Monday, December 29, 2008
I am now the proud owner of a laptop (thanks to Paul). And shortly, a wireless internet connector thingy. Limits are never ending, like my supply of home-made wine (again, thanks Paul). So stay tunned. The blog changes they are a-comin'. And possibly Alcoholics Anonymous.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
It sucks being sick. On the plus side, it gives me time to lose the weight I've gained being sick. Which is ironic because when you think of someone being sick, you think of someone small and tiny and fragile, not the lime backer I've become.
Gone is the "elope and let someone in a foreign country plan the details of our day" line of thinking.
In is the "what the heck are we going to do now" line of thinking.
Paul and I are finding ourselves faced with questions about why we're not eloping anymore from people who don't know I'm sick. I didn't really want to tell many people. Only my closest family and friends knew the real story. So, we get to create all sorts of fun reasons why we're getting married in 8 months and 5 days, instead of in 3 months.
When it comes to all things-wedding, we're opting for anti-boring. Did you really expect anything less from moi? Since this is the second wedding for both Paul and I (first to one another though!), it's a lot easier to plan the wedding we want, and not give in to outside pressure.
We're going for an intimate and romantic feeling. At first I thought intimate meant cheaper. [Note: It does not].
Out: large guest list of people we hardly know
In: 100 of our closest friends and family
Out: church ceremony and tacky legion reception/dance
In: ceremony and reception on a tall ship
Out: cheesy wedding music
In: cellist playing on board
Out: wedding cake
We went and toured the wedding venue (aka the boat). And there's only one problem. We were on it for a total of 20 minutes and I was seasick. I can picture it now...Paul and I turn to face each other, to recite the vows we've written for one another, and instead I turn and vomit over the side of the boat.
Isn't it romantic?
Monday, November 17, 2008
To cap off our Saturday evening dinner theatre, we dediced to head to the Casino for some cha-ching!
Want to know my method for scoring big at the slots? I walk around, and wait until a machine "calls to me." Ok, it doesn't actually call to me, because THAT would be crazy. But I get a certain "pull" - like Captain T. Kirk and his tractor beam.
I walk up to the machine, pop in my money. I converse in some small talk and then softly let it know what's coming - like Captain Kirk and his er, tractor beam. Cha-ching! Works every time. Unfortunately, Paul is lucky in love and well, that's it. We have a $20 cdn limit (each). Paul's money is gone within 2 minutes. My money doubles, triples, quadruples, um... fiveruples. Anyway you get the idea.
Saturday night I wasn't feeling the tractor beam. No matter how much I walked, not one machine beaconed to me. I lost. Again and again. I even asked Paul to stand on the other side of the room for fear his unlucky-except-in-loveness was rubbing off on me. It didn't make a difference. My casino mojo was nogo.
Down to my last $5, I felt a little something. A twinge perhaps? I moved quickly. Sat down. And pulled that slot machine handle for all it was worth. And then...I felt something. One part excitement, one part...moisture? What the...ew ew ew. Is that urine?
Oh. My. God. Somebody peed on my seat.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Two weeks ago I went in for a little “procedure.” I wish I could say it was for something silly like Botox or a lung transplant. But it wasn’t. I went in for a scope and two biopsies.
Sure, scope sounds fun. Like mouthwash. But what they really mean is you’re about to swallow a long tube. You might possibly gag on said tube. But try not to, because there’s a camera at the end of the tube and the doctor is trying to get a good look at your organs to make sure you don’t have cancer. And the doctor really doesn’t want an internal view of your vomit geyser.
I had a vague idea of what was going to happen. But when it comes to hospital procedures…it’s all in the details.
Detail #1: The nurse called my name, and handed me a hospital gown. A hospital gown? No one mentioned a hospital gown. I hadn’t really envisioned what I would or would not be wearing for my scope.
Nurse: Here you go love. Just put this on. Nothing else on from the waist up. Ties go to the back. And leave your shoes on dear.
Me: [blink blink]
Oh crap. I had heels on. Nice. Hospital gown and high heels. Thank goodness John Stamos wasn’t there. So what’s a girl to do? I strutted my stuff, nobody works a hospital gown and heels like yours truly.
Detail #2: I knew I was going to be sedated for the procedure. But in true RND fashion, I didn’t think about how that was going to happen.
Nurse: Ok love, just sit right down here and we’ll get your IV started.
Me: [blink blink]
Oh crap. I thought I’d take a pill to put me to sleep, or one of those masks with the sleeping gas. So what’s a girl to do? I fainted.
So let's review. Heels + hospital gown + sedation = blog post.
Tuned in next time for adventures with ultrasounds…
Friday, November 07, 2008
Mary (aka Undercover Mother) had suggested, no, implored me to get a laptop because my posts were dwindling down to infrequent dribble. Coincidentally my bank just upped the credit limit on my visa, so I debated maxing it out again just so I could have the luxury of writing a post whenever (and more importantly wherever) I wanted. I could have a whole post category for “bathroom posts”. Or “posts written while eating mustard.” The possibilities are endless really.
But I couldn’t bring myself to do it, to max out my credit card. I KNOW.
So instead, Paul brought home his laptop from work. Now I can have the thrill of typing in odd mustard enabling locations without the credit crunch. There’s only one catch…
I had to promise not to open any documents because there’s secret government stuff on Paul’s laptop. I KNOW.
So the first thing I thought was…there’s got to be ex-girlfriend stuff on here. And probably porn. When Paul said, “You need to promise not to open any documents on there,” was that guyspeak for “You need to promise not to snoop on there”?
