Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Magical Meerkat



This is a MAGICAL picture. It is a MAGICAL MEERKAT. I have dubbed it thus. You do NOT have to comment, like or share with any number of people to enjoy good luck or suffer bad luck. Why?? Because it is JUST a freaking picture of a meerkat! Have people lost their freaking minds?!?

And while we're at it, how about this?  The next time you see a guilt-ridden chain of anything (picture, quotation, "let's see how many people really pay attention" posts)...   How about you edit the wording to eliminate any sort of indentured reciprocity?  Then, by all means, share to your heart's content.  If people want to do the same, fan-freaking-tastic!  And if they don't - it doesn't fucking matter! 

Cliff-hangers and 12 year olds...

"NO!!! NO!!! Where's the remote?!?  Where is the next episode?  What is going to happen?!?  NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!(collapse, collapse, collapse...) "Oh WAILEY, WAILEY, WAILEY!"

We were watching the first (and sadly, only) season of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip.  Around episode 19 or so they got all cliff-hangery.  I'm pretty sure that's when Rissa started to throw her apoplectic fit.

"We have to watch the next three episodes RIGHT NOW!!!"

"It's bedtime!"

"But what's going to HAPPEN?!?"

"You'll have to wait and see."

"WAIT AND SEE?!?"

"Yes.  Like in olden times, you know... before evolution.  The way we use to watch tv before PVRs and Netflix and DVD Box sets."

"We're DINOSAURS!!"

"Yes.  And I call velociraptor."


Monday, January 7, 2013

And that's when the 2 year old monkey copped a feel...

Rissa had two big firsts over the weekend.  She was french kissed AND felt up.  By a two year old.  In a monkey suit.  The kid got to 2nd base under the guise of a 'tickle fight.' The kissing?  Some good old toddler 'affection.' 

Afterwards we took Rissa out to dinner.  You celebrate milestones when you can, right?   Recent victims of a toddler induced virus, and having just spent several hours in a house with three children under the age of three, David and I weren't taking any chances.  We pulled out the hand sanitizer, slathered our entire bodies in blue sparkly "Dancing Waters" and then rinsed our mouths out with a couple of good long sparkly swigs just for good measure. 

I offered Rissa the sanitizer, but she declined.  "I was french kissed twice by a two year old - I don't think the hand sanitizer is going to help me.  I should just lick the table now."

Seconds after the 'incident.'

Thursday, January 3, 2013

You pluck mine, I'll pluck yours...

From Knitting Ole Bag on Etsy


I would like to enter into a pact with all my female friends.  A facial hair pact.

This is my vow to you:  If you suddenly sprout a thick moustache, I will tell you.  If you have a neck full of hairs that are visible-only-in-natural-light, I will tell you.  If you have a fine, blonde hair on your cheek that is a full three inches long and can be braided into the hair on your head, I will tell you.  If your mole has sprouted a hag's hair, I will tell you.  If your eyebrows go Frida Kahlo, I will tell you.   All I ask is that you do the same for me.

We're in this together.  This is more important than letting a gal know that she has spinach in her teeth or that her zipper is down.  Please let us age gracefully together without morphing into elderly Italian women who frighten small children with their hunches and facial hair.


Wednesday, January 2, 2013

You did WHAT to your hooha?!?






WARNING: ADULT CONTENT

Cutie Pie Wax Bar - Vancouver's Waxing Destination

 vajazzle

Pronunciation: /vəˈdʒaz(ə)l/

–vajazzle, v.: adorn the pubic area (of a woman) with crystals, glitter, or other decoration. 

Okay, have I been living under a rock?  How did I not know about this?  My friend Narda read it in a pulp fiction book and told me to Google it.  So I did.  And it's real.  It started in the UK.  Great.  We now have Bridget Jones AND vajazzling.  Seriously?

What the what??  Okay first off - the whole Brazilian thing on its own?  I, like other married-for-more-than-5-years women, have done it as a surprise for the spouse.  I'm here to tell you... Ewwwwwwwww.  Your hooha winds up looking like an 11 year old girl's.  There is supposed to be hair down there.  I'm not talking like needing a weed wacker hair, but at least so you look like you've exited adolescence.   Plus, I don't know about other gals, but when I briefly went bare down there?  There was not nearly enough friction, if you know what I'm saying.  Texture was all wrong and a stiff breeze could get me all het up.  The distraction factor was at 11.  

