Angry Uterus Strikes (again)

Right now this is my desk top pic...sufficient warning, I hope

Like clockwork, the angry uterus strikes at the same time every month.  Knowing that it's inevitable should make it easier.  This is what is annoying me right now...

1.  The IRenew Bracelet...
 

Seriously?  Seriously?  You've got to be kidding me.  I am the consummate consumer, so I get the appeal of things like "The Slap Chop"  and the "Sham-Wow!"  Believe me, every time it says, "CALL NOW!!"  it takes everything within me to not call.  But come on.  Are we really all that miserable with our lives that we think this is the answer?  Are we that hopeless as a society?  Are we that fricken gullible?  And furthermore, why couldn't I have thought of it, instead of twit in the commercial?  Then I'd be making millions off of humanity's stupidity.

2.  While we're on the topic:  The more people I meet, the more people I dislike.  Just to prove how much I dislike people, I am going to surround myself with hundreds of thousands of them, probably most of them drunk or stoned, on Saturday night so I can watch the fireworks with my son down at English Bay.  No one I know is stupid enough to accompany us, but a promise is a promise is a promise.  Maybe this will make up for the horrid *Water Park Weekend*

3.  Along the same lines...one person in particular is annoying me more than most.  He is always mad at me for things I've not done, things he *perceives* I've done.  It's exhausting trying to stay on top of it.  I've told him the truth, he refuses to believe it.  Guess what...I don't really care anymore.  Life is way too short for bull shit like that.  The fabulous thing about the truth, sir, is that whether you choose to believe it or not, it just is.  So there.  I don't have the energy to tell you to your face.  And you probably wouldn't care anyways.

4.  My tooth.  The one with the abscess in it.  The one that is going to require an effin' root canal in the next two or so months.  Well, actually it should be done now...but dentist is trying to buy us some time seeing as how I have no dental benefits left for this fiscal year...Sigh...tg for dentist though.  Also, tg for sedation dentistry, folks...only way to go.  And btw, I can feel the infection in my nose and cheek, that's how *fabulous* an infected nerve is.  Damn teeth, I should just get 'em all pulled.  Great weight loss plan too, right?  If you've lost count, this is root canal number 6 people.  I'm 32. 

5.  Meetings with *specialists* in the mail world.  This is mainly annoying because they talk to you like you're five while they explain a super simple process change.  And then you ask a question, and they don't know the answer.  In fact, they don't even know what you're talking about, so they just say, "That's a very good question!" and then don't bother to answer it.  I was trying breathing techniques until I started to get light headed and realized I was actually hyperventilating. 

So any one of these events would have sucked on any normal day.  On an angry uterus day, they make me a raging hormonal mess.  Don't worry, though...everyone has been warned and notified, and for the time being they're being really very respectful towards to manic woman pounding away at her computer while muttering obscenities under her breath and randomly sighing in a feeble attempt to excise some of this angst.  It's not working, in case you were wondering...

What do you do to calm your angry uterus???

In Which a Mommy Manual Would Have Been Helpful

Alrighty, how was your weekend?  Did you enjoy it?  Was it fun?  Restful?  Did it rejuvenate you and prepare you for the long week ahead?  Ya?  Did it?  That is so nice. 

Mine sucked.

If ever I was in need of a parenting/survival guide, yesterday was it.  And that's really saying something considering I'm a single parent who is required to randomly answer questions like, "Why do you and Daddy fight all the time?" or "Why can't you and Daddy live together like other Mommies and Daddies?"  Those I can always dig deep down and find an answer that is truthful yet not too disturbing for a 5 almost 6 year old to understand.  I've resigned myself to the fact that he'll need therapy when he's older anyways, so whatever damage my *intuition* my cause, I'm hopeful there will be a cure for it later on.

And if I had done a fabulous job parenting up until yesterday, I royally screwed it all up - while in a water park of all places. 

Of course, I didn't plan to scar my child, but then does anyone ever really plan to do it?  I really just needed a how-to manual that I could flip open to page 145 and find out how to best deal with the situation.  I needed an 'ask the audience' button or 'call a friend' or maybe even just a time out to gather my thoughts and then deal. 

Okay, so we decided to go to the water slides yesterday - Q, my brother, his girlfriend and me.  I even gave Q a choice...beach or water park?  Enthusiastically, he responded "Water slides, water slides...I wanna go to the water slides..."

So, not much of a question, right?  It sounded pretty convincing to me.  We went last year and he was a little cautious at first, but this is Q.  He's always cautious.  He's an almost 6 year old who thinks that motorcycles are dangerous, tattoos are painful and my hands should always be at 10 and 2 when I'm driving.  There is no dancing with both hands while steering with my knees in our car...that's just...well...dangerous.  Not to mention speeding.  If Q knew he could make a citizen's arrest when the speedometer goes over the posted maximum, he would have put me in jail like 20 times...last week alone. 

