My Pre-Menopausal Timeout

Last week, I went through my first foray into pre-menopause.  Okay guys, if you want to look away, I’m with you.  If I could look away, I would too.  We all hit the age of no return and it seems that I’ve hit that age.  With a vengeance.  My emotional state has been anything but stable.  By the time Saturday night hit, I was just coming out of what I can only refer to as my HOLY-FUCK-WHAT-THE-HELL-IS-WRONG-WITH-THE-WORLD time.  It was like I became possessed. I couldn’t understand why everybody around me was so totally insane!  You want to borrow my car??!!  Why is there bird shit on my car?!!  What do you mean you can’t control the birds?!  Where’s the guy with the bb gun!  Let’s get him to shoot the birds who shit on ma car!! Yeah.

 AND, that was just ONE day.  I was Grumpy Cat, but without the fur.  I was sure there would be a knock on my door any minute and I would open it to find a priest with incense and Holy Water summoned to give me an exorcism.  Yes, it was that bad.

Kinda what I felt like that week...ugh.

Kinda what I felt like that week…ugh.

I’m a pretty even-keel kinda girl.  I can go with the flow and am pretty affable and easy going most of the time.  Last week, I was not that girl.  I moped, sulked and generally went through a “woe is me” kinda week.  Everybody has those days, BUT A WHOLE WEEK??!!  Come on…ugh.  If somebody asked me to do something for them they got a look…a stare down.  A ‘WHAT ARE YOU ASKING OF ME YOU LITTLE PLEEB?  CAN’T YOU SEE I’M HAVING A PISSY DAY AND WOULD RATHER SUCK LINT FROM THE DRYER HOSE THAN DO ANYTHING FOR ANYBODY RIGHT NOW??!!’ look.  Sometimes, I would reply a tad sarcastically.  I remember saying at one point “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOUR LEGS?  YOU GET HIT BY A CAR AND NOT TELL ME OR SOMETHING? CAN’T YOU GET IT?”  Yeah.  MOM OF THE YEAR is surely to be on a coffee mug destined to be thrown at my head any day now.  The fact that my family hasn’t moved out yet, is a testament to how much they love me…or how much they can’t do for themselves and know how fucking good they have it and need to stay because, afterall, who would MAKE SUPPER FOR THEM?!  See?  *breathe*

I began researching pre-menopausal symptoms and I’m pretty sure my face will be right next to the title of ‘MOOD SWINGS FROM HELL’.  I’m now the poster child for uncontrollable ups and raging-irate-crazy-mom downs.  My kids are so proud.  I’m sure they’re out telling all their friends how totally awesome I am. If anybody in my family survives this whole ride into craptastic-raging-

hormonal-shit-crappy-poop (now the official title.  Learn it. Use it. Embrace it) it’ll be because they don’t wish to starve and they are enjoying the witty banter that will surely ensue when something awesome happens to set me off like the dog chewing up a new piece of furniture.  Then they would be forced to watch in horror as I fling her out the back door to eat grass and yell “CHEW ON THAT FOR A WHILE!”   and then bawl because I was mean to the puppy and get all blubbery and mopy for the rest of the day.  Yes, that’s how it goes.  The dog will look at the rest of the fam like “That bitch be crazy, yo”  (because we all know that Mags talks like she is from the ‘hood) and the kids will nod sadly in her direction.  It’ll be like a scene from Les Mis From The ‘Hood.  This is working out to be epic, peeps.

After a weekend of wine and a lot (is that right, Archon? Not allot, or alot but, a lot? Yeah. I READ!!) of sleep, I think I’m on track to becoming back to semi-normal.    Or at least not ready to pitch puppies out a window and yell at babies for sleeping too loudly.  My kids on the other hand, may want to continue to tread lightly….

