Kids and Daiquiris

Healing the scars

2010-11-26T13:02:00.005-06:00

It’s been almost a year since I got out.

Interestingly enough, I haven’t thought much of that job in the last eleven months. In passing, here and there maybe. Usually accompanied by cold shutter and a scorching pain while my mind works overtime to push out the memories. I haven’t even been able to write about it until now.

It was this time last year that I accepted my current job and knew that I would eventually be free. Free!

I totally relate to those two journalists that were held captive in a North Korean work camp until Bill Clinton saved them. I was probably happier to escape than they were. I should email them to see if they would be into starting a support group or something.

I only have six more months to figure out how to get on Oprah after all.

Looking back now I realize my behavior during that last month when I had given my notice, but still technically worked there, was maybe a wee bit inappropriate.

I regularly left at 3:00 in the afternoon to go drinking. And told them I was leaving to go drinking.

For the obligatory $10 staff mystery gift exchange I wrapped up a photo of myself in a $10 picture frame and signed it “Merry Fucking Christmas”

Seriously – I’m not even making that up.

My coworkers were cool though. I consider them more ‘war buddies’ than ex-coworkers. No one who hasn’t experienced what we went through it could ever really get it.

The admin assistant was a scrappy chain smoker who is a dead ringer for Flo from the old TV show Alice. I totally regret not getting her to say, “Kiss my grits!” even once while I was there.

The Director was probably the most abused, and I’m pretty sure she has PTSD now. She stopped working there about six months ago and now just stays home, bakes bread and drinks.

The Community Investment Coordinator swore more than anyone I have ever met in my entire life. She could work the word ‘fuck’ into every sentence she uttered. Hearing her speak was a masterful arrangement of vulgarity at its finest.

I’ve been thinking about that brief period in my life a lot lately. I believe it is because I am far enough away from it now to appreciate the lessons I learned from my nine months at the worst job ever.

Only really glamorous skinny people can pull off dressing like they are in an episode of Sex and the City. When I do it, I look like an asshole. And I have to change into regular shoes after about an hour. Tops.

When one person is the world’s most colossal bitch complete with a massive inferiority complex, a drinking problem and a grudge to settle…. it makes it impossible to foster positive working relationships.

Yoga pants are not a good wardrobe choice for a professional meeting. Nobody with camel toe is ever taken seriously.

And I will never, ever, ever, EVER work there again.

EVER.

I hear it's big in the UK

2010-10-26T10:40:00.002-06:00

Don't you just hate it when you log-on all excited to read your favorite bloggers most recent post but then it turns out to be some bullshit 'guest' blogger? Yeah, me too.

Maybe I could just wall paper it with giant Post-its?

2010-09-28T05:38:00.000-06:00

Post-it notes are pretty much the best invention ever. Romy and Michelle were totally right to try and rip those off, because they rule. Do you know they have super big flip chart size ones now? That you can write on and they just stick to the wall? So you don’t have to fuck around with all that tape or sticky blue shit that ruins the wall you are trying to stick it on? They are awesome. And really helpful because I’m getting too old to throw down with hotel managers when my tape damages the ugly wallpaper in rented boardrooms.

Politica and her little ones come for a visit on Thursday and will be here for the whole weekend! Her hubby is taking a pass though. Something about me having an uncomfortable pull-out and him not wanting to be drunk all weekend. I blame the poor PR he has obviously experienced about my fair province's hospitality on the Saskatchewan pavilion at the Olympics. The entire pavilion consisted of a mural of a wheat field you could pose in front of for a picture……. and a huge bar. You’d think “have some toast and get your drink on” was our provincial slogan.

I am really concerned about how invested I am in Lindsay Lohan. I really want her to go to jail and stay there. It ruins my whole day when they let her out, and I honestly can’t figure out why I give a shit.

I think I have finally made the decision to redo my bedroom. The current décor is so heinous the word heinous doesn’t even come close to describing it. It's a cross between a six year-old girl's playroom and the tent that whack job kept Jaycee Dugard in for 18 years. The bed frame was so old and broken I finally just threw it out and now my bed just sits directly on the floor. We are still using the same dressers goodwill donated to us when we first got married and were so broke we made our kids take turns eating cereal using the same milk.

And the walls….oh god. I am having a hard time admitting this to the internet.

Okay…the walls are sponge painted baby blue and baby pink. As in, take a sponge, dunk it in pink paint and blop blop blop over EVERY wall. Take blue paint, repeat.

This room is SO bad that most people when they first see it offer to come over to help me paint it. Like, that weekend. And no, I have no idea why I haven’t addressed this earlier. It was like this when we bought the house FIVE years ago. But, a new day is dawning and I am going to redecorate the SHIT out of that room. Please forward any design inspirations. I need them. I’m actually not that creative.

But I can link up to a website like nobody’s business, so go on and visit Keely.

Put THAT in your pipe and smoke it, Blossom.

2010-09-24T06:00:00.001-06:00

I have stumbled across quite a few birth stories around these parts of late. Not to mention hearing about totally and completely insane things like this:

"There are those among us who believe that if the baby can't survive a home labor, it is OK for it to pass peacefully," she writes. "I do not subscribe to this, but I know that some feel that … if a baby cannot make it through birth, it is not favored evolutionarily."

That quote is from the woman who played Blossom on that sitcom......Blossom. Myiam Blachic. Okay, I'm pretty sure that is not how you say or spell her name, but I already looked up the quote and I'm too lazy to go back and look up her name. You know who I'm talking about - that chick who wore all the hats and had that brother who would randomly appear in scenes to say, "Whoa!"

She fancies herself a 'holistic mom' now. And clearly needs a new group of friends.

Are you shitting me with that quote? Those people shouldn’t be allowed to be parents. Period.

“Hi baby! I’m your mom. Nice to finally meet you. I hope you’re feeling okay, because if it looks like you might need some medical intervention I’m not going to give you any. I’m just going to stand by and watch you die.

Yeah, I know it’s a drag, but my massive inferiority complex has made me wrap my entire identity up in this insane doctrine that states in order to be a real woman I need to have a successful home birth. And unfortunately for you, logic and reason haven’t knocked on my door in an extremely long time.”

I think those people are from the radical fundamentalist sect that sprung from all the moms who gave me those looks of utter contempt when they would see me bottle feeding one of my babies.

But here is the thing. I desperately wanted to have a midwife instead of a doctor, but that option wasn’t available to me. I live in a province that only has one option for birthing children, and that’s the hospital and a doctor.

I desperately wanted to breastfeed, but try as I might, no matter how many tips I tried, classes I went to, lactation consultants I hired or herbs I took, I just simply did not produce enough breast milk to feed my babies. Even though I had three healthy pregnancies that produced three healthy children, I felt like a complete failure as a mother because I was physiologically unable to feed them.

My feeling of utter failure was fueled by people who would say ridiculous things to me like, “All women produce enough milk to breastfeed twins or triplets” (read: you are not trying very hard) or “You aren’t eating enough healthy food or drinking enough water and milk” (read: you don’t care about yourself or your baby).

My feeling of utter failure got so bad that each time I had to reach for that bottle I launched into why I am bottle-feeding, including my entire family history (I later discovered that my grandmother couldn’t breastfeed either), all the different diets I have tried, the herbs I’ve taken, the lactation consultants I have hired…..the whole nine yards.

In reality, I was just SO worried about people judging me for not breastfeeding because I didn’t want them to think I was uneducated or unconcerned about the health of my baby.