We drive the hour and a half to the water slides, we pay the $100 for the four of us - just to get in.  We pay an additional $10 to rent a locker so we aren't robbed of the remaining pennies we have left.  We find a life jacket that fits Q all snug and comfy like.  We begin to walk up the ramp to the first water slide, and Q freaks out.  FREAKS out.  So we stop.  He refuses to go on the water slides.  Refuses.  ANY of them. 

We tried reasoning.  We showed him how shallow the water was, how kids smaller than him were going down them, how he was with three adults who knew how to swim, how he was wearing a LIFE jacket.

We tried common sense.  Has Mommy ever put you in a position that would put you in danger?  No.  Would I make you do something if I thought you were going to die?  No. 

He wouldn't budge.

I tried the guilt trip. 

Ugh.  I still feel horrible.  Horrible.  My only defense is that I was disappointed.  If he didn't go on any of the slides, that meant that my day would be spent following him around all the baby slides.  It meant that I just forked over $50 for the two of us to watch everyone else have fun. 

It reminded me of when I was a kid and we went to Disneyland for the day.  My dad, for reasons that are known only to him, decided to make the whole day difficult for everyone.  "We're not waiting in that line up.  That's ridiculous" and "I'll just wait here.  You go on the ride, you don't need me" or my personal favourite, "No, we are not staying for the parade and fireworks.  I don't care if they're free.  We've been here long enough already."

I felt like that kid again.  The kid who got the bum end of the deal.  Here, let's take you to a super fun place...like just the most fun place on earth...so you can be miserable. 

I took it out on Q, just a little. 

We went and sat on the grass for a while.  Q sat there, totally unassuming, eating grapes, totally not understanding the complete angst and fire welling up within me. 

I couldn't really punish him for being fearful.  I mean, c'mon this is me we're talking about...only the most fearful person on the face of the planet.  I couldn't punish that when I understand it, when I live it practically every day. 

And so I took a deep breath and thought...

What would my mom have done when I was little if we were in the same situation?

Aha!

I had my answer.

"Q, where would you like to go?  To the pirate ship or back to the kid slides?"

He looked at me.

"Can I go back to the little slides?  Not the big ones?"

"Is that what you'd like to do?"

"Yep."

"Alright.  That's what we'll do then."

I cannot even remember the number of times my mother sacrificed something for me and my brother.  From going without things, to saving $10 from her weekly 'grocery' allowance for our family vacation, to wearing the same pair of winter boots for like 5 years so I could have a frilly Christmas dress to wear to church on Christmas Eve. 

She did that for 18 years.  There was never a guilt trip.  There was never a punishment.  There was only a smile, a kiss and a hug. 

Once I decided that I would do the same thing, the whole day changed for me.  I watched while Q went on the kiddie slides a tra-billion times.  I watched while he splashed in the water park.  I watched and I smiled.  At one point he says, "Mommy.  I'm really having fun!"

"Mmhmmm,"  I answered.

"Didn't you say when I have fun, you have fun?"

"Ya, let's go with that..."

I felt his hand inside mine.  It still tears me up inside.  

Hopefully, when he's 30, he'll remember how much fun he had at the water slides and not how Mommy made a complete ass of herself because she didn't get her way.   And if not, then maybe I'll spring for a therapy session or two. 

I apologised to my brother and his girlfriend too.  Nothing like having a spoil sport along to ruin the day.   They even volunteered to watch Q so I could go down a few slides, but I was already in martyrdom-ville.

Quite honestly, I still feel like shit.

What would you have done?  Taken him kicking and screaming up 40 thousand stairs, wait in a line up for 20 minutes and force him to *have fun*?  Would you have left on the spot in an if-I-can't-have-fun-neither-can-you revolt?  Would you have smiled and said, "Whatever you wish, dear"?  Or would you have handled it completely differently?

And if so, then where the hell were you yesterday?  Lotta good it does me now...

The Spa Day

I am so of the opinion that blonds have more fun.  But because I'm a) a natural mousy brunette and b) fairly practical and can only handle soooooo much I go for the blond highlights.  It's the perfect combination of *fun* and *serious* which absolutely goes with my whole secretary/librarian/teacher look.  I can't help it.  It's just the way I look, so I work it.

The problem with having blond highlights when you're naturally dark is that you really have to invest a whole lotta time/money to keep it looking natural (hahaha).  Upon my return to work after a week away, my friend/co-worker/boss took one look at my roots and said, "Wow.  When you go on vacation, you really let yourself go, don't you?"  Yes, it was that bad.  But today was the earliest I could go in to get them touched up.