Resist. Resist. But then, I saw it. The Recycle Bin, out of the corner of my eye. All full of electronic papery goodness. Taunting me. Resist. Resist. Might. Be. Secret. Government. Documents.
I HAD to peak (like you wouldn’t). And technically I didn’t break my promise. Because not once did I look at any documents. I only checked out the pictures. And technically I didn’t look AT them. I just changed the view to “thumbnails” so I could see without getting all double clicky. [Besides, I tried double clicking on them and FYI you have to restore things from the Recycle Bin if you want to view them].
And sure enough…there were pictures of his ex-girlfriends. And me. All parts of Paul’s life mixed up together. What did he see in them? It’s beyond me. Not that I have the best ex-boyfriend hall of fame. One of the differences between us is I have deleted, burned, tossed, and pawned almost every ex-boyfriend related memento I had. All part of the getting-over-your-ass philosophy I practiced (except the jewelry - my momma didn’t raise no fool). Paul’s more of a ho-hoarder. Exhibit A: our second date. It started to rain. I was dressed in a mini and a tee. Paul gave me a sweater to borrow, to stay warm. It was three sizes too big for me. But it was his “cousin’s” so I didn’t say a word. I quickly learned that “cousin” was Paul’s early dating code word for ex-girlfriend. The sweater was donated to charity (but I kept a pair of “her” designer sunglasses – my momma didn’t raise no fool).
Is it weird that I know the names of Paul’s ex-girlfriends but he couldn’t name one of mine (my ex-husband excluded)? I know how many girls Paul has slept with but he has never asked me how many guys I’ve been with. Maybe girls are just born with the need-to-know gene while guys remain oblivious. I’m sure Darwinism isn’t putting it high on the list of must-haves.
And yes, there was porn.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
2. What do you value most about your friends?
My friends make me laugh, they make me cry. They know when I need to be bitch slapped, they know when I need to be hugged. They are loyal and protective and there for me when I need them. We don't need to be in contact 24/7. If it's been a while, we pick up right where we left off. There's no ego's involved. Except my gigantic one.
3. Are your friends your sounding boards?
No. I keep my ideas to myself. That way no one thinks I've completely lost it and become a nutter. Some times I write about my ideas. Like this.
4. What is your favorite activity to share with your friends?
Pillow fights, in our underwear. Like you couldn't guess.
10 Years ago I:
- Was newly seperated from my husband
- Was a single mother
- Had a mad crush on my info systems professor
- Weighed 115 pounds
- Was so poor I washed our clothes in the bath tub
5 snacks that I enjoy:
- Wine (it's a snack right?)
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Sin #1: I'm very spoiled since moving in with Paul. He makes me coffee every morning, and delivers it to me when I step out of the shower all clean and shiney. It's my princess moment. Well, Paul's away on business this week. And this morning I didn't have time to make my morning coffee. There was too much morning stuff to do. Like...er, making breakfast. Ok, technically I didn't make breakfast, I just opened an Ensure shake. But the shake cap was on like really really tight. So, I was just lazy and didn't feel like making the coffee. Whatever. I'm not one to apply labels. Liar!
To solve all my caffine problems, I hit the Sounds Like Jim Nortons drive-thru and ordered 2 coffees - a medium double double for the drive and a large triple triple for starters. Which lead to...
Sin #2: When I gave the Sounds Like Jim Nortons girl my money, I gave her an extra 12 cents for a tip. Not 10%, but this blog doesn't generate an income. Being the polite Sounds Like Jim Nortons girl that she was, she tried to give me back my change. Like as if I can't add or something. But instead of saying, "do you want your 12 cents?" I hear "do you want your 2 cents?" Tempting but, um no. I don't. And I didn't even bother to correct her. Perhaps I should have, she probably needs the cash to pick up some elective math classes at the local elementary school.
Sin #3: This was my favorite sin of the day by far. I went to Old Navy to shop for a cute coat for the cold Canadian chilly days. I picked three colorful contenders and went to try them on. The Old Navy chick asked me my name for their [dumb-ass] white boards on the dressing room door. I said "Ann." It took all my mite not to giggle. It made it all the better when she asked, "Do you spell that A-N-N or A-N-N-E?" So I mocked, "It doesn't matter, I'll answer to either."
If you can't have a little fun...Oh hell. Tee hee.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
When we arrived the ratio of women to men was 6 to 1, with Paul being the lone male. The lone wolf. The alpha male. We made ourselves at home on a nice large ottoman. We chatted, we laughed, we watched one of the party-goers demonstrate how she can put both her legs behind her head at the same time. I kid you not. And, it's not as impressive as it sounds. Ok, it actually doesn't even sound impressive, just a whole lotta hussy.
About a half hour later, the number of men climbed to 2 with the addition of another of Paul's [married] coworkers. I opted to move to a chair because my back was not digging ottoman style sitting. We chatted, we laughed, we watched the bendy party-goer almost fall out of her shirt every time she inhaled.
Twenty minutes later, the number of men was at an all-evening high of 4 when single guy #1 and #2 arrived. I was still in my chair and Paul was still on the ottoman nearby. Quicker than you can say "caveman" Paul put his hand on my leg. Ok, a not-so-subtle mark-your-girl move. The guys mixed their drinks in the kitchen and then joined the rest of the party goers in the livingroom. Paul leaned over, way over, so he was leaning into my lap. I was worried that at any moment he was going to start peeing around me.