I have been accused of being….uh…outspoken from time to time, so I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who think I’m a crazy bitch. And mostly, I’m okay with that. In fact, I don’t really mind having a crazy bitch alter ego I can trot out whenever I cross paths with someone who is just begging for a verbal smack-down.

But when a certain tribe of people, the ones who believe in home births, and midwives and breastfeeding and parenting their kids without all the trappings of technology and intervention, look at me with scorn when they see me walking by with that bottle sticking out of my diaper bag, it really hurts my feelings. And it hurts my feelings because in reality, I just wanted to be one of them.

Which brings me back to my original point. Those dipshits who sit back and watch their babies die because they couldn’t bring themselves to cross the imaginary picket line full of women who don’t want to have a doctor intervene when it’s NOT necessary, are really just scared of feeling like they won’t belong to the real-moms club so they refuse their babies medical intervention when it IS necessary.

Which is really just making it harder on the rest of us women. THOSE are the people doctors point to and say,

See? Women can’t possibly be trusted to have their babies without us! They are deluded, irrational creatures that serve no purpose during the birth process other than to shut-up and spread ‘em. WE know better. Not women, and certainly not midwives.

And now we don’t have the best of any world. Women have been told repeatedly that home births are dangerous, midwives are unqualified, and trust me, Dear, you really want a doctor and access to emergency equipment at the hospital. You shouldn't listen to your own insticts. They are wrong.

And as a result many women (including myself) are left with horrific birth stories about doctors jamming unwanted IV’s into our arms, pumping us full of drugs we didn’t ask for, slicing up our lady parts when it’s just taking way too long for the baby to come out, or using machines to pull or suction our babies out of our bodies. And when all that doesn’t work? They slice our abdomens open and drag our babies out while we lay with gapping intestines on an operating table.

But guess what? There is a LOT of room between all that and letting your baby die on your living room floor because you are too proud to go to the hospital. Which, by the way, makes you a total fucking idiot who should be in prison.

The best thing anyone said to me when I was having so much trouble breastfeeding came from Politica, who happens to be a championship level breastfeeder. After talking to her endlessly about all the different ways I’ve tried to get my milk to produce she said, “Huh. Well, I guess it’s just not part of your biology”.

It was the ‘He’s just not that into you’ equivalent revelation to breastfeeding. Freeing, in fact. I wasn’t a total failure as a woman; my body just doesn’t produce breast milk!

So, to all of you expectant mothers….here is my gift to you.

Have your baby in whatever way feels right to you. Use a doctor, use a midwife, go to the hospital, stay at home.
Use drugs, stay unmediated, lie down or squat. Totally your call.

If some fuckhead doctor is doing something you don’t want or like, you are allowed to tell him to FUCK OFF.

If some patchouli smelling hippy chick in desperate need of an eyebrow wax starts giving you shit about giving birth in a hospital or using a doctor, you are allowed to tell her to FUCK OFF.

If you choose to bottlefeed, either by desire or necessity, you feel free to go right ahead and make that choice. It is yours alone to make.

I am officially leading the charge to stop judging one another. It’s not a contest, no one is right or wrong. Each individual woman knows best about what is right for her and her baby. Period.

Other than Blossom’s friends. They are still total fucking retards.

I think Naomi Campbell and Mia Farrow have somehting to do with that whole thing now too, right?

2010-09-23T06:12:00.001-06:00

I have a nine year old son named Jake. A few of you may know that already, but...hey. I'm not exactly Dooce so I figured a bit of a backgrounder might be in order.

Jake loves science, long bike rides around the block and hasn't hugged or kissed anyone voluntarily in almost seven years. I have to bribe him, usually with candy, if I want some affection out of this kid.

100% of the time.

Me: Hey Jake – you know my birthday is coming up next month, right?

No, I didn’t know that.

Me: Well, it is. Have you thought about what you’re going to get me?

No.

Me: It’s a good thing I told you it’s coming up then, right?

Yeah. I guess.

Me: I have some ideas about what you could get me!

Okay. What?

Me: I’d like some love please. Say….three kisses and five hugs.

NO WAY!

Me: Okay, fine. Then I want a puppy. Or diamonds. Yeah, I think that’s it. Love, puppy or diamonds. Your call.

Dad won’t let me get you a puppy in a million years.

Me: So, diamonds then?

Okay. I’ll go to Dollarama.

Me: I don’t think they sell diamonds at Dollarama. And even if they did, they probably wouldn’t be conflict free diamonds, and that is really important to me.

What is conflict free diamonds?

Me: I’m not sure, exactly, but I know they have something to do with war and bad people. And Leonardo Dicaprio.

Who is Leonardo Dicaprio?

Me: That guy from the Titanic movie who dates super models.

If he is in movies he can buy all the diamonds and it doesn’t even matter.

Me: That’s true. He is in a position to be picky about his diamond purchases. You, not so much.

I think you are too old for birthdays now anyway.

Me: I know! That’s why I asked for love. Only old ladies ask for hugs and kisses for their birthday.

I’m still going to Dollarama.

I can hardly wait until they grow up and I can go crazy old lady on their ass

2010-09-21T06:33:00.000-06:00

This week’s RTT is dedicated to my children and all the random shit they have destroyed in my house.

Here's the thing...they look really sweet and innocent – like kittens or those Mormon girls in the jean skirts. But in reality, I’m pretty sure my kids are minions of satan. Or this Not Me person whose singular focus is destruction. He probably has all three of them on retainer.

In no particular order -

1. The desktop computer – I do hold another minion of satan, the Disney Corporation, partially responsible for this one too. Every website they peddle has some kind of downloadable bullshit attached to it, and they use their mind-control techniques to force my children to download EVERYTHING they offer. And now every time I boot up, some cartoon princess pops up and tells me I need to be a good friend. Fuck you, Ariel. Like I want advice from some human-fish hybrid with daddy issues whose best friend is a lobster.

2. The keyboard – Not Me left the desk lamp on all night. This wouldn’t be a huge problem if it wasn’t also pulled down so close to the keyboard it melted all the keys left of 2WSX. My oldest explains it away by saying not having access to certain keys is just making her more creative and expanding her vocabulary.

3. The mouse and mouse pad – GUM . That’s all I have to say about that.

4. All of the lids to my pots – They have proved to be a solid stand-in when Not Me can’t find his Millennium Falcon. Or when more than one kid wants to be the drummer while playing ‘Rock Band’.

5. My COUCH. Yeah, you read that right. My oldest decided to straighten her hair in the living room while watching TV and left the straightener resting on the arm of the couch until it caught on FIRE. Good thing she’s pretty.

6. The light fixture above the kitchen table – Ohhhh….that one really hurt. It was a beautiful glass shade that was really big and fit the look of the kitchen perfectly. J was standing on the table waiting to pounce on one of the other minions and smashed it to bits with her head on the way down. And no, she wasn’t even hurt. I loved that shade. She didn’t even end up with a stitch or two.

I'm pretty sure when people first come to my house they feel like they just stepped into the ‘say hallo to my little friend’ scene from Scarface.

But without the giant mounds of cocaine and the awesome soundtrack.

Although sometimes I do like to wear my hair feathered like Michelle Pfieffer and call people ‘Mang’.

I think this post is over now.

Go see Keely.

I love that liquor is so cheap in America

2010-09-18T06:17:00.003-06:00

This July marked my in-law’s 50th wedding anniversary. The fact they have managed to hang in there for that long together without ever once having yellow police tape surrounding their house is impressive to me.

They decided to celebrate by having the whole family join them on their dream holiday.

To the Mall of America.

I’ve only been married for sixteen years, but if by some miracle we manage to make it to the 50 year mark, Minnesota is probably not going to be our celebratory destination of choice.

