NOT A PROPER CALENDAR!!

Calendars. My requirements:  it must be large, clever, colourful, stylish...  The free one from the local real estate office (while offering a plethora of picturesque homes) just isn't going to cut it hanging on my kitchen wall.  Chagall, Vintage Vogue, Edward Gorey... now THOSE are calendars.  

I found one on sale at Chapters after New Years that would serve my purpose - interesting B&W shots of Paris from the turn of the century to the 70s. Done.  And it wasn't $20.

Then, I got it home.

Turns out this calendar starts its week on Monday.  Okay, what the fuck?  NO.  Unacceptable.  When you look at a regular calendar, you know which box is which.  I can tell you that Thursday is THIS box, just by looking at it.  But on a calendar where they have decided that the week begins on Monday - I'm screwed.

I'm sorry we missed your wedding, you see we thought Saturday was Sunday.

Dentist on Wednesday?  Nope, sorry you must mean Tuesday.

No, I didn't start my period on MONDAY!!!  I started it on SUNDAY - but if I put it where Sunday is now, I'll think I started on SATURDAY!!! I need to circle the right freaking START day you calendar-fucking fuckers!!!  (Apologies.  It's day 2.)

Is this a generational thing? A hipster thing?  Should I be wearing enormous black-rimmed glasses with skinny jeans to decipher this?

There is a case to be made that the work week starts on Monday and then you get to the weekend and the partying begins and all is well in the world. It's a great THEORY.  My brain just can't get its synapses around that concept when I LOOK at a freaking calendar!!  I need to do be able to extrapolate immediately, I can't count back one - I've got enough shit to shovel on a weekly basis without second guessing if I'm in the right place at the right time. 

The calendar search begins once more...

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."

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.'

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.

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

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!!