I guess the ways of the caveman (or canine) are alive and leaning.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Paul says for such a little woman, I manage to take up a whole lotta bed. And my bed spreading powers enable me to push around a 200+ pound man of muscle to the furthest nether regions of the bed corners and make him curl up like a prison mate at lights out. To my credit, this is done while I'm totally asleep.
Thursday evening, we were snuggling in for the night. But I needed more room...
Who says that? A car horn, yes. A grown woman, no. Or she shouldn't (unless she's talking to her toddler and even then, never in public).
I couldn't help but burst out laughing. It WAS pretty funny. And automatic. I can only wonder what else I've been mindlessly muttering. At least I didn't say, "Assume the position bitch."
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Friday, October 17, 2008
Me: [Waiting patiently in line for my turn to get my usual sweet delicious need-it-to-think large triple triple coffee]
Jim Norton's Girl: "Hey, where've ya been? I haven't seen you all week."
Me: [Looking around to see who this chick is talking to. She's looking at me.]
Me: "I've been here every day this week."
Jim Norton's Girl: "Liar."
Me: [blink blink] "The only day I wasn't here was yesterday." [Why do I even feel the need to explain my whereabouts to the coffee shop girl?]
Jim Norton's Girl: "Oh ya, I've been working all nights. That explains it."
Me: [Yes, but that doesn't explain you're crazy and possibly a stalker. Moving slowly away from the crazy Jim Norton's girl, avoiding eye contact]
Perhaps it's an extra-large coffee day.
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Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Sure, right now the wine smells like dirty socks. But whatever. How hard can it be to make a good vintage wine? Wait, don't answer that. At the very least, we'll have 30 future Happy this-and-that gifts for people we don't especially like.
Oh who am I kidding. I'll drink it. Besides, nothing could come close to the "Redhead-Next-Door special" I made as a teenager (back when I used to help myself to my parents liquor cabinet but before I grew balls and wanted my premature batender skills to go unnoticed). I mixed a touch of rum, vodka, peach schnapps, cherry liqueur, mint vermouth, whiskey, and whatever the hell else was in there T-O-G-E-T-H-E-R, into a gigantic sports water bottle. And drank it. Or tried to. With my best friend Terri. Now she had balls. It had quite the after taste (the drink, as opposed to someones balls, although...). And during taste (again, the drink and not balls, although...).
Monday, October 13, 2008
#1. We relish the fact we're celebrating Thanksgiving before the Americans (we're such pioneers in Canada! After all, we did invent such trendy things as the Tuque and Celine Dion).
#2. We get to count our blessings and be thankful and all that crap for how "utterly" fantastic our lives are and rainbows shine out our arses and such.
#3. We get to eat. A lot. And then feel really really full. As in, my turkey has a first name, it's v-o-m-i-t.
But for me this Thanksgiving is all about getting organized and trying to unfuckup some parts of my life that could use a bit of spit polish. Example one: this blog. I've gotten out of the habit of posting (which I hate) because it's so theraputic to write about my causalities of pride. And there's so much to write about. Really. It's amazing I have any pride left. [Ok, I don't actually have any pride left, I just have a really big ego that spurs me on.]
Get ready for a supersized blog-blitz of juice-tastic proportions.
Monday, October 06, 2008
a) break the top off the shampoo bottle and send it sailing across the bathroom
b) put shaving cream in my hair instead of conditioner
c) watch my nipples morph turn into mini-self-propelled-rockets as I run out of hot water and enjoy the benefits of a cold morning shower (benefits = 0)
It's amazing I managed to leave the house this morning.
Friday, September 19, 2008
I always over-analyze my first annual meeting with the annual homeroom teacher. After all, it sets a precedent for the entire school year. Show up looking like a slob and even the nicest 6th grade teacher will judge what kind of a parent you are. So, I opted for a balance between professional mum and caring mum with a dash of hip thrown in.
As the general assembly drew to a close, I double checked myself before making my way over with Paul to introduce ourselves to the teacher. And then I realized, for the second time this week, one of my earlobes was naked! My second favorite pair of earrings was now a single. An orphan. To be added to the pile of other single earrings in my jewelry box. I'm not sure why I keep them. I guess one day I'm hoping they will be reunited with their mates. Ah, I'm such a hopeless romantic, even when it comes to earrings. Or maybe I could make a wind chime out of single earrings...Martha would be proud.
Luckily, the calamity of the single earring was adverted before meeting Aidan's teacher. Or else she would have mistaken me for one of those parents who's a bit...odd. Then she would think, by association, that my child is odd too. Quirky yes, odd no.
In the end, we didn't get to meet the homeroom teacher. She opted for a presentation style intro to all of the parents [note to self: some people are born to be public speakers, others like those who use "um" and "ah" after every second word, are not]. So I got to give her the once over from afar. She doesn't look like a teacher. She looks...angular. And very un-funny. But it's a good thing I'm not judgemental!
Thursday, September 18, 2008
So come on, follow me. Please. I don't want to be a follow-less icon.
This morning I was so distracted thinking that I shaved one leg. And only one leg. Normally not the end of the world. Unless...
Did I mention I'm wearing short capris?
And my hair grows really fast.
And when I try to be all lady-like and cross my legs I hear a scritchy scritchy noise.
Ok, so it's not the END of the world. Just the last shred of my pride.
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Wednesday, September 17, 2008
This must be how Eva Longoria-Parker feels.