Nothing against Minnesotaians; they are our American doppelgangers who know exactly why we have a plug dangling out of the front of our cars and have transitioned ‘eh’ into the popular lexicon in the way god intended.

But the Mall of America? For the golden annivesary? After 50 years of marriage you’d think my in-laws would want to up their game a little.

However, I figure an anniversary of that magnitude buys the right to boss everyone around so I just rolled with the punches.

The punches being a 14-hour drive with three children.

Here is the problem - my husband has five siblings and NONE of them have small children. They either have teenagers, young adults or no children at all. So when they plan group events they don’t take into consideration stuff like asking our kids to sit next to each other quietly for the entire waking day is kinda like asking Hamas to lead the campfire sing-a-long at Hebrew camp.

I addressed this situation by buying enough candy to lull them into a diabetic coma and purchasing so much liquor at the duty-free store I was able to build a booze tower between the kids so impressive they couldn’t see or touch each other for the majority of the trip.

And all that liquor came in handy as a week with the extended family was a pretty tall order. Some of the highlights:

- My brother-in-law telling racist and homophobic jokes in public places to the horror of servers and patrons alike. I started writing little notes on slips of paper I could pass to random strangers that read, “I have nothing to do with this guy – I just married into this family and am being held hostage by tradition and obligation to my mother-in-law. She’s actually pretty nice. She makes cabbage rolls and plays the pan flute”

- Staying in a hotel that served gravy for breakfast and smelled like chlorine and old lady.

- My father-in-law barking at my 70 year-old MIL after she fell on the steps coming into the hotel - “If you think you need to go to the hospital, get in the car and drive straight to Canada”. Which, by the way, is a six hour drive from Minneapolis. NICE. You’d think someone THAT cheap would have sprung for travel insurance.

- Paying $9.00 for a slurpee at Valley Fair

Alright, it wasn’t all bad. We did get to meet up with my BFF from Winnipeg who just so happened to be passing through. We had lunch at a Burger King attached to gas station in some small town I can't remember the name of now. I had a Whopper Jr. with cheese.

And I discovered I'm not too fat to ride a roller coaster. That was good news.

But not even ONE time did we run into Prince. I spent all that time practicing my interpretive dance version of 'Raspberry Beret' for nothing.

If it’s another shitty winter I might just be in line for a Pulitzer.

2010-09-17T10:12:00.003-06:00

So, I took the summer off from blogging. There are a few reasons for that.

First of all, it was SUMMER. Living in a frozen arctic tundra such as mine, I feel obligated to spend the lousy three months of warm weather we get a year outside and NOT in front of a screen (unless it's to watch the new season of Big Brother, but even then I usually just record it to watch when it's raining out. This was kind of a boring season, don’t you think? I hated all those fucking people). Plus, I’m a lot happier in the summer. We’ve been hanging out at the lake, barbequing some steaks, drinking some beers, having a few parties on the deck...you know….FUN stuff.

As it turns out, carefree happiness doesn’t breed good writing material. I have had no motivation whatsoever to blog about a goddamn thing.

This morning I woke up and it was so cold in my house I had to turn my furnace on.

And it really pissed me off.

Random Tuesday - the one where I torture my husband with memories of the slammer, old boyfriends and tales of fantasy dogs.

2010-05-18T06:28:00.001-06:00

My teenage daughter got her eyebrow pierced while she was away for a week in Ottawa/Montreal with her school choir last month. Apparently the legal age for drilling holes in your face is only sixteen in Ontario. You know, I think it actually looks kind of cute. At least until the infection sets in and half her face rots off.

Note to skinny girls everywhere who are lurking behind me while I’m weighing myself at the gym – “OMG I just have to say that you TOTALLY don’t look like you weigh that much!!” is not actually a compliment. Thanks anyway though.

The Hubby just got a full-time teaching contract for next fall! Yay!! Employment and regular pay cheques are magnificent. I wonder if the bill collector lady misses me yet.

My husband refuses to accept my ‘confirm you are married to FoN’ request on facebook. He thinks that if people he works with see my profile his career will be over. So, he basically is refusing to marry me. Real nice, huh? I need to figure out a way to publish my blog url in his school newsletter. Holy crap, he would be SO mad at me! Even madder than the time he was arrested while driving my car because the plates turned up over $400 of unpaid parking tickets. Trust me, he was SUPER pissed about that one.

But holy crap was it funny.

Speaking of facebook, here is an interesting experiment.....go through all of your facebook friends and see how many of them you’ve made out with at one point or another. I have made out with at least four, and possibly six of my ‘facebook’ friends. Respectable, but not overly whorish considering I have about 150 'friends'. I honestly can’t confirm or deny the other two – cheap wine coolers have a way of obscuring accurate memory details. Four for sure though.

I’ve been thinking lately that I really want to get a dog. I know they are expensive, messy, time consuming and all around a giant pain in the ass, but I want one anyway. Besides, MY dog will be super friendly, non-shedding, non-jumping, wonderfully socialized and perfectly behaved at all times. He will also love kids, only bark at the bad people and clean up his own poop. So it will be fine.

That’s as random as I’m ever going to get, so now go see Keely and peruse the other indiscriminate bloggers of Tuesday.

Git.

We're back! And alive! And wondering if your Baba needs a job.

2010-05-14T16:28:00.004-06:00

Lena and I made it back in one piece from our little adventure west to visit Politica in British Columbia! It was a fabulous trip and Politica was a wonderful and gracious hostess that made sure I had all the comforts of home at my finger tips.

This, as luck would have it, meant the use of her full-time nanny.

At first I was a little skeptical about the whole nanny situation. I mean, really. How weird is it to have some woman come to your house to babysit your children? To have a whole other person show up at your house everyday and cook in your kitchen, and play with your kids, and fold the socks and shit like that? While I’m away at work? No thank you.

I would always come home assuming Rebecca DeMorney was going to turn up and bash me over the head with a shovel, seduce my husband and make my children call her mommy.

Then all of a sudden my house is clean, my husband is pluggin’ Rebecca DeMorney and my kids are all excited to tell their friends their mom is the hooker from Risky Business.

And me? I’ll be dead with a shovel stuck in my skull. No WAY am I going for that.

To make matters worse, it turns out Politica’s nanny is actually a blonde, leggy, 19 year-old girl with big blue eyes who smells like cinnamon heart candies and leaves a trail of sparkly pixie dust behind her everywhere she goes.

The minute I saw her I shot Politica the, “Are you out of your fucking mind?” look, but she didn’t even notice. She happily handed her little ones to Nanny and began her day quietly and immediately.

Hmm.

No crying, whining, or fighting about why you can’t wear your bathing suit to daycare?

No UN style- negotiation on what to pack for a snack or lunch?

No commute through five lanes of traffic trying to maneuver around that one asshole who stalled his shitty 1986 bitchin’ Camero right in the middle of the ONLY street that will get you to your destination?

That you’re already late for anyway because of all the shit that just happened while you were trying to get everyone ready and out the door by 7:00 am in the morning?

How about that. Maybe this nanny thing isn’t such a bad idea after all. I could totally see me getting used to it.

Although I would get a really ugly and fat one that smells like cabbage and doesn’t shave her legs.

Later Gaters

2010-05-05T21:25:00.005-06:00

Hey Everybody! Lena and I are checkin' out for a few days to go hang with Politica and her Homies in beautiful North Delta, British Columbia.

North Delta is one of the burbs of Vancouver. Kind of near Richmond. Hey...... that is where Captain Dumbass lives! I wonder if I'll see him? There are only about two million people in Vancouver and surrounding area.......and I'm there for six days.......and I have no idea what he looks like.