Big Things…I Bring Cups!!

 coffe girls

I’ve noticed recently that if I ever get the least bit annoyed with someone, I instantly refer to that person as an asshole.   Incidentally, there are A LOT of assholes around.   Due to the current economic climate in this province, we are constantly being inundated with emails about lobbying the government.  After each email, I refer to the writer as an asshole and delete it.  I’ve deleted so many emails and labeled each author according to his asshole seniority number.  So far, the seniority ends at number twenty five.  Asshole number twenty five sounds like he needs therapy and strong intervention techniques to quell his over-riding anger management issues.  Asshole twelve is immature and requires some English translation lessons.  Of course, this whole thing could be attributed to my over-active sensitivity issues due to the lack of grains in my diet and my heightened need for sugar.  Just sayin’….

I was on Twitter when I noticed that the winner of the Pulitzer Prize in Literature was a book about North Korea and carries the reader “into the most intimate spaces of the human heart” Sounds totally depressing to me. If I ever win a Pulitzer for my awesome book, I won’t be carrying readers to any totalitarian countries that are ready to aim missiles at your head just so the reader could experience it or visit intimate spaces in people’s hearts.  That’s too weird, even for me.  My book would probably cover the wild and wacky world of taxidermy…or the controversial world of flatulence smell reduction underwear inventors…true story.

I’ve realized that I’m totally addicted to caffeine and sugar.  Since limiting my carbohydrate intake to a few spare pieces of fruit and accidental bread crumbs that happen to land on the floor that I invariably fight the dog for, I have noticed my dependency on coffee has risen substantially.  I’ve also become distinctly aware that if I don’t drink said coffee in a timely manner, I become a snarling bitch ready to stab you in the face should you decide to get in my way.  Case in point.  This morning’s conversation with Hubby:

Me:  Can you get in the shower soon please?  I have to get ready too.

Him:  Relax it’s only 6:20!

Me: *grumble, fuck off, grumble, bitch*

Ten minutes later:

Me:  Can you puhlease get in the shower?  Ugh, I KNEW I should have got in there before you!  God, I was going to, blah, blah blah, blah

Him: For Pete’s sake (Author’s note:  That would be me: I don’t know who Pete is, but for his sake, I should have shut up already)

Me:  I HAVE TO GET TO WORK

Him:  It’s 6:30! You don’t need to be at work until 8:00!!

Me: *irritated silence*

Ten minutes later

Him:  I’m getting in the shower now

Me:  It’s about time!  I’ve been waiting…I so should have gone first.  I don’t know why I was….blah, blah, blah…*stocks off to the kitchen whilst the dog is biting my pant leg which leads to dragging said snarling dog along the kitchen floor while I attempt to pour more coffee and continually complain about Hubby’s slowness and lack of consideration for others who have to get to work, dammit*

Fifteen minutes later

Him:  Didn’t you hear me?  I yelled I was out of the shower so you could get in since you’re in such a hurry this morning

Me:  NO, I DIDN’T HEAR YOU SINCE I WAS BUSY MAKING YOUR LUNCH AND HELPING TAKE OUT THE GARBAGE AND TRYING TO GET THE FUCKING DOG DETACHED FROM MY PANT-LEG!!

Him:  Okay, you don’t have to get all snippy about it.

Me: Was I snippy?  Hmpft.  You would be too if you had to wait for you to get out of the shower.

Him:  *rolls eyes and leaves*

Good idea….

I Can’t Believe You’re Reading This, Can You?

I haven’t blogged in a while.  It’s not that I haven’t had the inclination or the desire, it’s just that I’m having a hard time coming up with something interesting to say.  I spent the better part of yesterday trying to come up with a blog-worthy topic and ended up playing endless games of spider solitaire and…ugh.  I can’t say.

I just wrote a whole speel about the-place-that-shall-not-be-named that I had to strike-through.  It was nothing earth shattering.  I didn’t just divulge state secrets or tell you where Hoffa was buried. It was just about candy and …you know, the usual.  And not candy as in ‘drugs’…  Sorry I led you on about that.  Gag order and all.  You understand.