Did this post make your water break? Tell Humor-Blogs.Com
If there's one thing that Paul knows, it's my faults. [Not that there's a lot of them or anything]. He accepts the fact that I. Don't. Cook. At least not well enough to be called food, or resemble anything edible, not to mention the probability of dysentery.
Needless to say Paul's been doing all the cooking since we moved in together. And I'm rather enjoying it. It's much like being waited on in a restaurant (without the pricey bill and I get to pinch the chef's butt without being thrown out). Pastas, curry dishes, stuffed chicken...yummy yum!
In fact, Paul's cooking is sooooo good, I've gained 15 pounds. Much like the freshman who goes off to college and is introduced to campus caf food. But without all the beer bonging.
Yes, part of me misses cooking my piece de la resistence...grilled cheese sandwiches. And yet another bigger part of me [literally] misses being able to fit into my clothes.
Ahhhhh...the price of love.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
What? Seriously. Seriously? I haven't been gone THAT long.
What? I have not! You're still rocking your Rehead-Next-Door tattoo, right? Oh good. For a minute there, I was worried.
That vacay did me good. If you can call it a vacation. After lots and lots of packing, I moved in with Paul. Then we sold his condo,again, lots and lots of packing. Then we moved again, hello - packing! but this time into our very own brand spanking new house. And you know what that means? Well yes, it means lots of gyproc dusk, but it also means breaking in the rooms of our new house. Perhaps once we can afford to buy curtains.
Sure, I'll miss Chip and Danny but I've got new neighbors to discover. Like the Hillbillies that live across the road. Who needs to watch an episode of Cops when you can just look out your window? Then there's Mr and Mrs Newfie (cool hillbillies for you non-Canadians) and the Fat Pack. Wisteria Lane it's not. Hysteria Lane, maybe.
And the best part, they have no idea about the Redhead-Next-Door [insert menacing laugh here].
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Oh how I miss you [gives "air hugs and kisses"].
But I will be back soon. *Promise* And filled with lots of juicy blog posts about (and in no particular order): living in sin with Paul, mucking through the daily grind in the job from hell, buying
Hope all is well. And by "well" I mean you're a sobbing mess without me.
See you soon.
Friday, July 18, 2008
And then it hits me...
I don't have any eye brows.
I forgot to pencil them in/on.
My eye brow hair is strawberry/blondish/invisible. So I have to fill them in with a brow pencil. Every...single...day. Usually I get my brows/lashes/anything else I can tinted (in case I forget, I'm covered) but my spa appointment isn't until next week. So for the rest of the afternoon, I'll hide out in my office, hoping no one notices the chicka without eye brows.
Note to self: maybe I could say I was involved in a freak BBQ lighting incident.
Friday, July 04, 2008
We looked at 3 houses. We learned a lot. Observe.
Top 10 Ways to Tell You Shouldn't Buy A House If...
1. The walls are painted green apple green (except the master bathroom which is a bright sailor blue)
2. Backyard fence is held up by 2 x 4 planks nailed to the house for support
3. Smells like dog and/or cat piss
4. Five-year old neighborhood children are flashing gang signs at you as you roll up curb side
5. Smells like cigarette and/or pot smoke
6. Only landscaping done on the property by previous owners was cultivating their grow-op
7. Your screaming, arguing, kids are the quiet ones on the street
8. There's multicolored built-in shelves made out of unfinished wood...in every room in the house
9. Closet in the master bedroom has a padlock on the outside of the door...and yup, built in shelves. Could have been home to Harry Potter.
10. The real estate agent says "I'll just wait for you outside while you look around"
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
At the same time. I'm rusty as hell. I haven't lived with a man since my first husband. Ten years and a whole lot of personal development later (read: therapy) I feel ready to try this whole living with a man thingy. But not just any man. Paul.
My stuff is being sorted into "keep", "sell" and "throw" piles (the sell pile is very very large). Unlike when I left my husband, I opted to take it all and leave him with only a wok and a spice rack (which is unfortunate since the wok was a wedding present from my aunt and she's never let me forget that my ex was enjoying sweet and sour chicken balls because of her. And because I really liked that spice rack!). I was hoping my ex-husband would realize over thyme and basil what a cheating, money-wasting jerk he was while he slept on the floor.
This time I am opting to resurrect the local economy with a huge yard sale featuring most of my belongings. It's just stuff after all. Whoa. Who said that? Was that me? Interesting.
It's scary and fun. Scary fun. In a good way. Not like when you're watching a horror movie and the blonde chick decides to check out the noise downstairs [Why DO they do that?]. It's more like taking a chance on something that is so worth it.
I have no doubt there will be moving pains. I don't live in a fairy tale. Although I do have a fondness for glass slippers and frogs. But think of all the delicious stories I'll have for blog posts. Bruhahahaha.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
I got the job. Perhaps if I keep repeating it, it will eventually sink in.
I got the job. I start in two weeks (before they change their mind and realize what they've done :)
In other news...this is my 200th post!
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Top 10 Ways to Make An Impression: The Job Interview Edition
1. Completely rip the ass of your pantyhose getting out of your car. Have pantyhose hanging precariously by the front bits. Wonder whether you have enough time to dash into pharmacy to pick up new pair [answer is NO]. Thank your lucky stars: a) your skirt covers your bum, b) you decided to go with bikini briefs, and c) it's only semi-mildly windy.
