emergency surgery to remove it. She has to be in the hospital for at least 3 days, so my plan is to bring her Twilight to read, so I can get her hooked on it and turn her into another Twihard like the rest of my friends.<br /><br />Mwa ha ha ha ha ha...<br /><br /><em>*Volcano Girls - Veruca Salt*</em>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-40704121044460511002010-11-12T12:11:00.000-06:002010-11-12T13:10:53.695-06:00Another loose cannon gone bi-polar slipped down couldn't get much lower quicksand's got no sense of humor I'm still laughing like hellflummox<br /><br />[<strong>fluhm</strong>-<em>uh</em>ks]<br /><br /><strong>-</strong><em><strong>verb (used with object) </strong>Informal.</em><br />to bewilder; confound; confuse.<br /><br />Men are morons.<br /><br />Just curious... a relationship that has only been going on for 2 months... does it really need to be super serious? Especially in light of the fact that the guy involved had only been separated from his ex-wife for 3 months when he met the girl? Or, in light of the fact that the girl involved had stated quite clearly from the beginning that she is not interested in being labelled someone's girlfriend right away and is happy to just see where the relationship heads?<br /><br />I didn't think so either...<br /><br />Welcome to my life. I'm not exactly heartbroken over this loss, but I'm wondering what the thought process is here. We had been dating for exactly 2 months when the issue of my excessive independance and reluctance to be in "serious" relationship came up. My response to this was I didn't realize a 2-month-old relationship needed to be so serious. I mean really, why rush things? I would much rather let things happen organically and see what happens rather than force a relationship to be something it isn't too soon and lose the entire thing. So my solution to this scenario was to suggest a clean break and wish him well in the future. I'm not sure if his intention was to reverse-psychology me into something more "serious", but if it was, boy did that backfire.<br /><br />Free again.<br /><br />As much as I had been thinking I was finally ready for an actual relationship, rather than serial dating, this year, I wonder if I really am. Or maybe it's simply a matter of finding <strong>THE ONE, </strong>whatever the hell that means. I don't mean ready in the sense of getting over any baggage or that kind of crap. I'm past that. But I do think that having been in such a bad relationship with my ex for over 6 years has created a need on my part to maintain as much of my own independance as possible, and maybe this is making it hard for people to get close to me. Maybe I shouldn't try to head-shrink myself. I feel forehead wrinkles forming.<br /><br />Think I'll go shoe shopping instead. That always solves everything.<br /><br /><em>*The Sound of Madness - Shinedown*</em>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-71174065375768433822010-11-07T13:10:00.000-06:002010-11-12T13:11:42.621-06:00The tour was over we'd survived I couldn't wait till I got home to pass the time in my room aloneSunday not off to the greatest start. My daughter's best friends' mom called me this morning to inform me that my daughter J has been bullying her daughter L, and this has been going on almost since the very beginning of the school year. This came as a surprise to me, as I ask my daughter regularly if there are any problems at school with her friends, and she always says no. So it turns out that L is becoming quite popular in the classroom, as she is a sweet little girl who has no difficulty making friends, and J has been feeling threatened by this, for fear of losing her best friend. Now, we all know that 9-year-olds don't always make the most informed decisions, but my daughter felt that in order to not lose the friendship she needed to try to control L as much as possible, and ended up bullying her in the process. Now L doesn't want to be friends anymore, and is very upset by the continuing bullying behaviour from my daughter. As a parent, I don't know what is worse: having your child be bullied, or be the bully. I think it's actually having the child who is the bully. Not only do you have to know that your child is unhappy enough to feel that he or she needs to resort to physical or emotional abuse of another child, but, having lived through school myself, knowing that the bully is only setting herself up for being disliked and bullied herself in the future, as bullies seldom have good friends of their own. This is also a difficult issue to tackle with the child as well. When I sat down with J to ask her what was going on at school, she tearfully told me she was so afraid of losing L's friendship that she ended up losing it. My first reaction was to be angry with her, and made it clear in no uncertain terms that I did not tolerate her bullying another child, and how could she inflict that type of abuse on another person. I asked her how she felt when she was treated that way herself, and she told me how sad it made her. She is so sorry and regretful about how she lost L's friendship, and wants it back. After about an hour of trying to get to the bottom of all this, I realized that my daughter is facing what most adolescent girls do, extreme insecurity. I now worry about how she is going to fare for the next 8 years of school. I'm terrified that she may now be at high risk of being bullied herself. I remember how difficult high school was, and how much it hurts when your best friend turns her back on you. And I see my daughter, who, at 9, is such a sensitive little girl, and am terrified about what lays ahead for her. You can't pick up a newspaper, or watch the news without there being another story of some tragic outcome of bullying. My action plan going forward is this: get in regular contact with her teacher, keep in touch with other parents of children in the classroom, and continue to educate J on the long term effects of her actions. I don't know anything else to do.