I perused the Freshly Pressed site last night whilst daughter was keeping the puppy company and found a cornucopia of topics peeps wrote about.  I even recognized a few bloggers I visit.  Wow..awesome dudes and dudettes.  The topics were great and every time I stumbled upon one, I did a face-palm and exclaimed ‘why didn’t I think of that?!’  Yes, why indeed.  Was it because I’m not as creative as these obviously dedicated writers and bloggers?  Was it because my brain has been on vacay lately and my mojo seems to be gone for an extended hike up Signal Hill?  Maybe it’s the lack of something missing in my diet that is preventing me from producing my wit and wisdom with all to share.   Too much chewy candy.  That’s got to be it.  Ugh.

Well, I should get moving and return to topic-hunting.  In the meantime, occupy yourselves with this compilation of Bruce Willis singing (badly) on his old show Moonlighting.

Thanks for stopping by!

I Played Poker With Uncle Jesse And Lost

uncle jesse

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Playahs:   Miss H, Mrs. Jacked,  Mr. Frankie,  KS, Mr. Toyota, Rogue, Coach

Nurse Betty, Birthday Girl, Mr. Bing, Frankie, Mr. Jacked, Bestie, Mr. Banker

The Event:   Couples Poker

The Place:  The lovely and lively abode of KS and Mr. Banker…three dogs and two kids….lively.

Where was Rogue’s other half? Sick in bed

Who took his place? Why, Bestie of course.  Her Hubby was AWOL as well…so we coupled up.  We’re trampy like that.

Who won?  Stop rushing me, I’ll get to that.

The evening began like any other.  The house was alive with the sound of puppies barking.  Yeah, I’m not the only intelligent human who decided to get a dog…only KS went a step further and bought TWO.  Must have been a BOGO sale.

Anywho, we were all placed at our tables after reading the seating arrangements and  deftly mocking Mr. Bing’s  poker table cloth.  What? IT’S A POKER TABLE CLOTH!!  So funny.    I was swiftly seated at the GROWN UP  table with the first Playahs listed.  Not sure how I registered as GROWN UP… must have been my maturity and professionalism on one of my rants when I referred to everybody (not as in my lovely neighbours ‘everybody’, but everybody else…)  as assholes.  Obviously a step-up from my usual reference of ‘fuckwits’ and ‘asshats’.  Score one for maturity.

Seated at the Kid table was the second line of Playahs listed…interesting mix.  There is strategy in everything people, so there was strategy in this one.  No couples to sit together.  What?  You were expecting something more complicated?   Uh, nope.  That’s pretty much it.  I was fairly confident at the beginning of the game especially with two previous wins under my belt and since I was seated next to Mr. Toyota whose track record for winning at Couples poker is a little, well, to put it nicely, suck-ish.  Yeah.  Just sucks.  Coach, was the previous winnah since he took me out big time last game, was seated on my right…I was looking for payback.  So didn’t happen, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

The first few hands were getting along quite nicely with everyone pretty much winning one each.  Miss H was sneaking up on all the men…where did she come from?  Mr. Toyota was the biggest come-from-behind-the-garage-and-sock-me-over-the-head-with-a-monkey-wrench that I have ever witnessed in my 7 years playing this game.  Holy fuck, Batman what was that?!  He took virtually all my nice chips with his ‘a full house beats a flush’ …WHO MADE THAT UP??!!!  Crap.   I was confident I had him in the palm of my little hand with my Ace high club, then he full-housed my ass…what?!!  YOU??!!  No, seriously.  You’ve played this before, huh? Ugh… Coach was nice enough to pat my shoulder and say ‘there-there’ and not say ‘Idiot, Ray Charles could have seen that one coming’.  Yeah.  To my credit, I didn’t get humiliated only once.  I allowed it to happen a second time which took me right out of the damned game.  I love poker.

The game went on quite long before someone was declared as the first loser.  I think Mrs. Jacked got a prize for that.  I was second out since Mr. Toyota/Uncle Jesse found it necessary to call my ‘all-in’ and win it with 4 fives.  WHO HAS FOUR OF A KIND??!!  KS, that’s who with four Aces (in a totally different hand that has nothing to do with this mini-rant over Mr. Toyota/Uncle Jesse) Yet, sadly she didn’t win.

