ye olde cop-out post

From Google Analytics, yet another list of search strings that indicate exactly what kind of whackos you're sharing this web space with:

(also, I don't check my stats very often. Um...where did everybody go? Is it just summer, or do I smell or something? Maybe I should post something that isn't Random Tuesday?)

1. "dead squirrel" and windshield wiper (Holy crap, it's not just me. Maybe this is a suicide thing that squirrels do and I falsely accused Max?)

2. cat hit by car and now back legs don't work (And you think you'll find something on Google that will help? TAKE IT TO A VET.)

3. easy steps to suck your own penis (I...can't help you. And you DO need help.)

4. shoving centipedes in uterus video (I feel compelled to look this up on snopes.com now. And obviously I name a lot of body parts on here because...)

5. wooden vagina

I think I need a shower now.

Things I get in the mail (part 1)

I spend a lot of time online. So I do a lot of shopping there, too, because I almost never have time to just go out and browse actual SHOPS.

(Except today. But apparently one cheque cleared and the one I deposited didn't, so I got to endure pitying looks instead from 19-year-old Old Navy employees as my debit card got declined. Twice. Y'know, there's probably a reason I mostly shop online.)

(Those clothes were really cute, too. Even if the jeans were a size 12 and I've never been a size 12 in my fucking life, thankyouverymuch, menopausal hormone thingies.)

(I'm kind of depressed now. What was my point again?)

ANYWAY. Online shopping. I love shopping online, and I especially love the second part of the process - getting stuff in the mail. It's like a secondary shopping rush that you don't get at the till at Old Navy especially when you don't actually get to buy anything. I really need to let this go.

I got these armwarmers a little while ago, from the lovely Lisa's etsy shop, So So Belle Boutique. She custom made them for me, and threw in a super cute coffee sleeve, too. Possibly I'm a little old to be rockin' the armwarmer look, but I don't care, they're hawt. Rock n' Roll with just enough Pretty.

So, go! Shop! And then tune in again and I'll post a necklace, or possibly a book. Maybe some kind of footwear? I don't know, I can never remember what I ordered.

Kind of wondering why I'm still wondering about this.

At about 4am today my kid's stomach decided to reverse gears, and when the phenomenon repeated itself at 6 I realized he wasn't going to daycare, and I was in for a nice, relaxing, vomit-filled day off work. But I had to get my paycheck into the bank, lest there be a bounce-fest of epic proportions, which sounds a lot more joyous than it really is. So hubby spelled me off for a short while so I could go do that.

While I was driving there, I stopped to allow two pedestrians to cross. One was an older lady in a bright red coat, who looked a little confused that I was stopping at all, and then took her sweet time meandering across the intersection. When she passed in front of my car, she smiled and pointed skyward.

I have no idea what that meant.

"Oh, bless you for stopping, child, you'll surely get into heaven"?

"Look out, someone's about to drop an anvil on your head"?

"Thanks for stopping, I was totally going to fly, but I'm stuck walking across the street like a fucking peasant"?

You try to do something nice, and people just confuse the shit out of you in return.

In lieu of

I'm posting one from the archives today, because I'm afraid if I start writing you will either get the ever-popular Post About Why I'm Not Posting, or something along the lines of "My uterus sucks my doctor sucks you all suck I just want another baaayyyybeeeeeeee whine cry gnashing of teeth". So. You're welcome.

This is actually not a post from my archives, this is a guest post I did over at Casey's place. It was a post for Club HASAY, the weight-loss club I've quietly dropped out of, mostly because Juliet thought it was a poor use of my time.

(Juliet is what I've christened my expanding ass.)

I suddenly remembered this post today while choking down my umpteenth celery stick for my 2 Week Resolution. Something about "I have done weirder things"...

Recently Casey made the comment that she thought HASAY was losing some people, as they hadn't updated in a while. I'm one of those people, but I'm still on the HASAY bandwagon. I just haven't accomplished a friggin' thing.

I've maintained my goal of working out at the gym 3 times a week, and they've been some pretty killer workouts. But that scale ain't budging.