Hmmm.

I'll just ask all the cute, dark-haired little boys I see if their dad is Captain Dumbass.

Yeah, that should work.

Hmmm.

Maybe not.

I am the new, thin, totally awesome and solidly heterosexual head of the Games Committee.

2010-05-03T13:17:00.010-06:00

I may have been slightly misguided about the whole PTA thing. You know what they say when you assume, right? Quit being an asshole. It turns out the little army of PTA-ers weren't nearly as bad as I thought they were going to be. I think this whole parent council thing might just be okay. There were a few noteworthy events I hadn’t counted on:

1. There were two dads there. Yes, MEN are on this committee. Again, proving I’m kind of an asshole, I assumed that all the men in my neighbourhood kept their extra-curricular responsibilities to waxing the car, barbecuing meat and dicking around with the underground sprinklers. I was wrong; the dudes are totally representing. I’m pretty sure these guys are on the down low, but that just makes me love them more.

2. This committee gets to boss around the principal and they all totally love it. I’m not exactly sure what the back-story is on this one, but the principal is all ‘yes ma’am, right away ma’am’ with this group of parents. What ever the situation that created this dynamic, I’m ALL the way in. Considering this is the bitch that told me she didn’t think we needed to worry about Jake learning to write, having the power to make her dance whenever I want will be spectacular.

3. Ready for the best one?! The two women running this parent council? The president and the vice-president who are clearly the leaders of the group? They are both SUPER fat (I’m not saying that to be bitchy – I can call other people fat because I’m fat. That rule has already been clearly established by blacks and gays). And these women are the best kind of fat, which is fatter than ME. Now all I have to do is make sure I’m standing between them in the newsletter photo.

It turns out sitting on this committee won’t be that bad after all. Bitchy fat women and closeted gay dudes are totally my peeps.

Fat Chick Update

2010-04-26T06:37:00.000-06:00

I am sure that at least one or two of you have noticed I haven’t been providing Fat Chick updates lately.

Guess why?

Because I have lost all of my excess weight and I am now a svelte 125lbs. Food is no longer an issue for me, and my favorite meal is steamed white fish with a side of broccoli. I have learned to just LOVE the gym, and I go there so often that all the staff yell “FoN!” when I walk in the door. I always respond with some witty gym banter like, “Mornin’ folks! Is that a bosu ball you have there, or are you just happy to see me?”

In fact, I’ve quit my job and am going back to school to become a personal trainer, just like all the former fatties from the Biggest Loser.

Then I’m going to get famous and design handbags.

Because as far as I can tell anyone that is famous without having any specific talent at some point designs handbags.

The end.

Okay, everything included in the above might not be entirely accurate, but I wanted to live in that fantasy world for a few moments.

I’m still fat. I haven’t lost a single pound since fall.

I suck.

I have started seeing Trainer Lady again though. She seems to not give up on me, so that’s nice. The fact I pay her probably doesn’t hurt either though.

I love going to see Trainer Lady. She trains me without judgment, and for someone like her I would imagine that to be difficult. This is best demonstrated by the fact she’s in Las Vegas this week and told me at our last session she was mostly excited about going to Vegas to workout because she loves working out on vacation.

She and I don’t really have much in common.

And that’s probably a good thing. If it was up to me we’d blow off that whole exercise thing each week and go for beers and nachos.

The only problem I do have working out with Trainer Lady is that I totally SUCK at pretty much everything she asks me to do. I have no strength, I get winded after 30 seconds and I have the balance of a toddler.

I’m not really one of these people that needs to be good at everything - I suck at tons of stuff and I’m pretty much okay with it.

I can’t parallel park to save my life.

The best round of golf I shot ever was a 75. For nine holes.

It took me an hour and a half to ski down a 20 minute run while on vacation in February.

People know these things about me, and it’s all just fine.

The problem with Trainer Lady is that she ONLY sees me when I’m sucking at something. She doesn’t know me as anything other than the chick who she trains that sucks at everything.

But I’m good at stuff, Trainer Lady!

I would kick all y’all’s ASS at Donkey Kong (the Colecovision version circa 1985).

I can sing the entire harmony part to Simon and Garfunkel’s Bridge Over Trouble Water.

I almost always win at rock, paper, scissors. BAM! How to do you like me NOW? That’s what I thought.

It’s okay if she doesn’t immediately recognize my mad skills.

I'm a ninja.

A chubby ninja with no balance and limited cardiovascular ability.

I am going to keep going to Trainer Lady. And try this whole business AGAIN.

How else will I be able to eventually realize my dream of becoming famous hand-bag designer?

Exactly.

It's not like I'm Mary Louise Parker peddling a bag of weed or anything.

2010-04-19T15:05:00.009-06:00

I’m getting pressure to join the PTA at my son’s school. Now that the Hubby is a teacher he has decided that all the GOOD families have parents (read: mothers) on the parent council and, you know, participate in some way. He is also feeding me some bullshit about there being a conflict of interest about him joining the parent council.

I’m not sure how that works exactly since he doesn’t teach at our son’s school, but he swears to god that is some kind of rule somewhere and he needs to follow it.

Here is the problem – we moved about five years ago to the other side of the city, and it’s kind of the wrong end of town.

For people like us.

Our neighborhood has three types of people:

1. Stay at home moms who are always draped head to toe in Lu Lu Lemon and can go grocery shopping at 2:00 pm on a Wednesday afternoon;

2. Families who love baby Jesus; and

3. Super old people with gazebos in their backyard who have lived in the neighbourhood since Kennedy was assassinated.

We do not fit into any of the above categories.

I make the Lu Lu Lemon moms super uncomfortable because not only do I have to work, like, everyday, I’m fat. Fat, working moms are not on their radar. At. All.

I make the baby Jesus families uncomfortable because I deliberately fuck with them whenever possible.

See, I have this ‘multi-faith’ calendar at work which alerts me to the various holidays being celebrated around the world on any given day. For example, today is the first day of Ridvan, the Bah’i festival that commemorates the 12 days that Baha’u’llah spent in the garden of Ridvan during his exile in Baghdad.

I know, right?

Now if I happen to see one of the Jesus families walking their dog while I’m playing with the kids outside after supper tonight, I’ll call out to them, “Happy Ridvan!” and wave fanatically.

As for the super old people – I irritate the shit out of them because aside from the standard mow now and again, I don’t really give a crap about the state of my lawn. The old people, however, will mow their grass, rake up the mowed grass, get this crazy looking contraption out and, I shit you not, VACUUM their lawn. They average about 3 hours a day on that mo-fo. It’s actually a nice wind down to the day watching them go through all that effort for a patch of grass. I just sit on my stoop and eat freezies.

Where was I originally going with this? Oh yeah, the PTA.

I have been avoiding joining the PTA because in my neighbourhood I’m the crazy fat chick with the brown lawn who worships satan.

Nobody wants that chick on the PTA.

But, apparently at some point in the not so distant past I indicated on some shitty little form I wasn’t really paying attention to that I would be willing to volunteer for school special events. Really? I’m pretty sure the Hubby suckered me into this one somehow, because I totally do NOT remember signing on for that. However, I got a call today, from the president of the PTA herself, inviting me to a meeting Thursday night to discuss planning the annual ‘Hoe Down’ the school throws in June.

I told her that she’s lucky the meeting wasn’t scheduled for tonight because it’s Ridvan, and work is traditionally suspended on days 1, 9 and 12 of the festival.