Several glasses of wine later, the four aces happened….a little scant on the details, but I was still stinging from the ass-burning I just took.…I think KS was hiding one of those Aces down her top.  Mr. Frankie was seated next to her and with all the references to his new cat and how was he getting along with his new puss-???   So many jokes, so little time.  He barely cracked a smile!   He was playing cagey, that one.  Yet, sadly he didn’t win.

Miss H was holding her own against the Biggest- Loser -Ever -Turned -Gagillionaire -Mr. Toyota/Uncle Jesse, eventually having people folding all around her.  It gets a little fuzzy at this point until we hear that Nurse Betty, who is seated at the Kids table (wait, what?) who reportedly HATES to play poker, would rather catheterize a thousand pound gorilla than play, GOT THE BEST HAND EVER IN THE HISTORY OF EVER, as documented below.  A straight royal flush.  Fucking amazing.   Yet, sadly, she didn’t win.

lisa

As for the Kids table, we were all amazed that Bestie was not the first, second or third out…After that, who the fuck knows? Frankie managed to make it to the Final table and frankly, Frankie, can I call you Frank?  That’s all that matters.  THE FINAL TABLE.  Yet, sadly, she didn’t win.

All I know is that I was seated deftly at the Loser table with Mr. Jacked (sadly, also a loser) , Birthday Girl ( I was secretly rooting for you ), Mrs. Jacked (a previous champ) and….it escapes me. Memorable You. Us losers…that’s all I know.  With a bottle of wine as the big prize, I was going for it…and lost again.  I rock!  Birthday Girl won the Loser trophy bottle of wine which she so graciously shared with us DH ladies the next evening…you didn’t think we were going to cancel a perfectly good eat and drink night just because we had a perfectly good eat and drink night, the night before when we kept KS up past her usual bedtime of 9:30pm and trudged on home at 2:30am, did you?  Wimps!

At the Winnahs table, everybody was battling it out for the big prize..the cash and the bragging rights to claiming SLS Couples Poker Champ!  I have no clue how it went down, but by all accounts, Mr. Toyota/Uncle Jesse  lost all his chips bit-by-bit to Miss H, who incidentally took out her Hubby Mr. Bing ( WITH A PAIR OF DEUCES)  and EVERYBODY ELSE AT THE TABLE!!  Dats right.  Miss H was the Winnah!!!!   If you guessed Miss H, than you are more awesome than even I give you credit for.  Rock on!

Miss H...SLS Couples Poker Champion 2013

Miss H…SLS Couples Poker Champion 2013

Congrats to Miss H and now you join the ranks of the few, the proud, the SLS COUPLES POKER CHAMPS!!

I hope you enjoyed this installment of SLS Couples Poker run-down.  Next time, I’ll try to stay sober enough to report on actual events at the opposite table.  Dammit, Jim I can’t be everywhere!  Ugh….

The Word Game

words

There’s a wrestling match going on inside my head and so far Rogue is losing to the opponent.  Problem is I’m not sure who or what the opponent is.  He remains nameless and faceless.  I resolve to write a great post full of wit and wisdom and end up with this…this…rambling and fumbling of words.  I fucking hate that.

In order to free up the creative process, let’s play a little game.  I’ll say a word and the other me will write down the first thing that pops into my head.  It’s easier when there is more than one ‘you’ inside your head.  Yay for mental health!  Ready, people?  Let’s go!

Ball- Run

String- This is stupid

Room-  With a view!  I win!

Desk- A Fucking mess

Lindsay Lohan-  Also, a fucking mess

Pen- With which to write which I haven’t, thus the need for this idiotic exercise. Next.

Apple- Crunchy

Chair- Dumb chair.  Fell over it this morning…oh. Sorry.

Dog-   The cutest wittle doggie evah…ahem.  Again, sorry.

Weight- Wait?  Or WEIGHT!  Like HOLY SHIT I WEIGH HOW MUCH? Or HOLY SHIT I HAVE TO WAIT HOW LONG?!!  Which one?  Both are evil.