I'm having such a horrible time finding a good hairdresser or stylist, I guess they're called these days (kinda like the whole stewardess vs. flight attendant debate).  I found this really cheap Asian man who was really very good.  The only problem is....he never gave me what I asked for.  I would tell him I wanted a lot of really blond highlights and he would say, "Oh, that take too much time.  I do this.  You really, really like this."  And he was right.  I always liked it.  It was just never, ever what I asked for.  So last time I went to this new place just down the street from my house.  She seemed to be really knowledgeable, and they were using this new product that didn't bleach your hair, but got the same results, so I was super stoked about not ruining my hair.  The problem was that I walked out of there with 1 inch roots.  This was really very frustrating, seeing as how I walked in with maybe 2 1/2 inch roots.  I didn't want any roots, which if you've never dyed your hair before, is kind of the idea...

So, today I went to a new place in hopes that I had finally found the one to make me look fabulous.  After waiting 45 minutes to get in, they got me ready for my cut.  Yes, you heard right on both accounts.  45 minute wait and a cut.  Uh no.  I need highlights.  And seeing as how we've wasted 45 minutes, you have to do it very quickly, because I cannot be late for work.  I thought it was really very simple.  All highlights, blond, blond, dark brown, blond, blond, dark brown.  This works really well, because it helps to blend the dark roots, keeps the blond, and is pretty fast.  Instead, "Grace" (have you noticed I use people's real name when I'm mad at them???) decides to do the bleach highlights and then dyes the whole rest of my head a dark brown.  Sigh...I only needed my roots done, people.  This isn't rocket science.  

By the time she gets to the all over colour, she is frantically trying to save time by slapping the colour on where ever it may land.  This included my hand, neck and face.  I don't know about you, but I'm not particularly fond of brown streaks down the side of my face, narrowly missing my right eye.  Did I mention they were running 45 minutes late because the woman before me had an allergic reaction to the dye and her face swelled to twice it's original size???    Then she let me sit for another 45 minutes while she dyed someone else's hair.  Oh my goodness, can you spell livid?  What kind of Mickey Mouse operation is this, people?

Not to mention, getting your hair done is supposed to be a euphoric sort of spa experience.  They play nice music, use yummy smelling products that you want to buy (or maybe that's just me...) and you talk about things like how cute Brad Pitt is and wouldn't you love to be in Paris with Johnny Depp.  Grace has not learned this technique because I know now that she just had a complete hysterectomy because they found stage one cancer in her fallopian tubes.  Shockingly, she hadn't had a pap in 19 years, and after menopause she kept bleeding, like super heavy.  Who knew it would be cancer?  They're just waiting for the results to see if she needs chemo and radiation.  On a more positive note,  her alcoholic hubby left her with three small children and no money.  She had to move from Vancouver to Surrey because she couldn't afford to live in Vancouver anymore.  But it was just a relief that she wasn't with an alcoholic anymore.

By this time, the toner was being applied and we couldn't wait the full 20 minutes for it to set because it was now 2:30pm and I had to be at work in a little over an hour.  My right foot tapped uncontrollably as I tried to look like I was not the least bit in a hurry.  She quickly rinsed my hair after 10 minutes, brushed it quickly, I paid my $200.00 and left with sopping wet hair. 

Did you catch that part?

The part where I said it cost $200.00. 

Because where I come from $200.00 is highway robbery, especially when you have to wait 45 minutes to get in for your appointment.  No cut, no blow dry, no straightening, no calm relaxing this-is-all-about-you experience.

To top it off, it's brassy.  I don't want brassy.  I don't like brassy.  I didn't pay $200.00 to look like a two-bit hooker who dyed her hair using Clairol nice and easy.  No offence to any of you who use Clairol nice and easy...

I was 10 minutes late for work.  I didn't get to stop and grab my Caramel Latte, and I did not come to work feeling restful and calm.  I bit my co-worker's head off in the first 5 minutes I arrived, and he's still looking at me a little warily. 

My lesson is this:  If you call a hair salon and they can fit you in the next day at the exact time that you need, it's probably because they have no clients because they suck at what they do.  Next time, C, how 'bout planning in advance and find a reputable place, where they won't mix up *foils* with *cut* because I know they look pretty similar on paper, but they're really quite different in actuality (whooo, how's that for a run on sentence.  Nothing like anger to ignite run on sentences.)

My other lesson is: Never trust men who wear white shoes.  Trust them even less when they also wear a white belt and white shoes.  I know it's completely irrelevant to my spa day, but I think it's really very important to get that out there. 

Consider it a free public service announcement from yours truly.

What I Learned on my Summer Vacation

He's smiling on the outside, but screaming on the inside.  He's his momma's boy!

Do you remember doing that in school?  Having to do an essay on your summer vacation?  I don't.  But I do remember watching other kids do it in movies.  So, I guess it's kinda like me doing it, right?  Anyways, this is what I learned on my summer vacation this year....