<br /><br />*<em>Adam's Song - Blink 182*</em>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-128062949524749852010-11-03T18:43:00.000-05:002010-11-12T13:13:02.517-06:00Move it over dad 'cause I'm a double dipper upside down on the zip zip zipper 1 2 1 2 3 I've got a ticket so ride with meSo.<br /><br />I get called out of a meeting today by my 9-year-old daughter's school. According to them, she had been throwing up and couldn't stay in school for the rest of the day. I, like every other mom on the planet, am instantly suspicious, as my daughter showed absolutely no signs of being ill today, most notably when she hoovered her way through a man-sized bowl of Honeycomb cereal this morning. So, in uber-suspicious Mom-mode, I ask to speak to her, and after several minutes ascertain that there had been no vomit, just a bit of spitting, and I told her in so many words to suck it up and finish the day. No sooner do I sit back down again in my meeting does my phone start ringing again, with the school secretary telling me (in that tone of voice that suggests exactly what kind of mother she thinks I really am) that my daughter is sitting in the office with her head in a bucket, and would it be too much trouble to ask me to come and pick her up.<br /><br />I'm an asshole.<br /><br />Or so I thought, until I got the little con-artist home, and after much observation of her reading a magazine with her feet in the air, giggling with the cat, and showing no sign whatsoever of any illness, I realized I was looking at, well, myself at her age. Bugger. How the hell do you get mad at a kid for doing exactly what you did when you were the same age because the idea of spending another minute in school made you want to vomit? (Or, pretend to vomit.)<br /><br />I hate getting older. Every day is another "so that's how my parents felt" moment.<br /><br />*<em>Love Rollercoaster - Red Hot Chili Peppers*</em>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254400253429253294.post-62435705714090933752010-11-01T13:48:00.000-05:002010-11-12T13:13:42.515-06:00It's tricky to rock a rhyme to rock a rhyme that's right on time it's trickyI loved White Girls.<br /><br />So here's the first of what I hope will be many posts on my new blog. Word of advice: don't delete your blog on a whim. I did, like 5 years ago, I think because I was breaking up with my fiance and in an attempt to remove all trace of my life with him I deleted my entire blog. I now realize I could have just deleted any post pertaining to him, along with pictures, but I guess that's why people always call me impulsive (read: pigheaded, irrational, stubborn... you get the picture). So lesson learned. Out with the old, on with the new and all that stuff...<br /><br />So, highlights of my week... a total creeper reminiscent of Buffalo Bill from the Silence of the Lambs (remember? The dude who was making a woman suit out of his victims and did that creepy dance to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_nZvhXGW_c">that song</a> while he was doing his makeup and hiding his willy) comes into my store and is all "do you have a purple leather jacket in my size?" and all I can think is how homeboy was sizing me up to see if any of my parts would look good on him (thankfully I'm a size 4, and, if you remember the movie, his victims were like size 14's), while marvelling that anyone would for real go out in public with his hair and makeup so poorly maintained. I know, this is how my brain works. Now all I can think about is <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RkC6QCR_xoc">that scene from Clerks 2</a><br /><br />I'm trying to navigate my way through Amazon.com to buy my uncle's Christmas present. I'm having issues. I think it's mainly because I am looking for books, when all I really want to be shopping for is an <a href="http://www.net-a-porter.com/product/96105">Alexander McQueen scarf</a>, which causes most people to roll their eyes at me every time I mention it. I think it has something to do with the fact that it is $895. Whatever. I'm not spoiled. I deserve all my stuff. Anyway, my sister insists it's super easy to buy all these books my uncle wants from Amazon, but it keeps telling me that the sellers can't send all these titles to my address. I wonder if it's a Canadian thing. I think I'm going to see if my sister will trade names with me for Christmas if it's so bloody easy. Grrr.<br /><br />Bah humbug moment.<br /><br />I'll get over it...<br /><br /><em>*It's Tricky - Run DMC*</em>oh, that girl...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00264139213945740515noreply@blogger.com0