Fruit-  Owns a hair salon and totally denies he’s gay…oh!  You mean FRUIT, like apples and oranges and stuff…again with the apples? Ugh.

Heat- Totally absent in this space and therefore I am FUCKING FREEZING!!  Hello?!! Oh!  I meant house.  I’m home today…back to the words…

Keys-  Ima gonna need a new set when they change the locks on the door…to my HOUSE of course, because that’s where I currently am.  HOME.  Yeah.

Florida- where I should be at the moment.

Book- Love them all, read them all, wrote a couple…awesome stuff.

Paper- Umm….white, blank lately, some have lines, trees died for them?  What do you want from me?

Elvis- We went from paper to Elvis?  Really?  “Thank you, you’re beautiful”.  All I got.

The lights are on but no one’s home-  The story of my life…This is supposed to be ONE word.

Money-  Apparently not something young adults take downtown so instead of  YA being able to get home independently, she feels the need to call the mommy so she can meet her at a location only to have that location change when mommy gets there due to the absence of money and the YA’s ability to avail of the public transportation system therefore, after much yelling and throwing of cell phone in car, (which sadly now works intermittently at best) mommy dutifully drives all over fucking town (since the location of pick up changed twice after the first time) to rescue daughter and friend only to hear  “thanks” and “well, if you had let me take the car this wouldn’t have happened”…. Good thing my phone is due for an upgrade….

Fuck off- See above.  ‘nuff said.

Thank you for playing.  See you next time on WORD ASSOCIATION-THE BEST GAME FOR YOUR MENTAL HEALTH.

Disclaimer Clause:  It should be noted that no harming of any cars, horses, dogs, cats, wandering hobos, daughters or cell phones occurred in the above scenario.  Swearing was kept to whispers and loud voices in my head…I think it was implied in the yell of “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T HAVE ANY MONEY?  WHO GOES DOWNTOWN WITHOUT CASH?!!  TELL ME!  WHO DOES THAT?!”   Ugh….

Fear and Paranoia Are Now My Besties

My blogging days have dwindled since the episode-that-shall-remain-nameless.  Fear has held me tightly within its grasp and I am struggling to be free.  It ain’t easy.  I’m constantly looking over my shoulder to see who’s watching, then I’m incessantly censoring my words to make sure they’re not offensive or distorted; twisted into being malicious.  It’s a slippery slope.  It’s an uphill climb.  It’s fucking craptastic.  I hate thinking someone is misinterpreting what I’m saying as a slight against anything.  I’m simply saying what’s in my gut, people.

Maybe I should have a disclaimer clause at the beginning of each post clearly stating my wanton disregard for other’s feelings on the subjects I tend to complain about.  Or maybe I should have one of those announcers at the beginning of each post, like certain television programs, warning people of the ‘mature subject matter’ and the ‘material some may find offensive’.  I could leave out the ‘contains nudity’ part…or maybe I should include that.  Maybe more people would read on…stuff to think about.

It’s nice to think that some people actually miss me…is that weird?  Hmm…I’ve thought about re-opening the past, but that would just lead to more shit to hit the fan, so I think I’ll leave well enough alone.  If people miss me that much, they could track me down.  Or I could tell them.  Gee, that’s a swell idea.  Invite people to this one..hmmm…I think I shall prepare my formal invitations.  They’ll think it’s a party…I suppose drinks could be served.  And snacks.  Marvelous idea.

I’ll get working on the list.  In the meantime, thanks for stopping by and reading.  I shall be in touch and see what roaming around the ‘sphere I can do without getting decapitated in the process….that’s rather painful…I’d rather steer clear of that, thanks.

 

My Name Is Ishmael, But You Can Call Me Asshole

That’s kind of where I’m at today.

We love you, but you’re an asshole.

Yeah…I can kinda see how you came to that conclusion.

Is there any use in attempting to defend myself?  No?

Asshole it is!

But you love me, right?

You still think I’m pretty awesome most of the time, right?

Everybody is allowed one mistake, right?

Right?

What?

Asshole…

Oh, sorry.  I was talking to myself….