Being in a car with a five almost six year old is sort of like being in a car with someone who has Alzheimer's.  Five hours went by kinda like this...

"Are we there yet?"

"No"

"Oh.  Are we staying at the cabin tonight?"

"No, we're staying with Nana tonight at the Hotel.  There's a swimming pool, so you can go swimming."

"Oh.  Are we there yet?"

"Nope"

"Oh."

Wait 5 minutes....

"Are we staying at the cabin tonight?"

"No, I told you we're staying at the Hotel with Nana."

"Why?"

"I told you why..."

"I forgot..."

"Well, Nana has pool at the Hotel.  So we're going to stay there!"

"Oh...are we there yet?"

Multiply this conversation by 5 hours and you have our road trip in a nut shell.  Thank God for Nintendo DS...that's all I gotta say.

Being in a cabin with three two almost three year old's is like being stuck in a room with three PMS-ing women...example:

"I want some orange juice."

"Okay.  T, would you like some orange juice too?

"No, I want apple juice."

"Cool.  Okay, K...here's your orange juice.  T, there's your apple juice"

Then from absolutely nowhere..."Awwwwwwwwwwww, I don't want apple juice.  I want orange juice, too.  I want orange juice.  I want orange juice, I want orange juice. I want orange juice.  I don't like apple juuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuiiiiiiiiiiiccccccccccccccccccccccceeee..."

Multiply that by five days...

I think you guys all need to be sitting down for this next one.   I learned that there are husbands/fathers out there who interact with their families.  I know.  Shut the front door, right?  There are men who play with their children because they want to.  They feed their children, tuck them into bed at night, and get up in the middle of the night with them.  And they don't guilt trip their baby's momma's for it.  They do it because they're part of a team, because they love their children and they love their wives.  I just kept staring in awe at these supermen who make dinner, clean up the dishes and all without a word to belittle their wives or to keep tabs on who did what, and who did more.  Where can I get me one of those?

I learned that I got some issues I didn't know I had.  We spent quite a bit of time on a boat...cuz, ya know...we were on a lake for a week.  Now, Mr. Ex and I had a boat (FYI...he kept it in the split, along with the house, the Jeep, the Porsche and the bank account...but whatever...) and whenever we went on the boat it became a stressful ordeal that always ended with him yelling at my inadequate boating techniques.   Like, there was the time when it looked like I was minding my own business just sitting on the boat, but really I made the boat stall in the middle of the river with a huge barge right behind us.  Or there was the time I changed the current/tides while he was trying to dock the boat, so he couldn't control it.  I remember the time I inconveniently got 9 months pregnant and couldn't reach for the dock from the boat over the massive 10lb 6 oz baby stuck in my uterus.  Geez, what was I thinking, right?  

So, I get on this boat and I start to feel a lil panicky.  Like, who's going to start yelling at who first?  And even moreso, who is going to start yelling a me first.  What stupid thing am I going to do on this boat to make it tip over or sink or some other disastrous ending to a fabulous day?  Well, guess what...no one yelled at anyone, the boat didn't sink, and nothing happened that was my fault.  Because as amazing as I am, I cannot change the tides, and I cannot single handedly sink a boat.  Those were Mr. Ex's inadequacies...not mine.  It was super powerful for me to realize that.  Soon, I relaxed in the boat and had a fabulous time.  It was a really good reminder, though that we all have skeletons in all closet, no matter how well rounded and complete we are.  I find myself beating myself up for things that are not my fault and could not possibly be my fault (like, you know, when I blamed the weather on...um.....me...)

I found that it was easier to quit smoking when I was able to substitute one vice with another.  For instance, hard liquor helps quell the cravings.  However, this does mean that you're pretty much drunk for a whole week, but at least you're not smoking, right?  And everyone knows that everything is soooooo much more fun when you're drunk.  Even two full days of rain, stuck in a cabin with 5 adults, 5 kids, and a dog.  And no cigarettes.

I also learned that being a single mom who lives paycheck to paycheck is my issue and no one else's.  People don't treat me differently or see me differently because I'm not married.  I might see myself differently, I might not meet my expectations, but I had a wonderful week with two happily married couples, and I was not the fifth wheel.  I was just another person.  And it was fun.

Finally, I learned that of all the places in the world I could be, the one place that I really, really love to be is home.  I am a home body.  I had such an amazing time at the lake.  I got to spend the week with my best friend, her super cool family and some new friends.  But coming home was just spectacular.  Sleeping in my own bed was divine.  I don't need to travel around the world to find happiness, I am so super content right where I am.

And then Monday came along, and I was horribly reminded how much I hate my job.

See you in a week :)

Okay, we're almost ready to go to the lake.  I had to prioritize my list of to-do's, because let's face it...you can't save the world in 48 hours. 