2. Close the car door and turn to put money in the parking meter at the exact moment a truck drives through the only puddle on the street (which just so happens to be right beside you) and showers your new interview suit with a wave of cold muddy puddle water. Thank your lucky stars: a) your interview suit is brown so muddy puddle water blends in, and b) it's made of linen which soaks up liquid pronto.
3. Your interview suit is made of linen making it look like you slept in your suit. Convince office receptionist you are not homeless person but actual interviewee.
4. Continue laughing as you enter the interview room because of pantyhose and puddle incidents. Realize interview panel thinks you're either: a) crazy, or b) not taking the interview seriously. Picture Roseanne Barr naked to stop fits of laughter (works every time!).
5. Lead interviewer has a cold and advises she won't shake your hand in case she's contagious. Quip back "That's ok, I'll get you next time!" As if a) you're so confident you'll get the job and will shake her hand on your first day of work, or b) your going to keep interviewing until they give in and hire you, or c) you'll be stalking her until you get to shake her hand.
6. After every question, ask "Can you repeat the question?"
7. For questions you don't know the answer to say "That's a good question..." to buy yourself some time to think of something coherent and get rid of the deer-in-headlights look in your eyes.
8. To the question, "What types of decisions do you find hard to make and which do you find easy to make?" Answer: "I'm decisive, it's easy for me to make most decisions. The ones I find hardest are what to wear, like this outfit today."
9. Get so caught up in your fabulous answer that you forget the question (even though you've been talking for 7 minutes straight hoping something you said answers whatever they asked). Follow it up with "Can you repeat the question?"
10. At the end of the interview when they ask if you have any questions, ask "How did this position become available?" Watch them tear up as they answer, "He died."
Bonus Tip: Hand in your references, saying "They're expecting your call."
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Time: 7 pm
Me: [Trying not to laugh] "Paul darling, that's quite the walking outfit you have on there. Suede jacket, black t-shirt, jeans, white sneakers and sun glasses. You look like a member of the mob."
Paul: "Then what does that make you?"
And then we both collapse into fits of laughter.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
# of months since beginning job search to move to Paul's city = 5
# of jobs applied for since beginning job search = 11
# of job interviews obtained since applying for jobs in Paul's city = 0
# of glasses of wine drank during this blog post =
# of glasses of wine drank while writing cover letters for jobs applied for in Paul's city = 11
Ok, maybe those numbers are a bit off. I've drank way more than 11 glasses of wine.
[UPDATE: # of job interviews obtained since beginning this post = 1. Cue the Twilight Zone music please!].
Monday, May 12, 2008
Let me count the ways,
One thousand, two thousand, three thousand, four...
*Revenue Canada: the Canadian equivalent to the IRS. Same suits. Same jokes. With the bonus flair of a Canadian accent eh!
Thursday, May 08, 2008
One of the best real birthday presents I got, was from Paul. Remember my blog bumper sticker idea? Oh, really? And you call yourself a fan! Oh, really? Well keep reading...you might want to reconsider.
Anyhoo. Paul designed some "Read the Blog" Redhead-Next-Door bumper stickers himself. And by "some" I mean one. And got three of them made (It's the thought that counts. He is so thoughtful). And I am going to have three very happy blog fans.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
So now I'm left with a rather large, rather suspect, stain on my hallway floor. A stain which looks like someone may have been murdered there, except it smells like beef stew. And is more orange-y with bits of green than bloody (thanks to all those leafy greens in the salad at supper).
Ironically, this whole episode started precisely at midnight. I am officially 32. And so far, my birthday sucks donkey dick.
Oh karma, how you mock me.
Monday, May 05, 2008
Paul: "Sounds like a chick flick. Iron Man is at the theatre. I was thinking of taking Aidan for some male bonding. You could come too."
Me: "Hmmm...sounds like a dick flick. I think I'll opt for the inevitable taffeta filled music montage."
And somewhere, Thelma and Louise give a high five.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Me: Let's get right to the juicy stuff. What do you think about your ex-wife offering to help plan our wedding?
Paul: [laughs] Typical. I have no interest in taking her up on that offer.
Me: Glad you cleared THAT up.
Me: How many hours do you estimate you spent looking for the perfect ring for me?
Paul: [adding out loud] 25 total.
Me: How does this compare to the number of hours you masturbate?
Paul: [laughs] That's less than 25 hours total a week.
Me: When did you know I was THE ONE?
Paul: Waking up with you and realizing I wanted to do that forever. And that purr that you do.
Me: Moving on. Describe in one word what marriage means to you.
Paul: A commitment.
Me: That's two words.
Paul: This is hard! I thought you loved me [pouts]. I would say commitment but that's not what marriage means to me.
Me: What the?
Paul: [continuing] A partnership with someone you want to share the rest of your life with. I guess I'd have to use "share" if I had to put it in one word. And I don't mean the singer [Cher].
Me: Where's a drum roll when you need one.
Me: Do you think I should change my name when we get married?
Paul: I'm of two opinions: I love the idea of you having my last name - it means you're mine.
Me: [Picturing Paul in a loin cloth carrying me over his shoulder back to the cave].
Paul: But your maiden name - it's who you are. If I was more nouveau, we'd make up our own last name.
Me: What's the first thing you want to do after we get hitched?
Paul: [laughs] Right after? Walk hand in hand [censored]. Kiss you senseless [censored] and hold on to you saying, "mine forever."
Me: What's the one tradition you want to include in our wedding?
Me: What's the one tradition you want to include in our wedding?