In 2010, girls began 'pimping their ride' as it were. Adding Swarovski crystals to their lady bits.  Sweet Merciful Eastern Block Aesthetician!  Wouldn't that CHAFE?  Wouldn't it give a penis road rash?    You know how the idea of having sex on a beach seems like a charming thought at the time... but when you actually have sex on the beach you end up with sand in your hooha?  Just imagine trying to dig Swarovski crystals out of there! For anyone engaging in downtown dining - razor burn would be a certainty;  errant crystals stuck underneath one's uvula, more than a probability.  

Pluses?  I can see two.  If you are prone to shaving/waxing bumps, those little crystals are great at masking those areas with a curtain of bling.  But unlike Oz's curtain, gals want you to pay attention to it.   AND say you had two girls - both vajazzled - in the midst of intimacy, every pelvis to pelvis bump or grind could wind up being a potential energy source - imagine the sparks - if we could just harness that power!!  What's the phrase?  Two birds one stone?  Except this is two bushes with MANY stones.   If we charged to view that - financial crises would be averted!! 

Here's an article from Daily Mail discussing Emergency room visits since the trend hit groins in 2010. 

I will leave you with this elaborate holiday vajazzle courtesy of nkd () the waxing specialists with salons in Glasgow and Nottingham - now that is some holiday sparkle! 


The Christmas Topiary



 


Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Stop me before I eat again...

It's like we never learn.  With food, that is.  With alcohol, I am smart enough to know when to stop.  I haven't been DRUNK-drunk in at least 10 years.  (Tipsy - hell yeah!  Pleasantly buzzed - most definitely!  I'm not a freaking saint!)  I have been hungover twice in my life - no wait - three times - I forgot that time I got into a box of white wine before the Hawaiian Hula dance in Grade 9 - for anyone under the age of 18 - DON'T do that!  It was NOT pretty.  Wiping vomit from your mouth with your plastic grass skirt can never be pulled off as 'cool.'

Most people learn, thank GOD,  from those sorts of hangovers.  One near-death experience when you're 24, with 12 shots of tequila can can put you off booze for a LONG time.  It's a miracle that I didn't die from alcohol poisoning that night - my Scandinavian heritage saved my life there.  By no means am I championing being able to drink your own body weight in liquor - I was stupid - I killed many brain cells, that night in particular.  I am proud of not going too far - NOW - unlike some other career partiers out there.  The dudes who are 45, and sound like Beavis or Butthead:

"Man, I was so fucking tanked last night!!  I think I made it with a goat!"

So here is where I revel in my maturity at having not gotten drunk last night.  And Nana-nana boo-boo to all you poor fuckers who haven't evolved from freaking high school!  Grow the fuck up!  Don't be a fucking moron!  Your body can't take it any more and your spouse is thinking of leaving you.



Me?  I do have a killer holiday food hangover because I am apparently still stupid enough to do that.   What is the matter with me? I bet people in 3rd World countries don't pull this kind of shit.

This is what I ate yesterday:

  • two fried eggs (fried in delicious bacon grease) on rice toast
  • glass of apple cider
  • 7 almonds with a glass of soy milk (Still full from the greasy breakfast, mind fully functioning)
  • Eggnog with a tall shot of rum with a butter tart (It was, after all, New Year's Eve day - I could stand a little indulging...)
  • Tostadas (spicy ground meat with re-fried beans, guacamole, peppers, cheese, caramelized onions and salsa) with a bad glass of red wine.  (No dessert - I was being sensible)
  • Rusty Nail with 1/2 a dark chocolate orange while we watched It's a Wonderful Life  (Synapses not firing as best they should)