I love Walmart, and Friday further proved why.  I popped in for a quick estimate on my tires and ended up getting my car in right away.  Walmart does tires and oil changes...who knew???  Those guys do/have everything.  So for just a little over $200.00, I was good to go.  Decided to just get the front two replaced and then we'll do the back ones in a bit.  They're not completely bald on the back yet, so you know, I have a while to go.  I figure that if rocks can get stuck in the groves, then we've got some time to play with...

I didn't get the whole lecture on the colour of my fluids either, because neither one of the guys in the automotive department of my friendly neighbourhood Walmart spoke much English.  I bet they were thinking it, but they didn't say a word (that I understood...)  The best part is that I don't know if my fluids are cherry red or black, and frankly, I don't care.  No free bluetooth, but I think those things are totally over-rated.  A colleague at work has one, and I always think she's talking to me...and she's not.  Then she looks at me like I'm retarded...

True to form, my ex started humming and hawing about changing my brakes for me.  This is his *thing* with me.  Offer to do something multiple times, when I finally break down and say, "Okay, help me,"  he decides to make me beg for it.  I think he gets his jollies from it.  Whatever the case, I've spent enough time begging that man for things, I won't do it again.  The brakes are fine.  They don't squeal.  I don't hear any grinding.  It was him who said they needed replacing to begin with.  And I have no idea where that came from seeing as how he's never driven in my car.  It just makes him feel good to put things of mine down, even if it's just my brakes.

The bathing suit shopping was not as horrific as I imagined.  I walked into this store where they're trained to help you find the best fit for your body and almost $200.00 later I do look 10lbs thinner.  Although, I bet they have some sneaky little trick they do with their mirrors to make you look skinnier.  There are some horribly gaudy one piece bathing suits, let me tell ya.  Just because we're fat doesn't mean we don't have taste, dammit.  Black is the colour for me.  And I bribed the kid with a DS game and an ice cream cone to keep him quiet while I tried them on.  He was really very patient, though, given the circumstances.  And I was able to swallow the fear and actually try them on instead of looking at them like they were going to attack me.

We're just waiting now for the love fest to begin with my wonderful brother and his fabulous girlfriend.  They'll be here any minute. 

So my friends, I'm off for a week with no Internet connection.  I know, I know.  You'll miss me.  It's okay.  I'll be back.  This isn't the big leagues though, so there will be no guest bloggers to amuse you while I'm gone (but seriously...why would you want to come to my blog to read someone else's post?  Doesn't make any sense to me.)

Have a fabulous week, be safe.  Wear your seatbelt, lock the doors, don't forget the sunscreen and all that jazz. 

See you in a week!

Sweaty Kneecaps

PHEW!!!

Summer has finally decided to join us here on the lower mainland.  It's about effin' time, that's all I have to say about that.  I guess we're paying for the abnormally warm winter we had smack dab in the middle of the Olympics.  There's more snow on the mountains now, FYI.  I think the Americans are still laughing at us.  There goes the myth that Canadians live in Igloos and travel by dog sled though...hahaha!! 

I think that my sweat glands changed after I had Q because I was never a really sweaty girl before having him.  In the past few years, though I have begun to sweat in places I didn't even know you could sweat.  For example, my kneecaps sweat.  I think that's a little weird, don't you?  So now, when the weather gets hot, I say, "So friggin' hot, my kneecaps are sweatin'," and people look at me a little weird.  I'm used to it though, more often than not people look at me funny because of something I said before I thought it out.  (haha, not unlike this blog...)

It's horrid at work because we don't have air conditioning in the area of the building where I work.  And then there's the trucks with their exhaust and stuff, and I have to wear long pants - nothing says sweat like good ol' polyester (my co-worker says it's because if I were allowed to wear shorts to work there would be many forklift accidents...which I think is a compliment)  and the dreaded steel toed boots. 

However, next week I will be in paradise with my BFF, her three adorable babes (okay, okay, K is twelve, but I remember him when he was just a babe...) and of course, my lovely Q.  I will be required to wear nothing but a bathing suit and flip flops for a whole week while we fish and drink and boat and drink.  Last year it rained the whole time, but I've checked the long term forecast and it is gonna be HOT, HOT, HOT!!!  Believe me folks, I am squealing on the inside. 

I so need BFF time. 

Before I go, I have to do a few things....

I have to get my tires changed.  I don't know much about tires, but I'm pretty sure there comes a time when they're so bald, they just pop.  I'm also pretty sure that I'm living on borrowed time with my tires.  I once drove for a whole day, on the highway, going 130km the speed limit with a completely flat tire.  I was driving on the metal rim.  I think I'm a pretty spectacular driver to not even know it was flat...right?  Am I right?  All I need is a popped tire in the middle of nowhere (although, nothing is as attractive as a woman broken down on the side of the road, right?  Needy and stranded and just waiting for a big, strong man to come and save her.  That is definitely something to consider...)  And so I need them in the next two days.  There's no waiting list...I hope...I've checked into it, and the cheapest I can get it done is $400.00.  Which is pretty cheap, except....