Obviously I have to do something about the food front of this campaign. But here's the thing: I don't eat that badly. In fact, I eat pretty healthy. I have a healthy breakfast every day, a sandwich or soup for lunch, and chicken or steak with vegetables for dinner. There's very little snacking, and while I love dessert I only indulge once a week. Once a week I also have junk food for one meal - like pizza or take-out pasta, nothing deep fried. My one bad habit is a cup of coffee with cream and sugar every day. One. Cup. I am not convinced that my eating habits need changing. I could eliminate my few treats but I'm never going to maintain that as a LIFESTYLE.

So I started thinking that maybe there is some magical combination of WHICH foods I should eat. Somebody else's blog mentioned the Blood Type Diet. Hm. Maybe if I just eat more tomatoes and less pickled herring, I'll start dropping pounds? I looked it up. For my blood type (Type O), I am supposed to avoid breads and grains, severely limit dairy, only eat lean meats and fish, and drink nothing but water and green tea.

Well, no kidding. Fucking WHALES would lose weight on that diet. Actual whales.

South Beach, the Zone, Atkins - they all want me to drop an entire food group. That's just not going to happen in the long run.

To be perfectly honest, I would just accept that I'm not SUPPOSED to weigh 10 pounds less, except that my clothes don't fit.

So I was moping and eating my breakfast of Cheerios and a grapefruit (see??) and I saw that the newspaper was open to a full-page ad touting something called Eurowave. It offered an introductory session for $10 and guaranteed inch loss. It had 'before' and 'after' pictures and assured you that all you had to do was lie back and relax. It sounded like a ritzy version of the as-seen-on-tv zap-your-abs thingy. It sounded like a crock of shit.

So I called and made an appointment.

The "body sculpting" "clinic" had no sign and was in the back closet room of a hair salon, perhaps as a motivational strategy. Walking through a room full of skinny, stylish young blondes in heels certainly made ME feel like crap. It was at least a nice salon so even the back closet room had a spa kind of feel to it, which was relaxing. Although I gotta tell you, 'spa' does not say 'feelin' skinny' to me. It says, 'sit down with a glass of wine and have some dark chocolate while someone does your nails'.

But anyway. The technician, we'll call her Collette (because that was her name), had me fill out a form that basically swore I wasn't pregnant, mutated, an undercover FBI agent, or harbouring any kind of metal within my flesh. Then she asked me what part of my body I wanted to 'work on'.

Well, I was going to say 'my ass', except then I wouldn't have had the guts to ask her to take a picture:

I look a little freaked out.  It's because I was a little freaked out

See those yellow things? Those were sponges. As she was wiring me up it occurred to me that they electrocute criminals that way. Also, I look like a suicide bomber. Happy thoughts.

Collette cranked on the juice and since she had a captive audience, spent the next 18 minutes trying to sell me on a package of Eurowave sessions ($50 each, or $400 for ten, or $699 for 20, a freakin' bargain!). Every two minutes she would turn it up a notch.

"How is it feeling?" she asked me at one point.

"Like things are trying to crawl out from under my flesh?" I guessed at the right answer. (That, apparently, wasn't the right answer because her eyes got really wide and she didn't say much after that).

When my shock treatment was done she measured me up again and claimed that I had lost 1-3/4" around my waist. "You did really well!" she bubbled, impressed.

Um, yes. I'm a total pro at just LAYING THERE DOING NOTHING. I have that shit down to a science, which is why I'm here.

She made another stab at selling me a package but I think she could tell she'd lost me. (Although, to be honest, if I have to go to hubby's company Christmas party I may just be calling her up because every little bit counts when you're stacking up against 20-year-old waitresses). It just doesn't feel like I accomplished anything, no matter what her tape measure said. I had really high hopes of walking out of there and being mistaken for one of those rap wannabe teenagers whose pants are staying up through sheer will alone, but such was not the case.

My abs DO hurt a little now, though they're not supposed to (I guess I did it wrong? Can you do 'nothing' the wrong way?).

Maybe I'll give acupuncture a shot next time.

Or hypnosis.

"You are getting skiiinnnnny...."

NyQuil NyQuil NyQuil, we love you, you giant fucking Q*

I still feel like a buzzards butt that fell off and got sprayed on by a bunch of skunks**, so I went to the walk-in clinic this morning to procure my get-out-of-jail-free card.