Paul: I thought you said "position". Tradition...I see it as more of a simple affair.
Me: [Picturing hot dogs and beer].
Me: Do you think I will turn into a Bridezilla?
Paul: A what?
Me: [Long explanation as to what this is]. I'm sure it's a non-issue. Now get back to making those guest favors!!!
Me: What's the one household chore you will least like to do when we're married?
Paul: Cleaning the showers and putting away the laundry.
Me: So, pretty much the same as now. How will we decide who does what around the house?
Paul: I think it'll be easy. I'll be doing more cooking than cleaning.
Me: I see you've already put some thought into this.
Me: What's your biggest fear about getting married?
Paul: Comfort. I'm afraid I'll become comfortable and won't be trying as hard. I fear taking you for granted and not showing you how special you are.
Me: Don't worry, I won't let you forget.
Me: What's the best part about getting married?
Paul: [long pause] Someone to share everything with.
Me: I thought you would say "more sex".
Paul: Honey, it's hard to get more sex than I do now.
Me: [Thinking to myself perhaps it's time to attend a support meeting].
Me: Did you purpose on New Year's Eve so that you will never forget our engagement anniversary?
Paul: No [laughs].
Me: Have you ever lied to me?
Paul: White lies...that's it.
Me: Ahem! Like sorry I didn't call hon, my cell phone battery died. Like that?
Me: How would you describe my decorating style?
Paul: Unfortunately you don't have a lot of money. But if you did, it would be light and colorful. I'm more "dark."
Me: Uh huh. What will happen to my "hand me down furniture" once we move in together?
Paul: It's going to look great in our rec room.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Saturday, April 19, 2008
When your phone rings you now have two options: a) let it ring and go to voicemail or b) pull over on the road/highway and answer the phone. Gee, I don't see anything dangerous about THAT.
I guess the law was made for those bad driver's who need their focus all their energy (and faculties) on driving to avoid being in an accident. Thank goodness they didn't say anything about not eating Big Mac's and fries and driving. My phone rings occasionally while I'm in my car, but my tummy is always calling for more [whatever they put in that crap].
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
What I Said: "And look. I can even do the Charlie's Angels hair swish."
[does sexy hair swishy flip thingy]
What I Should Have Said: "My hair just said to give me a 10% raise."
Sunday, April 13, 2008
I decided to venture to a part of the country I've never been to (which isn't as hard as it sounds since I've only been to three provinces). I know, I know. For such a worldly writer, I don't actually get out much.
Because of my embargo on air travel I opted for the classic ski road trip...a deux with Paul. To Quebec City...the city of love (second only to Paris and Moscow).
I've got enough post material for weeks...or this week (memory depending). Happy reading :)
Thursday, March 27, 2008
I accidentally overheard Megan tell another coworker about her big upcoming milestone birthday (ok,ok, so I was eavesdropping alright!).
Male Coworker: "Megan, how old are you going to be?"
Megan: [whispers] "40."
Me: [from several cubicles over] "Wow. I'm going to be 40 in 9 more years!"
Megan: "Sure Erika. Rub it in."
Tee hee. It's so much fun to be
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
When I was a preschool Redhead-Next-Door my mum (still an emergency room nurse) used to pride herself on not giving my sister and I junk food. Instead she gave us raisins, doesn't-even-taste-like-chocolate carib chocolate chips and mini marshmellows (or so my therapist tells me after our regression hypo-therapy sessions) saying they were "candy".
We didn't eat at McDonalds; unless you count my sister's 6th birthday party (talk about favoritism...I had to wait until my 18th birthday party). We didn't get popcorn at the movies; unless you count the butter-free low-fat kind mum smuggled into the theatre in sandwich baggies in a nap sack.
It wasn't until I was a teen Redhead-Next-Door that I discovered the wondrous world of junk food (and hair gel but that's a whole other story). And so began my secret affair with all things junk (which could possibly explain my first marriage but that's a whole other story).
Even after my son was born, I was shamed by my inability to follow the way of the carib. The pull of salty artery-clogging chips was strong it was. I vowed not to be so saturated-fat strict with my child but also not make it a feel good food free for all.
One day I knew my junk jiving had reached epic proportions. I was in the bathroom unwrapping a maxi pad and my son Aidan (aged 5) knocked on the door and asked, "Mum, what are you eating in there? I hope you're not eating all the chips!"
Monday, March 24, 2008
[Interior: The living room of Paul's parent's house]
Paul's Dad: (doing the weekend newspaper crossword) "What's a four letter word for great, wild sex?"
Me: "Paul. P-A-U-L"
[Laughter from future mom, dad, sister and brother in-laws]
Me: [internal dialog] Shit shit shit. Did I just say that out loud? Oh god, and to his parents? Why didn't I just blurt out "yoga" or something. Yes, yoga sex. Sounds like wild fun, doesn't it? Instead I said "Paul." And now his family thinks we have wild crazy monkey sex or something.
Paul: [kisses me on the cheek, slightly blushing but mostly beaming]
[Laughter begins to die down]
Paul's Mom: "You're going to buy her whatever she wants now, aren't you Paul?"
Paul: "Yes, yes I am."
Me: "Anyone up for a drink?"
Monday, March 17, 2008
Today I decided to scoff my elimination diet* (scoff scoff) and get a chicken "tornado" wrap from the local "sounds like Tobeys" super-monopoly, er...I mean supermarket store.