I also need to get my brakes done.  Now, I know I've often spoke of my good-for-nothing ex...but it turns out he's good for something...new brakes!!!  He's offered to replace them for me on Saturday.  Normally, I'd say no, with visions of me careening into a brick wall when my brakes suddenly fail but I will have his son with me, so I'm fairly confident he'll do a good job.  I do wonder though, what is more important...brakes or tires?  Any ideas ladies?  Mr. Ex says he can do my brakes for $100.00.  So, for the brakes and the tires it's gonna sink me $500.00.  Again, not so bad, except...

I should have had my oil changed 4000km ago.  So that is an absolute necessity.  And they always talk me into getting my engine flushed.  And then they show me what some who-knows-what gunk in my engine should look like ("See it's cherry red?  It's supposed to look cherry red...see yours?  Ya, it's black.  That's not good!)  and what it actually looks like and so I get suckered into changing that too, because who doesn't want cherry red instead of black.  So, I'm looking at about $100.00 there.  But it's okay, cuz I get a free bluetooth if I do it before July 31.  Woot woot...

Have you added this all up?  $600.00, not including gas. 

$700.00 - including gas. 

Food?  Who needs to eat for a week?  We'll catch our own food.  We're in the woods.  We have a lake.  There's gotta be fish in them there lakes.  And berries.  Does anyone know how you tell which ones are the poisonous ones?  Anyone?

And I've left the very best for last.  I have to go buy a new bathing suit.  A one-piece.  One that has technology to suck all my newly gained fat into my organs and leave it there for a week.  I'm sure they have one of those.  If not, children are going to be having nightmares for years if they see me in a two piece. 

If I weren't such a flipping PROCRASTINATOR, I would have changed my tires a year ago when they needed it (I know!  A whole year.  Horrible, isn't it?  Testament to what a fabulous driver I am though, right?  Driving for a whole year on bald tires?  I should join Nascar or something...), my oil a month ago, and my brakes 6 months ago.  And I totally would have lost the 30lbs by now...

And then preparation for my holiday would have included building up my base tan (done!), checking the water wings for leaks (done!) and finding a bathing suit (do...oh wait...argh!!!!!!)

And I really hope this tooth ache goes away by Sunday....

Woot Woot...I Knew You Love Me

I have a fan.  She's a fabulous fan, really.  And she's not my mom.  Although, for the record my mom is a fan too (shout out to Momma!!)  Anyways, my fan...I don't really know how she found me, but she was my first follower, and she was the first person to comment on my posts.  Actually, I'm just assuming she's a fan...she's never really said, "I'm a fan of your work" or anything like that.  Hmmmm, well that's food for thought.  She's Melanie Sherman of Meanderings of Melanie Sherman and she's nominated me for not one, but two awards!!!  All I'd like to say is thank you for following, thank you for commenting.  You make my day!

Now, I think we all remember the last time I was given an award and I misread the 'rules'.  The rules stated, quite simply, that I had to mention ten truths about myself.  Simple, right?  Well, I saw truths and read *secrets*  We all had a good chuckle over me spilling the beans about going commando when all I really had to was tell everyone I like the colour pink.  So, here are the rules...as copied and pasted from Ms. Sherman.

1. Thank and link back to the person who gave you this award.(whew, that one was easy)

2. Share 7 things about yourself.

3. Pass the award to 2 bloggers* who you have recently discovered and who think you are fantastic for whatever reason! (In no particular order...)

4. Contact the bloggers you've picked and let them know about the award

 

 

 

Thankfully, both awards have the same rules, so this is a two-fer, folks. 

 

Here goes:

 

1.  I am writing a book.  I have three sentences.  Actually, it's the same sentence written three times over.  I'm thinking of rewriting them. 

 

2.  I know for a fact that all of the worlds problems would be solved if everyone just went tanning for 10 minutes every day.  I decided to get a base tan for my holiday next week and I can literally feel the Vitamin D coursing through my veins.  And everyone looks better with a tan.

 

3.  I am not a dog person.  I thought I was.  But I'm not.  We "re-homed" Molly and I feel like a weight has been lifted.  That dog was possessed. 

 

4.  My car needs an oil change.  Really, really badly.  Like before the road trip I take next week.

 

5.  My car needs new tires, too.  I have strangers on the street tell me how bald my tires are.  I wonder if they're telling me because they care or because they're making fun of me.

 

6.  I am addicted to TLC, Discovery Channel, HGTV and Animal Planet.  If I had no other channels I would totally be okay with that. 