Then I told her I’d see her at the meeting and to keep an eye out for me - I’d be the chubby one in the WalMart 'George' label yoga pants with with blue freezie stain dripped down the front of her tank top.

Blue is the best freezie colour, hands down.

They’re going to LOVE me.

A hundred bucks says he has the nazi symbol tattooed on his forehead. There just can’t be any other explanation for that hair.

2010-04-19T11:11:00.003-06:00

Who the fuck is Justin Beiber? Seriously, where did this kid come from? He interrupted my Juno awards last night (Canadian music’s version of the Grammys) with some horrible ‘Baby Baby Baby Baby’ song that included this kid with no forehead leaning over the stage singing to screaming 10 year-old girls while surrounded by huge black dudes trying to rap to this ridiculous song. Why is this kid even performing on the Junos? Shouldn’t he be guest staring on the Hills or dry humping Miley Cyrus or something?

Holy shit, is he….Canadian? No! He can’t be. Surely I would have heard about him before now if he was Canadian. I already feel bad enough about inflicting the world with Celine Dion, I’m not sure I could handle the shame if this twerp was Canadian.

And where is his mother? We ALL know how this will end – good ol’ JB will livin’ la vita-methamphetamine by the time he’s 21 and his ‘fan base’ is old enough to realize he kind of sucks.

I mean, here is the picture that was on MY wall when I was 13 years-old.

That didn’t really end so well.

I just googled him. Yes, Justin Beiber is Canadian. So was Corey Haim, as it turns out.

Attention Canadian mothers of cute, yet somewhat talentless children!!

Don’t whore them out for profit, okay? We get free health care; you don’t need the money that badly. Their mediocre singing and preposterous haircuts will eventually be discovered for what they are – a quick fad to bilk tweens out of their allowance and introduce them to the showerhead nozzle at an early age. Instead of sending your child on a self-destructive path that ends with dating Lindsay Lohan, how about you leave it with Junior taking the lead in the school musical and getting blown by a cheerleader in the backseat of his 1996 Ford Topaz.

Gonorrhea is way easier to treat than a heroin addiction.

You’re welcome.

Random Tuesday Thoughts - the best day of the week 'cause I don't have to think too much or come up with a witty post title.

2010-04-12T11:20:00.005-06:00

I have the BEST piece of gossip ever, but it’s impossible to share with anyone who would really care because then I would appear petty and….. well, gossipy. Which, we will know I am, but I’m still too new at my workplace for the rest of my coworkers to realize that. I’m still rocking my ‘I am a PROFESSIONAL’ vibe. Although I have finally abandoned wearing the heels everyday. Baby steps, people.

It was so windy here last Friday that they actually evacuated the tallest building downtown because it’s parkade was separating from the building and it wasn’t considered safe to be in any longer. The building in question is the government-run auto insurance place (the Canadian equivalent to the DMV). I wonder what percentage of people who work there were actually rooting for it to fall over?

I have to register my youngest for kindergarten this fall. Unlike the first two children, I can’t WAIT to unload this child on to the school system. She is the kind of kid school was made for, which is pretty remarkable because as far as I can tell the public school system only works for about twelve kids total, but Lena is one of them. I know EXACTLY the type of kid she’s going to be in school. Lena has a better than average attention span, she is smarter than the average bear, she is extremely manipulative and LIVES for being right. She’s pretty much going to be Reese Witherspoon from Election. But more importantly, she’ll be my little revenge for the school system totally and completely fucking over my other two children. How do you like THOSE apples, Matthew Broderick?

I love how the contestants on the Amazing Race speak Spanish to the people in Singapore.

My 16 year-old daughter is going on a six day school trip to Ottawa and Montreal tomorrow. There will be 90 students, and 8 adult chaperones. Anyone want to lay bets on how that’s going to go? 2 to 1 she looses her ID, 3 to 1 she gets caught sneaking out at night, and even money I get a call from one of the chaperones that starts, “Mrs. Fon? I have your daughter J with me…..”

My new coworkers are adorable. They are just so happy and good. Once one of them got upset about a problem with the database and swore at his desk (he sits within ear shot). He came and apologized to me later for “dropping the 'F-bomb'”. Isn’t that cute? Dude, I came from television and the Gaming industry. My delicate ears are okay with the ‘F-bomb’. I’m in HUGE trouble if these people ever find this blog.

Okay, I think that’s it for me. I don’t want to over do it on the RTT after such a long absence. Go see Keely at the Un-Mom to dig on some more scattered blogging. It's fun, you should try it.

Some say 'Controlling', I say 'Proactive'

2010-04-08T13:20:00.006-06:00

I decided when my children were born that I didn’t really want them to get married. I was not prepared to share any of them with some other random family who might eat mutton or open all their gifts on Christmas Eve.

I mean, what if my kids ended up with a skinny mother-in-law? She would be in the wedding photos all beautiful and thin and wearing a tasteful Marc Jacobs dress with open-toed sandals and a silk scarf just barely covering her arms because she’s so beautiful and skinny that she can go sleeveless and it’s July so it’s warm outside so she doesn’t even have to wear her scarf/wrap thing that much and then she’s on the dance floor with my son and everyone is smiling and clapping because it’s just such a beautiful wedding and “Wow, doesn’t she look great for her age!”?

That’s just not okay.

For obvious reasons.

But, the idea of grandchildren kind of appeals to me, and then there is that whole thinking around my kids being happy and in love and having a nice life with a partner who loves them and scratches their back before going to bed at night because it’s always easier to sleep after a good back-scratch.

So I’ve decided to arrange all my children’s marriages and force them to marry the children of my friends.

The only problem I see with this plan is that all my friends are really beautiful and shit so I would end up with the Marc Jacobs-sleeveless-dress-skinnier-than-me-in-the-pictures problem anyway.

But I could deal with it better if the skinny and beautiful MIL was one of my friends because then I would feel okay about sneaking my arm around their back and giving them bunny ears in every wedding picture.

No matter how gorgeous you are, no one can pull off bunny ears.

Problem solved.

So! Who to match up with whom? The first one is easy. My son Jake is betrothed to Politica’s daughter Mara. Mara is about four and a half years younger than Jake, but that’s only a problem now. I won’t make them start dating for another 20 years, which will make them 28 and 24 respectively which is far less creepy. They will date for three years and then they will get married.

I have only recently shared this news with Jake. He took it like a champ.

Me – You’re going to help me clean up the house today, okay Jake?

Jake – What!!? No way! Why do I have to help clean the house?

Me – You need to learn how to clean the house because I expect you to be a good husband to Mara.

Jake – I’m NOT getting married!!

Me – Well, not right now you’re not, but when you’re 28 and finished college and have a good job you’re going to start dating Mara. Then when you’re 31 and she’s 27 you’re going to get married and Aunt Politica is going to wear a really nice sleeveless Marc Jacobs dress to your wedding.

Jake – Okay. Whatever. I’ll marry Mara, but then you have to buy me a light saber.

Me – I’ll buy you a light saber, but only as a wedding present. You have to marry Mara first.

Jake – No, I need the light saber first.

Me – No deal. Marriage, then light saber.

Jake – Well MOM! I have to have the light saber first because I’ll need it to save Mara’s life because that’s how she’s going to fall in love with me!!

Good point, son.

I hadn’t thought of that.

I wonder what he’ll want when he finds out he’s going to have to convert to Judaism?

A retarded kid and a raging bitch walk into a bar.....

2010-03-30T10:30:00.003-06:00

Around the end of October this year my eight-year old son was diagnosed with Aspergers, which is a ‘high functioning’ form of Autism. He is on the ‘high functioning’ end of the autism ‘spectrum’.