I wolfed it down (a cross between inhale and make sweet salvia love to it) and went to grab my handy-dandy purple travel toothbrush for a little oral hygiene pick-me-up before my next client. [Note to self: do not use the word "client" after a sentence containing the phrase "oral hygiene pick-me-up" unless wanting to sound like a wayward wanton tart].
I realized my handy dandy purple travel toothbrush is in my black purse. And not in the snake-skin brown purse I'm sporting today (which nicely matches the snake-skin boots I'm wearing). First thought: Don't panic. Maybe this is the first time in a year you won't have something mangled in the front of your braces like the grill of a 1970 Chevy driving through Alabama in August. Upon closer inspection in the loo, it was now time to panic. Suck me silly and call me crazy but chunks of brown, green and white in your teeth just don't scream "professional" to me.
But in true Redhead-Next-Door-idness why panic when you can get creative...
Top 10 Ways To Be Creative In An Oral Emergency:
1. Fashion piece of paper towel into pointy toothpick thingy except it's paper towel and try to dismangle food chunks. Doesn't have the stiff-as-wood properties like a toothpick. Quite useless really on chicken. Absorbancy qualities might be best left to soup stuck in the teeth.
2. Use piece of fruit, like a grape, for make-shift spongy toothbrush. Run the risk of adding more food to the fire.
3. Attempt to quickly use dinner fork as a toothpick. Run the risk of getting fork stuck in braces. Or getting caught using fork as a toothpick by staffer. Try to keep your cool and state (very matter of factly) "I saw this on Oprah." When all else fails, return to Oprah. She can do not wrong in the eyes of most women. And Dr. Phil.
4. Fashion paperclip into bacteria filled toothpick. Use and hope to goodness sake you don't contract typhoid fever.
Ok, I know I said Top 10...but really what are you expecting after #4? It works. And let us never speak of this again. [hauuuuuck] Does my throat seem red and bumpy to you?
*Elimination diet: when you eliminate certain foods out of your diet to figure out which foods your body is sensitive to. Or in my case, eliminate all foods that taste good. Just when you thought it couldn't suck any more, you eliminate coffee. And then you know what sucks really means.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
So far I've managed to fall into a large drizzle bordering on puddle of unrine (most likely NOT my own) during a code one hovering manuever in the bathroom. Paul, funny enough, didn't know about the art of hovering until I filled him in.
Note to guys: "hovering" is a term used to describe the multitasking feat of defying physics, maintaining kung fu-esque balance while posed in muscle cramping/leg shaking squat form by ladies when urinating. Coined because we "hover" over the bowl and do not make skin to porcelin contact with the lid (or with anything else for that matter). And depending on how much water you drink, can be quite the workout.
Sometimes I don't think you guys know how lucky you are. Just for one day I'd like to know what it was like to stand, point and pee. Or write my name in the snow. You do that, right? Just like we girls have pillow fights in our underwear at sleepovers.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Usually this works better if: a) I've actually blogged about said sordid story, and, b) I don't make fun of my friend/ former pro-wrestler/ Z-list actor/ neighborhood meat-cutter in my blog.
Call me lazy but...
Ouch. That hurts right here. *makes pointing motion to heart*
But wait a minute. Wait just a freakin' minute. I think I'm on to something here (as opposed to just being on something). Picture it: you're inching down the freeway and instead of applying your second coat of mascara, you decide to check out the bumper stickers on the cars in front of you. Some have "Honk if you're horny" or "Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go everywhere." But what if there was a bumper sticker that read "Read the Blog - redheadnextdoor.blogspot.com".
Wouldn't you be intrigued and compelled to find the nearest PC to see what all the bru-ha-ha was about? I think you'd be lying if you said "no." Liar!
Then my blog would be flooded with readers...like Oprah and Uma and Obama (and other equally fun names to say). I could quit my day job (after all, more readers means a book deal right?), move to Paul's city and write full time.
Perhaps there is room for another semi-fiction chick-lit memoir writer. And somewhere someone applies a second coat of mascara on the freeway.
Friday, February 08, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
First thought: Crap.
Second thought: How hard can it be to find a nail?
** 10 minutes of searching with zero results later...***
Third thought: I'll just put on another faux-index fingernail. Add a dab of instant-bond nail glue and presto! The nail is in place.
Next thought: WTF? My faux-index fingernail is glued on with a slight slant to the left. Normally this wouldn't be all that noticeable except yesterday I re-glued my faux-middle fingernail on the same hand and it has a slight slant to the right. And now it looks like my fingernails are giving a peace sign. Not my fingers, just the nails.
My faux fingeranils are way too hip for me.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Me: "There's no school today honey. You'll get to spend the day at home with Paul."
Aidan: "Yay! I get to spent time with Future Dad."
And I picture Paul in a cape with heroic pose (as heroic as you can be in tights) with a big FD on his chest.
Friday, January 25, 2008
What do you mean you haven't memorized every single one of my posts??? And you call yourself a reader. Pffft!
Ok, so let me refresh your memory.
Some staffers at work (including yours truly) have decided to head to the local rink every Thursday for some lunch time triple axles. Yesterday was our first outing. I'm rustier (if that's even a word) than the last time.
I cautiously wobbled my way onto the ice (kind of like a new born baby fawn or colt or spider) shouting, "I'm gonna break a hip!" only to notice the rink was full of old people. And I'm not talking 50 year olds...I mean old...like 70. Somehow I don't think they appreciated my sense of humor.