 

7.  I love scrabble.  I have an app on my phone, and any time I have a free minute I play a game.  I'm super competitive and I think the computer cheats.  I just can't prove it.  Yet.

 

And now, to bestow these awards on two deserving bloggers...

 

1. Nikkers at Dancing in the Rain - us single momma's gotta stick together and she's pretty darn inspiring, to boot.

 

2.  I looooooove f8hasit.  Also a single momma.  She's hilarious with a side of realism.   

 

* Melanie...if you can change the rules then so can I...

Best Friends Forever (in a stalker-ish kinda way)

My brother is awesome.  I love him to pieces, bits and pieces actually.  Growing up, I'd say we were close...if by close you mean me mothering him to death.  My mom used to say that I was harder on him than she was..."You're not his mother!" she'd always say.  Under my breath I'd mutter, "Ya, well...I should have been."  I mean the kid got away with murder (and by *murder* I mean nothing of the sort...)  By some crazy twist of fate, my child is the spitting image of my brother...how's that for ironic!!  And our relationship has evolved into a wonderful friendship.  I'd do just about anything for my lil' bro.

Maybe just as awesome or a littler awesome-r is my brother's girlfriend.  I have a girl-crush on her.  It's like a Wo-mance (Bromance, Womance???  I'm not sure...)  There is only one other woman I have a crush on and that is Angelina Jolie.  I mean, how absolutely cool would it be to have Angelina Jolie as your best friend?  Can you just imagine?  Playdates would be so much fun (insert squeal here).  She is the perfect combination of sexy and humanitarian (I bet you didn't know there was a perfect combination of those two qualities, did you?  Well, there is.)  And her hubby is pretty cute, too.  Maybe he could hook me up with, oh I don't know....I've never really thought about it before...George Clooney....or someone...you know (pssst....George Clooney is dreamy!) 

Anyways, back to my brother's girl.  She's an A.  She's gorgeous, she's tall, she's thin...and she's really, really nice.  She's the type of person who, if she ever found a baby bird that had fallen from its nest, would take it home and nurse it back to health and then set it free over the ocean while the sun was setting or something like that.  It would be beautiful.  Which is totally ironic, because I know I would do the same thing.  We're just so similar that way. 

Now, I know you're all wondering why I'm blogging about my bro's gal.  Especially when she reads my blog (can you say *awkward*)  Well, because they're coming to stay with us for the month of July (and maybe longer, fingers crossed!!) 

I'm picturing slumber parties and pillow fights and doing each other's hair, staying up til the sun comes up talking about boys (ummmm, excluding my brother, of course...that would just be...well, gross to say the least...)  and books and what we want to do when we grow up.  We can buy those charm bracelets where she wears the half that says "BE FRI" and mine says "ST ENDS" and we can have silly little inside jokes that only we get, and we can giggle.

I'm telling ya, I'm super stoked.  I've already told my brother that if he doesn't step up and marry this woman, I just might.  In a purely platonic, non-sexual way of course (haha, my mother is totally cringing right now...)  Not that I'm dissing same sex marriages, I'm not here to judge.  I'm just here to love.  

Wow...Saturday is gonna be really awkward.  

p.s.  Okay, so some of this was tongue-in-cheek...like the whole pillow fight and charm bracelet thing...I kind of went off in a tangent.  But I'm really excited that they've decided to come spend the month with us.  And I should be clear, there is no expectation nor requirement for said gf to spend any time doing my hair or saving dying bird-lettes or anything that borders on weird.  Hopefully, our home will just be a safe haven for the two of them while they figure out where they want to be and what they want to do. 

Product Junkie

So, I'm a bit of a product junkie.  I can't help it.  I'm also a consumer.  Infomercials are designed for people just like me.  I see a commercial for a mascara that actually makes your lashes grow 40% longer and I cannot resist.  I'm not sure if it's that I actually believe it will make them longer...it's not even that I need longer lashes (mine hit my glasses as it is...)  It's just....well, how absolutely cool would it be to have abnormally long eyelashes.  You know, like stoppin' traffic your eyelashes are so long.  I'm just saying, it sure would be something to blog about.

Reason number 467 why I love my kid:  Have you seen the infomercial for the "Slap Chop"?  It's compelling to say the least.  When the number flashed across the bottom of the screen, and the guy (Vince, I believe his name is...) says "Call Now!!"  Q was like, "Mommy, should we call now?"  Ahhhh, just like his momma, that kid.  But seriously, in his defense, who wouldn't want a slap chop after seeing this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DkAZo8Z4gWE

I know, right?  Revolutionary.  Like change your life for the better, who would ever need therapy, world peace is on the horizon kind of revolutionary. 