Every time someone says that to me it feels like they are comparing my son to the newest technological equipment used for pap smears.

This diagnosis wasn’t totally out of the blue; there have been signs something wasn’t quite right since my son was a baby. He didn’t really communicate at all until he was two (he wasn’t even gesturing), and he didn’t use speech as his regular form of communication until he was three.

And then there was the tantrums. Holy good Christ, the tantrums. Four to six full-on, screaming screaming freaking out with the screaming tantrums per day. For any random thing.

He was kicked out of three daycares by the time he was three and a half years old.

For the most part, all of his behaviour problems were contributed to the fact that I was just a shitty mother. My son looked perfectly normal, therefore if I didn’t suck so tremendously at parenting him, he would just know better.

That was the position of my extended family, the daycare(s), the doctor, and even some of my friends. I was subjected to endless parenting tips because clearly, based on the behavior of my devil child, they were desperately needed.

But, deep down….I knew better.

My boy was not experiencing the world in the same way the rest of us were. He wasn’t just a spoiled little shit disturber, he was kind of ….stuck. What he saw, felt, heard and tasted was just different than the rest of us, and although we couldn’t see ‘it’, ‘it’ was often unpleasant for him.

I started calling for help, and found a fantastic organization called the ‘Early Childhood Intervention Program’. They are small and have no money (as evidenced by the fact they don’t even have a website I can link you to), but they are wonderful people who COME TO YOUR HOUSE and help teach you ways to play with your child that will stimulate learning and help remove communication barriers. And not once did any of my interventionists give me the, “wow, what a little bastard you have there” look.

I also was lucky enough to finally find a daycare that was up for the challenge my son brought them. They never considered the idea of cutting him lose because he was just too much of a pain in their ass to deal with. If they came up against a problem, they tried to fix it. Sometimes it would work, and sometimes it wouldn’t. But they didn’t give up on him and consequently, he had a place to go everyday where he felt safe and happy and was surrounded by people who didn’t just tolerate him, they loved him.

I look back at that time now as the two years of cease fire. We coexisted in this world without having to do battle.

Oh, how I wish I knew then what I know now. I would have enjoyed that peace a lot more that I did.

My boy had to leave that wonderful daycare to start school. I knew it wasn’t going to go well, so I tried to meet with the kindergarten teacher prior to school starting to debrief her on the ways and means of Jake. I wanted to give her a little history, and possibly pass on some ‘lessons learned’ from the daycare regarding how Jake needs to handle group situations.

The kindergarten teacher poo-pooed me and chalked me up to a nervous mom who was apprehensive about her son starting school.

Her - Oh, Mrs. FoN, I’ve been doing this for many years now, and they eventually adjust.

Me – Um, maybe….but…Jake has some communication and sensory issues since birth, and….

Her – You don’t have to worry about it now! He’ll be in great hands.

Me – I don’t doubt you are the most kick-ass kindergarten teacher since the chick from Romper Room, but there are a few behaviours you should be prepared for. The daycare….

Her – Really, we will do just fine. Have a good day!!

*hustles me out of the room*

Predictably, that same teacher called me four days into the school year. It wasn’t going that well. No shit? Hmmm.

Who would have thunk it, huh?

It was that phone call that started the fight I have had to wage and will continue to wage for the foreseeable future.

I knew Jake was on the autism spectrum, but I was really scared to be given that news.

Officially.

From someone with more credentials than Dr. Google.

But, I was repeatedly told from many sources that once a diagnosis was made all kinds of wonderful doors would open and a flood of services would be available at my finger tips and we would all live happily ever after. Just like all those autistic kids on television who are charming and oh so smart and who have families who learn a wonderful lesson about love by having their lives enriched by the unexpected gift they were given of their autistic child.

So I did it. I finally pushed for a diagnosis and I got one. Aspergers.

My biggest fear of all was that once my son was given that ‘autism’ label he would immediately turn from the rotten little kid who just has a shitty mother who never taught him manners, to the retarded kid who doesn’t need to learn to read anyway so let’s just teach him how to mop up the place. You know, a skill he really needs.

Unfortunately, I was right.

Since that faithful day in November we received the official news of Aspergers, I have been battling my son’s school in an effort to get them to focus on ANYTHING other than just his behavior. He is in grade three, and suddenly the focus is not learning cursive writing or times tables, but how to put up his hand before asking a question instead of just blurting something out. A useful skill, sure, but so is READING.

I would do anything to go back to people just assuming I’m a bad parent who indulges or ignores her son and that’s why he sometimes acts like a little asshole. I would have happily taken that bullet for the rest of my life if it meant others would be required to hold my son to the same standard they hold the ‘normal’ kids.

Now I fight. Every single day. To insist my son learns the same thing the other kids are learning. LEARNING is not his problem. Learning while surrounded by 25 screaming children, colourful posters, bells ringing, music playing, that sickly glue/vomit/lunchmeat smell schools have, and the teacher yelling over all of it….that’s his problem.

So he tries to deal. He tries to deal by putting his hoodie on and wearing his hood over his head.

Not allowed in school – it’s considered disrespectful.

So he crawls under the desk to escape.

Not allowed in school - what if ALL the kids wanted to crawl under the desk?

So he puts his arms around his ears and starts banging his head on the table.

Retarded kids do that kind of thing. What are you going to do, huh?

Why don’t we back it up a few steps and just let him wear the fucking hood? There is a big difference between wearing a hood in class as a way of coping and telling Mr. Vernon to Eat. My. Shorts.

And after you let him put on the fucking hood, teach him to read, would ya?

So, here we are. No longer little bastard with the shitty mother, but the concerned mother and the poor little retarded boy who lights up the world with his smile and has a wonderful future ahead of him greeting people at WalMart.

Fuck that.

So, the fight wages on. Now we have some new goals. Jake is going to get an education, and I am going to make that happen. And hopefully stay out of prison in the process.

If I go a super long time between posts you’ll know why.

No Lifetime movie moment ending here. Sorry about that.

That American Pie song is going to be in my head for weeks

2010-03-25T14:25:00.008-06:00

Remember summer camp?

Where everything was kind of extra fun, even the regular stuff that you would do all the time at home anyway?

And you felt like you had this little secret place that only you and your fellow campers knew about and only you and them understood what it was like to be at camp?

And even the kids there that were really odd and you would never consider hanging out with in real life were still cool to be with because they were part of the chosen few that understood your special camp world?

Even that girl with the back-brace and inhaler who picked her nose and started crying because her s’more fell in the fire?

The provincial government decided to close my summer camp yesterday.

I know I have bored the shit out of you with tales of my career woes of late (the new one is going very well, thanks for asking), but prior to April 1, 2008 I had a job that was so awesome it was like being at summer camp. For four years. I worked at a provincially owned broadcast station that helped tell the stories of my province, provided e-learning opportunities for students living in the north, helped emerging film producers launch careers and just generally kicked all kinds of ass. I loved the work, people, management, purpose, working environment..…..it was all just awesome. I even had a killer nice office over looking a garden.

I met people who I will be friends with for life working there. I also worked with serious weirdos, and I loved them too. I left my summer camp job for greener pastures in April of 2009, but that place and those weirdos are still really important to me. I consider myself one of them.

They were all laid off yesterday. Every last one of them.

The conservative government running this province doesn’t attach value to anything that doesn’t earn a dollar, so they decided to shut down my summer camp yesterday.

It was a cultural massacre, and my camp buddies were the casualties.