[Note to self: it's uncomfortable when you put your foot in your mouth, especially when wearing skates. Don't make fun of old people. They have enough to worry about, like breaking a hip].
I managed to stay upright for 28 of the 30 minutes. I was distracted by the old people skating circles around me. Literally. And they're so cute too...skating around, arm in arm. Like little shriveled up dancers. But with mittens. When I did fall, it was a wipe-out of epic proportions. A collective "Ooooo" rose up from my crowd of fellow skaters. A sweet old man stopped to pick me up. He said something sweet and old-man-ish. I smiled and said something sweet and redhead-next-door-ish. We parted ways as I began to dust the massive amounts of snow and ice shavings off my ass.
My pants were soaked. I probably looked like I peed myself. I bet those old people were pitying me. Not because of my lack of skating ability, but because they know how uncomfortable it is when you pee your pants.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Sunday, January 13, 2008
My brother-in-law, Tony, emailed me at work on Friday.
Tony: "I just sent you some video files that I hope you can open
that I think are funny. I've been laughing uncontrollably every time
I show someone here in the office so hope you get a kick out of
them too. "
Me: "Surfing the porn again eh. Tee hee. Just kidding. Thanks
Tony :) I can always use a good laugh!"
Tony: "You know it's kinda funny, I was just on the phone with Tech
Support and they had control of my computer and up pops your
email message "Surfing the porn again eh. Tee hee." They had
control of my PC so I couldn't even close it. EMBARRASSING ;(
I guess that's the price I pay for surfing for porn!!!!"
Me: "HAHA - that is funny! I'm sorry. I know you are very professional
and would never surf porn at work (that's what the home PC is for ;)
If Tech Support needs a character witness, they can call me! I'll
vouch for you."
Tony: "Tech Support are capable of monitoring what I surf at work
but I don't think need you to vouch for my porn surfing at home :) !!!!! "
I love my brother-in-law.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
I advised them via email I was thinking about hosting a "Meet the Fiance" party next weekend. Suzie emailed back, "You mean FIANCE...I hope, or does Paul like to be referred to as the Finance."
Oops. I re-read my email - turns out I'd written "finance" instead of "fiance."
Thank goodness husband is easier to spell.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Questions ranged from the normal curiosity, "So have you set a date?" and "Where are you getting married?" to the more probing "Will you be moving to [Paul's city]?" and "Will you be changing your last name or keeping your maiden name?" to the anal probing because it's so invasive "Are you pregnant?" and/or "Will you be having more children?"
We JUST got engaged.
I was just expecting people to want to gawk at my ring and ask questions about how Paul proposed. I really didn't expect to have the wedding details sorted by the next day. It's life, not laundry.
Friday, January 04, 2008
I had to work New Year's Eve in the AM so Paul spent the night at my place. Our plan was to drive up to the city after I got off work. Paul's brother Steve and his wife Misty were hosting a murder mystery party, set in the 1920's. Paul was playing the role of the Mayor. I was Flirty Flapper, his dish on the side.
Flirty flapper costume: check
Winter tires: um....no
The raging snow storm made me question whether we should risk the drive. Paul was adamant we were going. I tried to reason with him. He said he wanted to show me off at the party. Awwww. That's sweet (in a realizing your potential-trophy-girlfriend-material kind of way). Ever the practical voice of reason, I offered, "Honey, it doesn't matter where we are on New Year's Eve as long as we're together." Paul retorted, "We're going." So much for the voice of reason.
I half understood his drive to well, drive. Paul spent his last New Year's drinking alone in his condo (probably talking to Sparkles). The year before that he was dumped on New Year's Eve by his then-girlfriend while they were traveling abroad right before he was about to propose. He was possessed with breaking the jinx on his New Year's.
So I prayed a lot during the drive - "oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." Paul was unusually quiet the whole two and a half hours. Like really unusually quiet (This is the same guy that met an oil tycoon while swimming in the Italian sea).
Paul wanted to cook me a nice romantic dinner before we headed to the party. Unfortunately our drive was an hour longer than usual because of the weather (and we left late) so we were slightly short on time. Again, being the ever practical voice of reason I said, "Let's just grab a salad at [name of grocery empire]." Paul sighed and conceded.
Back at Paul's place we were making dip, getting our salad ready, and making last minute adjustments to our costumes.
Paul: "Let's sit down for a minute."
Me: "We don't have time to sit down."
Paul: "Let's sit down for a minute." He puts his arm around me and corrals me over to the couch for a mandatory rest period. My head resting on his chest.
Paul: "Do you know how much you mean to me?"
Paul: "Can I ask you something?"
Paul: "Will you marry me?"
Me: (stunned) "Are you kidding?"
Paul: (looking worried) "No. I don't think so."
[Puts beautiful sparkling ring in my line of view]
Me: something incoherent
[kissing, kissing and more kissing until I realize I haven't officially given him an answer]
Me: "Yes, darling, yes I will marry you."
[Paul puts the ring on my finger]
Me: "Can you ask me again so I don't ruin it this time?"
Paul: (Laughing) "Yes, will you marry me?"
So that's why he wanted to "go to the party" so badly - the ring was at his place. Why he was so quiet. Why he wanted to cook a romantic dinner but he couldn't protest when I said salad. I was sooooo clueless the whole time! I'd never seen Paul so nervous. He confessed he wanted to start the year off right. Awww. Now that is the sweetest.
Oy! I'm getting married.
[And yes, we did go to the party. There may have been some editing in there. I'm not drawing a straight line for you here people.]