Back to me...I buy pretty much anything that promises to make me look prettier, girlier, younger or thinner.  Sometimes, I'm completely disappointed and other times the products do exactly what they say they do (Amazing!!)  Here are a few such gems:

Erase Paste by Benefit Cosmetics

This stuff is fabulous.  It conceals my blemishes like nobody's business.  Under my eyes, around my nose, this stuff hides a multitude of sins (which includes a fabulous patch of adult acne...I'm saying stress...but it's probably from the contraband cigarettes I've been smoking when Q isn't looking...)  It's basically spackle for your face.

Some Kind-A Gorgeous by Benefit Cosmetics

This is some kinda AMAZING!  It's light-weight, almost invisible and it totally blends your skin tone.  I have lots of freckles and this just blends them into a unified almost-tan.  It's great for those days when I'm trying to look as though I'm not wearing any make-up at all...

This is my next little test...L'oreal Secret Studio Primer. 

I figure if you have to prime a wall before you paint it, you might as well follow the same principle on your face.  Okay, okay that's just a lame excuse to try it.  And if it's good enough for Eva Longoria, it's good enough for me. 

A SEA of choices...(pardon the pun)

I've been mulling over ideas for a career change.  I want a job where I'm not a bossy boss.  That's pretty much the only criteria.  Well, that and I need to make a pretty penny.  Money doesn't grow on trees, ya know. 

**Funniest story ever...when asked what his dad did for a job, this little boy in Q's class says, "He puts a roof over my head." And when the teacher says, "Okay, but how does he do that?"  B says, "By bringing home the dough.  Money doesn't grow on trees, ya know."  Ahhhh, finally a kid who listens to cliches...what more could you ask for?**

There are certain professions that I am not cut out for at all.  I wouldn't make a very good doctor because, while I'd look super cute in scrubs, I would be self diagnosing every bump, itch and rash.  I'd also not make a very good accountant because I'm not very good with numbers and oh my goodness, how boring would that job be.

I think it would be really fun to be a hair stylist, but it is probably a whole lot harder than it looks.  Besides, me and sharp scissors do not play well together.  A lawyer would be pretty cool, too.  Unless you knew that the guy you were trying to defend was guilty.  I'd probably let it slip *by accident* or give a wink-wink, nudge-nudge during closing arguments.  Not to mention the 8 years of school.  Here's a depressing thought:  I would be over 40 by the time I graduated.  I'd get to wear those cute suits with super high stilettos to work every day, though...just like Ally McBeal.  Cuz that's what being a lawyer is really all about, right?

The only thing that I really know how to do is tell other people what to do.  I know, it sounds ridiculous, right?  But it's true.  I'm really good at seeing what needs to be done, who can do it best, how it can be done the fastest, and I can multi-task like nobody's business.  And I can do it for 8 hours straight.  I get results.  In an interview once, I was asked what my management style was.  The interview was going horribly south, with the interviewer checking out her cuticles (seriously) more often than me, so I thought for a second, and answered truthfully, "Servant Leadership."  It was fabulous, I think their eyeballs nearly popped right out of their heads.  However, I know my employees (well, maybe 95% of them...because there's gotta be one or two in every crowd, right?) would do nearly anything for me, because they know that I would do the same for them.  While I didn't get the job (I realized mid-interview I really, really didn't want it) I found an awesome answer to a difficult question.  I'd answer the same way again and again, and I hope I live it every day.

But back to the job search.  I decided I would love to be a SEA...this stands for Special Education Assistant, also known as a TA, Teacher's Assistant or EA, for Education Assistant...so I think they're suffering from a bit of an identity crisis, but who isn't these days, really.  They hang out in the classroom with children who have behavioural, physical or emotional disabilities and help them learn.  Mrs. Simpson was in Q's class and she was just awesome.  She was there to help a little boy who had hearing loss and autism, but she noticed that Q had a speech delay, so she created a program for him, worked with him almost every day for only 15 minutes, and now strangers can understand Q.  This is a big deal.  At the beginning of the school year, I had difficulty understanding him sometimes.  It almost makes me cry when I think about the wonderful gift she gave Q.  And the little boy with autism has grown by leaps and bounds.  He's hardly the same boy from the beginning of the year.  What would be more rewarding than that?

So I looked into it, and this is what I found...

It's a nine month course (woot, woot!!) that costs $4000.00 (okay, not bad...) with a cool grand for books (eep!!)  It's super intense, so I wouldn't be able to work (huh.)  I'd have to save between three and four grand for each month I wasn't working (9 x $4000 = $36, 000....I think...my math is horrible...but holy shite, man...)  Oh, and if I'm going to college, I should probably pay off my debt before I rack up even more, right?  So that's another $10,000.  Has anyone been following this?  That's over $50,000 for me to go back to school.  For 9 months.  In education - where they like to make cuts and lay people off like it's a sport. 

All for a job that pays less than half what I make now.

I would be happy. 

Poor. 

But happy.