I don’t know why conservatives can’t support things that exist only to provide beauty and comfort. I don’t know why they want to destroy an industry that is full of enthusiastic young people who want to make a career out of telling stories and sharing our province with the rest of the country. I’m going to blame their parents. Clearly they were all raised by Joan Crawford because this fucking government represents everything that is soulless and wrong.

They took away my summer camp. In a few short days it will exist only in my mind, and my friends will be left scrambling to pick up the pieces and try to stay afloat.

Now my beloved camp will be just a story that will eventually fade away. Just like the broadcast network will.

I hope they don't go quietly, though. This fucker is on the air for another few days, so I am expecting some seriously funny shit to suddenly make it to my television set.

Heh.

This is totally accurate and EXACTLY what happened.

2010-03-08T16:12:00.002-06:00

I ran into an old friend at Wal Mart the other day. We’re ‘facebook’ friends, but we haven’t actually seen each other in real life in at least a decade or more. When I knew her she was very tall and strikingly beautiful.

She looks exactly the same.

Of course since it was just a quick Saturday trip to Wal Mart I looked like a homeless person.

This is how the conversation went:

Me – (cautiously waves)

Her – Smiling politely, waves back and stops in the isle, “Wow, I would have NEVER recognized you if we weren’t ‘friends’!!”

Me – “Ha, ha, How’s it going? These are my youngest, Jake and Lena.”

Her – “Oh, they are so cute! Where is the Hubby? Working?”

Me – “He’s at home, probably grading papers. He’s a teacher now”

(she didn’t know that because the hubby is super paranoid about putting anything on facebook and refuses to even acknowledge he’s my husband on there. So I started a blog. Heh.)

Her – “Oh, that’s nice. Your oldest seems like quite the firecracker from what I can tell from facebook!”

Me – “Yeah, she sure is.” So what have you been up to? Moved back, I see?"

Her – “Yes, moved back a while ago. It’s been great.”

Me – “It’s nice to see you again”

Her – “You too! Your kids are so cute. Better run. Bye!”

Me – “See you later!”

Isn’t that nice? Not really. Here is the sub-text transcript of this conversation:

Me: Ah, shit. There she is, looking striking and she’s coming my way. Doesn’t ANYONE else I know ever get fat? Fuck. I’m going have to acknowledge her.

Her: Why is that fat homeless chick waving at me? Oh, god! Is that,…..FoN?

“Holy SHIT! I could tell from your facebook pictures you put on a few, but I had NO idea! Is this for real? Seriously, are you really this fat or did Tyra Banks put you in a fat suit and hide a camera in your folds so you could record how people react to how totally HUMUNGOUS you are????”

Me: “Fuck you. Life hasn’t been a cakewalk and I eat my feelings, okay? Not everyone can be seven feet high and fifteen pounds you know.”

Her: “Yeah, I bet. I assume those two kids fighting over who gets to hold the mango are yours? Yikes. Good thing they’re cute. I assume you and whats-his-face broke up by now?"

Me: “As a matter of fact we got married and bought a nice little house in the south end. We both have great jobs and make a LOT more money than you. So, you moved back in with your parents after your marriage broke up, I assume?"

Her: “Yeah, but at least my kids aren’t saying ‘fuck’ every five minutes on facebook. You should be totally ashamed of your daughter. It’s too bad she can’t be like my kids. I’ve taught them to love Jesus and they are perfect in every way."

Me: “Well, your kids are 10 and 7, so call me when they’re teenagers and we’ll talk."

Her: “Hey, I gotta run and call everyone we knew from high school to tell them you’re a WHALE!! Bwwaaaahahahahahaha!!!!!"

Me: “Whatever. You’re divorced and poor”

THE END.

Just back for a quick sec to offend tons of people

2010-03-05T00:43:00.005-06:00

This is the funniest 'motivational' poster EVER.

I really do love Jesus. He thinks it's funny too.

God bless.

RIP 2009....

2010-01-08T15:20:00.004-06:00

Wow, it’s a New Year and decade – how do you like that? Before I launch in to my diatribe of my love/hate relationship with New Years (I actually have been writing, just not posting. Weird, huh? I’m a complicated soul), I thought I would reflect on 2009. It was a banner year in the old FoN household! I mean, it’s not like one of us won American Idol or anything, but a few pretty major things got checked off the giant ‘to do’ list of life. Here are some of the highlights -

January – I started blogging about my big fat ass in Fat Chick vs. Food, but what I remember most about that month is that it was so fucking cold I might as well have been living in the arctic circle. I came out to start my car each morning expecting penguins and polar bears to be lounging in the driveway. I bet there were a LOT of babies born in September around these parts, because you literally needed someone INSDIE you to stay warm. I was a miserable bitch that whole month. Freezing and starving to death (the new diet, remember) is a really bad combo. That must explain why most totally impoverished countries are hot; God didn’t want to be a total bastard.

February – After my application to obtain refugee status in Florida because of the unholy conditions I found myself living in was denied, I decided to pack up and go visit Politika in the much warmer province of British Columbia. The trip was awesome and aside from a 5 HOUR delay due to the fucking weather coming home, extremely successful. Guess how long you can keep a three year-old entertained in an airport? It’s significantly less than five hours, I assure you.

March – My career was not in a good place. While I loved my coworkers, it turned out that Jesus took over the head-honcho job at my workplace. Don’t get me wrong – I love Jesus as much as the next gal – but he should really just stick to curing leprosy and being a martyr and shit like that. Maybe a career modeling sandals or designing robes would be a good fit? A job as a walking tour guide, perhaps? But running a television station......not so much. I made the decision to move it along…..

April – So I jumped ship and joined a money-making government powerhouse and took a position coordinating the strategic planning and corporate reporting. I mean, who doesn’t love a job dripping in corporate bureaucracy? Nothing makes me wetter than having the exact same meeting, with the same people, discussing the same topic, over and over and over and over again, without actually ever accomplishing anything. Ever. Not even one time. Yeah….good call, FoN.

May – Fat Chick vs. Food commitment was starting to slip a little. I had dropped almost 30 pounds by this point, but summer was rapidly approaching and nothing confirms the imminent approach of summer quite like the lure of deck beer and meat on a stick. Each day the weather got warmer, my ‘fuck it, get me a pilsner’ attitude got a wee bit stronger.

June – Holy shit, this is the month that contains the day I never thought would actually happen. Ever. For SIX years, Hubby had been in school preparing to become a teacher. For all those years, everyone would say to me, “Don’t worry – it will go by fast”. Well, fuck you guys because that was the longest six years of my life. But in June, 2009, Mr. FoN donned the robe and graduated university. He was now able to mold young minds (read: indoctrinate them with left-wing socialist propaganda). I’m so proud.

July – Because we were a little light on funds this year, I whored out my family for a lake front cabin rental-for-trade for two weeks in July. It was a great vacation that taught my kids the value of a hard day(s) worked. That, and they better get their ass to university after high school and get a job making enough money to just pay for a holiday so they can skip all that yard work bullshit when they are older and want to go on vacation.

August – We returned from vacation to the grind of life. Then my daughter turned sixteen. This is pretty remarkable considering I’m only twenty-five myself. I also celebrated my 15th wedding anniversary. We were married on the playground during recess when I was in grade five, if you were wondering.

September – The kids returned to school, and Mr. FoN made his classroom debut. Godspeed, children. This is also the month it became clear to me I had made the wrong career move. Working for THE MAN is just not good for my street cred, you know? Resume building began in earnest.

October – We made our annual trip to Winnipeg, the bigger, meaner, dirtier version of Regina to see my mother. It was better than our usual trips to the ‘Peg. I got drunk and went shopping. Those things happened on two separate occasions; I didn’t get drunk and THEN go shopping. Although drunk shopping can actually be a pretty good time. Other than those silly ‘you puke on it you bought it’ rules stores seem to have. Pfft.