    Then it all goes to hell as we hunkered down to watch our traditional New Year's  movie, Dodgeball...
  • A tray of salty rice crackers with home made chip dip (Greek yogurt with honey (we had no sour cream) + vegetable seasoning mix - the dip was NOT good, and yes, I ate it all)
  • A bowl of Party mix - concentrating on all the ringy things that might have been made with corn, plus the cheesies, corn chips and Doritos - I avoided the pretzels, because they are bad for me
  • Sour rings of fruity-sugary sweetness - to which I originally said, "No, I couldn't possibly, I don't like them..." before ingesting handfuls - I could actually feel my brain start to slow down with each one
  • Buttered popcorn - dragging my fingertips along the butter & salt-soaked bottom of the bowl so that I could lick them surreptitiously while no one was looking
  • Approx 6 glasses of sparkling Italian soda/ fruit juice mix - on account of the fact that I was thirsty from all the salt I had eaten
I'm not saying that I was in a sugar coma after that, but it was hard to stay awake those last 18 minutes while we endured crap commentary as we waited for the ball to drop in Times Square.   David and I then stumbled upstairs.  I lay in bed, my stomach roiling, before I staggered to the bathroom and popped the rest of the antacids - which I have been doing pretty much every night since Christmas Eve.

"Hi, my name is Heather.  I am a holiday food addict and I do not know my limits."

This morning - I think I will have a single piece of rice with a glass of water.  Happy New Year folks!!



Monday, December 31, 2012

Singing loud for all to hear...

Strict instructions had been given.  We would not start Christmas until 7:00 a.m.  Meaningful parent eyes glared to impart the importance of the rising time.  David and I were toasty warm in our bed.  At 7:03,  a Christmas Cheer rendition of Deck the Halls was bellowed from the living room.  It was not Rissa.  Rissa was still asleep.  It was my Mom.

"HURRY UP!  YOU ARE MISSING CHRISTMAS!!!"

On the drive down for Christmas, Dad reported she bounced up and down and giggled for the last 30 minutes of the drive. Because why?  Because when it comes to family and the holidays, my Mom is a 4 year old.  She gets THAT excited.  She hugs and chortles and kisses and snuggles.  She holds you as though she never wants to let go.  She is infectiously joyous.  Her illness is the best kind of bug to come down with over the holidays.



As we co-cooperatively prep our Danish feast on Christmas Eve, in the midst of chortle and singing along with Elvis's Christmas album, Mom notices that her slip is showing.

"Uh-oh," she says.  "It's snowing down south."

"Pardon?"

"That's what we always said in high school if your slip showed."

What's great about Mom is that she is kind-hearted, loud and just the right amount of goofy.  She is a person who uses phrases from Simcoe County in the 1960s, not with irony, but as a way to keep traditions alive.  A small town girl, born and bred - she has travelled the world, viewing it with open-minded and accepting eyes, and she chose to return to wallow in small town once more.  She says things like "Look on the bright side,"  and "Every cloud has a silver lining," and MEANS them.  She chooses to embrace the happy.

When David wrapped  Rissa's ridiculous squishy, illuminated bear on Christmas Eve, my Mom almost peed her pants she giggled so madly.  


"Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!  It's so silly!  SO silly!!!! I need one!  I NEED one!!"

"Do NOT wake Rissa up!!"

(stifled giggles as she whacks it against the arm of the sofa... "It's just so silly!   hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!!!" she now whispers, holding a finger to her lips - showing just how quiet she is being.

While we played Monopoly before bed, she knocked over a wine glass ... "It's okay!   No drops went on the carpet because they are ALL... in my... TUMMY!"  (pat, pat, pat - indicating safe placement of wine)

I love my parents.  Not only do I choose to spend time with them - I revel in that time.   I revel in all my Dad's bad puns and my Mom's fist-pumping after she's won a game of Perquacky.  I'm 44 years old - snuggling with my Mom on the couch remains a perk.  She still kisses me on the forehead the way I kiss Rissa.  I see more and more of myself in her cackle and crazy.

We had them for all of 47 hours over the holidays.  Then it was time to go, we were lucky that they weren't waiting at the door on Boxing Day when we got up that morning.  If my Dad doesn't have tasks, he might implode.  We wave from the door as they honk the car horn.  My Mom blows wild kisses from her car window.

"Boy it's a good thing you like my Mom," I say to David.

"I agree."

"'Cause you know that I am going to turn into her."

"I'm down with that."