Wal-Art Via KJ
I thought you all would enjoy a little culture to kick off your weekend. I present my rendition of the burning of the popcorn. I call it “Burnt Popcorn Escapades in Pink”
Life will go on…just believe! BELIEVE
Peace, yo.
Aside from the obvious martyrdom I intend to pretend to endure throughout this weekend, I thought I would share my ever-so-exciting-plans. They include, but are not limited to, the following:
· * Drinking copious quantities of alcohol while attempting to spell alcohol (it’s difficult even sober. Which I totally am at this moment. No, really I am.)
· * Hanging up the print I said I was going to hang up last weekend but didn’t because Hubby was his usual uncooperative self. And he was busy cleaning out the basement or some foolish sort of thing that has no bearing on me whatsoever. Yeah.
· *Start my memoirs…it’s a long and involved project. I’m planning on a cool title…which is where I am currently stuck. For the past ten years. No judging. Or suggestions of titles like “My Memoirs”. Also not available are “This Shit Really Happened” or “I Have No Idea How I Got This Way” or “Freud’s An Ass”. According to Google those titles are all taken. I know I was disappointed too.
· *Hammy The Hamster II has subsequently bit the dust, so cleaning out his cage was D1’s responsibility but due to the obvious emotional trauma sustained, I will probably throw the deliciously pink abode ceremoniously into the trash. And then burn the shit in the backyard and invite the neighbours over for a bonfire. S’mores anyone??
· *Harrass the government for grant money so I can live independently in Grand Turk while crafting my memoirs that currently have no title. Or content.
· *Harrass my children for their assistance in projects I have no intention of finishing or participating in.
· *Watch an entire movie without hearing the phrase “WHAT ARE YOU WATCHING THIS FOR?” The obvious reply “BECAUSE I FUCKING WANT TO” will be taped to my forehead so no verbal response would be necessary.
*The aforementioned “BECAUSE I FUCKING WANT TO” will be affixed to my forehead for the entire weekend because really, it would avoid pretty much every question that will inevitably float my way. I suggest the same for everyone. Maybe I should make some in advance and sell them on ebay….mommies will eat that shit up! I’ll make millions. Who needs a reality show? I’ll just sit home and make signs.
No need for the government grant. Fuck you, government (grant). *insert smiley face here*
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….
It’s finally Friday and I’m thankful that I have a gathering to look forward to. I’ve been swilling around in doggie duties, laundry and work this week and I feel like I should sit back and drink a few with my buds. My peeps. Let’s eat, drink and be merry…not that we never are. There’s plenty of frivolity in the ‘hood. Maybe even a rendition of the Star Spangled Banner will be sung…okay, not exactly sung so much as strangled out from the vocal chords of a drunk woman strung out on the extreme amounts of alcohol and carbohydrate deprivation. In my ever attempts at losing a few extra pounds of woman-mass, I have decided to restrict my carb intake while simultaneously upping my veggie/fruit combo. Of course I refuse to totally do without wine, chocolate and coffee so they remain a steadfast part of my diet. I should start my own regime and call it “The Winos Guide To Losing A Few Pounds While Still Enjoying Her Midlife Crisis In A Drunken Stuper” The business plan practically writes itself.
Recent events have me yelling ‘Hell’s yah!’ in my jammies on my front lawn. I was so going to provide links to the main story, but my lawyer, Vinnie Buttowski, has advised me that that probably isn’t in my best interest. (as an aside, I hate the word ‘that’ and to use it double in a sentence has me near convulsions of grammatical anxiety so extreme I may just wet myself in spite) (as a double aside, this paragraph originally took up half the post, but again, I was advised to ‘shut the fuck up’ so, yeah. This is it, yo) So, instead I’ll distract you with this:
If you haven’t noticed and most of you haven’t as you can’t actually see me, my ‘no carb’ thing that I have been slaving at for two weeks has resulted in a little loss of sponge around my middle. It’s going well and I am enjoying the freedom that only no- carb can do for you…eating multitudes of veggies and almonds and having peeps taunt me incessantly with croissants and cookies. They’re fucking awesome. They love me so much they feel the need to parade treats in front of me like a feral cat walking nonchalantly in front of an old person with a cane. Lovely, really…come a little closer I’ll show you the new cane I bought. It’s very shiny and heavy….
Last night was grocery night. A veritable joyous occasion and of course I head to the mecca of all shopping locations, Costco. There is NO good time to arrive at Costco unless it’s in the middle of a raging snowstorm and the population has decided not to endure the trek and remain home in their cozy houses snug as a bug. Since we live around the corner, it’s hardly a trek but it is a royal ass-pain when it’s blocked to the gills with ‘out-of-towners’ who flock to their doors like the world is ending the next day and they HAVE TO HAVE the package of 12 toothbrushes for mega-sale price of $12.99. Not to mention the 100 rolls of toilet paper and the 50 pack of batteries. Since it’s the ONLY Costco location in the province, we locals do have our ‘special’ visitation times. Dinner hour is the most opportune, hence my decision to hit it forthwith. I like that word ‘forthwith’…it’s a cop word. “Boscorelli, I need a bus forthwith!” Yeah.
Of course, I wind up with the ‘special needs’ cart. You know the one. The misshapen rusted bucket of steel with the wonky wheel that heads in the totally opposite direction in which I want to go and it seems to swing at total random times forcing me to apologize to every other person the cart rear ends. Yeah, that one. That’s the one I get EVERY TIME. It’s like it has a homing device on me and locks me into its path the second I step into the doors. ‘Oh, look SHE’S here. SHE’LL take me’. Ugh. AND now, my eyes are giving me sauce, so I look like Mr. Magoo trying to figure out the aisles and what’s down each of them with my cart haphazardly banging into shelves and people at an alarming rate. My squinted gaze at the deodorant aisle only heightened my attractive gait as I swung my cart to the left, meaning to go right and narrowly missing an old couple with a cart full of toothbrushes. I guess those were for the visiting grandkids every weekend…. I thought they were going to call security on me until I swung the cart around towards the bedding aisle and crashed into the shelves of duvet covers and down filled pillows. Nice save, Rogue. I rock.
I managed to end the painful shopping experience in under thirty so headed home before I counted any further casualties from the assault-cart. I think people were grateful for my less-than-graceful departure. I believe I even swore a couple of times in the presence of youngsters…they didn’t look shocked so I’m thinking Mommy and Daddy have encountered the ravaged ‘special needs’ cart a few times themselves….I unbagged my groceries a little while later to find a few items I didn’t realize I bought. WTF do I need a package of 12 toothbrushes for? I bet that old grandpa threw that in there when I wasn’t looking! He had a shifty look to him….Dammit……
Anybody need a toothbrush? Apparently I have enough for a small African village.
Kayjai 