"I pretty much just need a note that says I can go home and suffer in peace instead of dragging my diseased carcass into work," I told the doctor.

"Doctors don't just write notes," she admonished me. "We can help, too, you know!"

"Um...I'm pretty sure it's just a head cold. Last time I checked, you actually couldn't," I mumbled, but she just tut-tutted and wrote me a prescription for penicillin and a corticosteroid nasal spray. One of which is totally useless for a head cold and the other was forty-three dollars and also, totally useless.

"Great, thanks!" I said brightly, pocketing it. "Can I have my note now?"

So now I'm at home suffering in peace, like I asked in the first place. Anybody need a prescription for penicillin?


*Name that tune.

**Clearly I have not an original thought in my head today, mostly because it's filled with phlegm. Name that tune 2.

What people are googling RIGHT THIS MINUTE

(And they're all clearly feeling more creative than me, because I have to steal their genius to phone in a blog post)

1. "jealous" "i want to be her" (who doesn't?)

2. "Can I rent Universal Studios for my birthday?" (The bigger question is, can you rent it for MINE?)

3. "do baby spiders die if you kill their mom" (I fucking hope so)

4. "how to spell connoisseur" (uh...you just did)

5. "i dropped a plastic lid down my drain" (Holy crap! SO DID I!)

6. "I'm afraid to take my pants off" (Do you think google is going to do it for you? Can you be more specific as to the nature of your conundrum? Really, we need deets if we're going to help you.)

7. "Is it normal for mom to leave toddler and go to rock concert" (Yes, it is, okay? I bet this was my fucking MIL)

8. "regret threesome" (Perhaps you should have thought of that earlier. Whore.)

9. "to my neighbour, I saw you this morning take a shit in the backyard" (I think you have the wrong blog. You probably want Kat's Dear So and So)

10. "twilight - something smells like fish" (Uh, I said it stunk. I don't think I was that specific)

11. "truth about pinecone extract" (I...don't even know what you're looking for. Is there some pinecone conspiracy I'm unaware of?)

12. "what is space time continuum explanation for kids" (...y'all are taking that 'Baby Einstein' thing WAY too literally)

13. "whoever is reading this, there is a fly that is bothering the heck out of me right now..."

I'm sorry to hear that. And next time, if you want to get on this blog, you should probably swear more.

Also, in other news, the winner of the Must Have Mom Manual book giveaway is the lovely Ane Fallarme from Life According to Me. Yay, Ane! Take a bow!

Thank you so much to Maternal Spark for hosting this little get-together, and to the authors Sara and Stephanie for just being all round awesome. Let's do it again sometime!

Nothing should be able to fly AND inject venom

Because I'm still battling whatever Pollen Fiend is causing my sinuses to be so revolting, I'm totally phoning it in and re-posting something I wrote when not even FoN was reading my blog. But it's pertinent, because guess what I saw crawling their icky selves all over my deck this afternoon? Time to call the exterminators...

I try to be a tree hugger, I really do. I grow a garden that is never that successful because I can't bring myself to thin out my plants; I think they should all get equal growing opportunities. I admire vegetarians (but I can't be one - if we weren't meant to eat cows, they shouldn't be so tasty). I try to buy organic, stay away from chemicals, recycle, reuse, live simply. I think everybody is equal and all creatures should be treated with respect.

Except for wasps.

Bees? See, bees I can respect. Bees are useful. Bees have honour. They don't sting you unless you totally deserve it, and when they do they at least have the common decency to promptly die afterwards. Even spiders, which are creepy and wrong and omigod nothing should have that many legs, have a purpose (eating the mosquitos, which in turn spread the West Nile many hypochondriacs so desperately need now that Chronic Fatigue is out of fashion).

Wasps are like the head cheerleaders of the insect world. Sure, they look pretty cool (look at one up close - most sensibly, one that is dead - and you'll see what I mean. Whoever designed wasps should be working for Porsche) but they're vindictive little bitches and they get more aggressive as the season draws to a close. And they always know to target whoever can do them the most damage.

It's pretty hard to believe in a cosmic balance when there is something that mean out there that can fly and inject venom repeatedly. Not only that, but it has friends. How fair is that?