November – Have you ever seen the Simpsons episode where Homer saves up enough money to quit his job at the nuclear power plant in favor of his dream job at the bowling alley? Well, my bowling alley job went up for bid. A local non-profit culture organization posted an opening looking for someone to coordinate a new program they are developing that provides funding to children with social/financial barriers so they can participate in art and culture activities. Dance, music, theatre, writing, etc. Can you think of just the perfect candidate for that job? I’ll give you a clue…..she is a bittered government worker who feels like she’s trapped in a bad remake of GlenGarry Glen Ross on a daily basis. You are correct, it's ME! I sent them my resume by mail, email, messenger and carrier pigeon. Just to be on the safe side.

December – Christmas time! I love Christmas. I bought the most obnoxiously large Christmas tree you’ve ever seen, sang carols for the whole month, went totally overboard on the Christmas presents and put booze in my coffee every morning. Every day for the whole month of December. So I was a little tipsy when the non-profit group called and OFFERED ME THE JOB!! I start on February 1st. Thank, you baby Jesus, and happy birthday.

So, that was my year in a nutshell. What’s going to happen this year I wonder? I have some money for the first time in my life, so that should be pretty interesting. We have a couple of trips planned in the next few months, I’m going to start a brand new career, my husband will need to secure a new teaching contract, and in September my youngest will start her first year of school while my oldest starts her last year of school.

Oh, and I’m still fat so I guess I'll keep ringing the weight loss bell again for another year.

Sigh.

But, hey...I’ll do my best to keep you posted. HA! Get it?? I’ll keep you POSTED?!!

I’ll give up the bad jokes in 2011.

Fat Chick vs. Food Update

2009-11-30T15:25:00.002-06:00

Since I made my public declaration last week about reporting on the good and the bad in the fat ass department, I figured I better make good on that promise. Good or bad, I said I would blog about how I did with my three current goals. They were -

1. work out five times in seven days
2. no eating after supper
3. no booze

How did I do? Well, good and bad.

I did manage to make it to the gym for the first time in months, so that’s good. However I only made it there once when I promised myself I’d go five times, so that’s bad.

I managed to eat properly and lay off the snackage and beer, so that’s good. But I cheated three out of those seven days, so that's bad. But, in fairness to me I only drank beer one day out of seven.

I might have to stop here and preface this with the pronouncement that I am not a raging alcoholic, and knocking it off with the booze isn’t really that hard for me, provided there is no occasion closely associated with booze to contend with. The Grey Cup, for example. My team was in the championship game this weekend, so I was practically mandated by my province to drink beer.

Just as an aside, we lost in the worst possible way I’ve ever experienced in my whole football watching life. It was horrifying.

Anyway.

Let’s focus on some positives –

All of the occasions that I was eating like shit, I felt really guilty about it. I wasn’t rationalizing my indulgences like I have been known to in the past, telling myself a ‘deserve’ a treat because of stress, work, kids, etc. The whole time I was eating those chips I felt like a total failure, so that’s good right?

My guilt is in fact so pronounced that it has morphed into the most annoying bitch ever. She has taken up residence in my head and makes me feel like an asshole for not working out and eating garbage. I call her Pageant Mom because she is extremely judgmental, and is all, “Does your ass really need another one of THOSE?” when I’m eating something crappy. I hate her. She’s blonde with fake tits and for some reason has an American accent – one of those Texas/Georgia/Louisiana type accents. She wears a lot of glittery shirts and way too much blush.

Let me apologize right now to all of you Americans who are completely insulted by me stereotyping my split personality (I can’t help it – she just appeared that way), as well as the lumping together of probably three totally different accents. I’d love for you to hear her voice so you could identify what specific region she belongs to for me, but that would be difficult since she is, you know…imaginary.

I think this post has come off the rails a bit.

Let’s refocus.

A new week is upon me, and I am going to do my best to get Pageant Mom to shut the fuck up. My beloved boot camp class starts up again tomorrow, and this time there is a competition, a la the Biggest Loser – whoever loses the most percentage of weight wins SIX free sessions with Trainer Lady! She don’t come cheap, so I am totally in it to win it.

Wish me luck.

Run out and buy stock in A5-35 immediately

2009-11-26T16:43:00.006-06:00

It looks like we are going to take a family ski trip to Banff this year in February! For those of you unfamiliar, Banff is a gorgeous little resort town at the foot of the Rocky Mountains in Alberta that specializes in soaking every red cent out of anyone who visits. The town is so beautiful that you literally gasp whenever you set foot outside – every single time. The Banff area businesses take full advantage of the tourist’s wonderment because the cost of doing anything in that town is at least three times higher than doing it anywhere else. I once ordered a club sandwich and a coke at a Banff restaurant and my bill was $32.

However, we found a pretty good deal on accommodations at a little condo/resort type place about 5 miles from town and last week we confirmed our reservation. We’ll also be able to drive there from here, so all and all it shouldn't be too bad on the ol’ pocket book.

We are going to go skiing.

Me and skiing have somewhat of a sorted past. Unlike many of my friends who grew up in this country, my parents never took me anywhere so I never learned how to ski. I’m also not exactly the most naturally athletic or graceful person you’ve ever met, so at first glance skiing shouldn’t really be my thing. But, much like interior decorating and penning the next literary masterpiece, I have the desire to be good at it, but I’m not really.

I have baby pink plastic venetians hanging in my living room. And, you have clearly all read this blog.

Just call me Solieri. No, I don’t think that is entirely accurate. Solieri was good just not great. Call me Solieri’s nerdy little cousin who sucks at stuff.

The last time I went skiing in Banff was when I was sent there for a work conference about two years ago. When the conference was over, Politika flew in from Vancouver and joined me in Banff for a weekend getaway that did not include any husbands or children. Not knowing what do to with ourselves under such circumstances, we considered trying to get some of our Banff-jacked money back by hitting the bar to get hammered and dance topless for rich Japanese business men. But, good judgment and a fear of leaked facebook pictures managed to prevail and we decided to go skiing instead.

Politika can ski quite well (of course she can), and I…..I had a new jacket. So, after a lovely breakfast buffet at the hotel we loaded our stuff onto the bus and headed out to the gigantic mountain prepared and contented to strap skinny boards to our feet and hurl ourselves down the slopes at lightening speeds with little precision.

I like to take a ‘ski a little’ ‘drink a little’ approach to skiing. Since I’m not that great at it, the entire time I am on the mountain every muscle in my body is so rigid I’m bordering on rigamortis.

And don’t try talking to me because my mind is singular in its focus and determination to stay alive.

As you can appreciate that gets a little tiring, so after a few runs I like to have a beer or two. And no, it doesn’t matter if it’s only 10 am.

Politika is very nice and humoured me by slumming it at the green runs now and again, but mostly she was swooshing down the quadruple black double mogul plummet-to-your-death-at-any-moment runs. Of course she was.

All in all it was a lovely day and I only had one near death experience, but I was saved by a charming and handsome Aussie who rescued me from the clutches of my extremely uncooperative ski bindings and helped me limp by tired ass down the mountain. I was seriously considering resurrecting the dancing topless plan to express my gratitude, but alas, he just wanted to continue skiing. It was a little cold out for that kind of thing anyway.

We made it back to the room alive and I think we even ventured out that night for a bite to eat. Everything was just fine until the next morning.

OH MY GOD. My legs have never, ever, ever hurt that much in my whole life. I felt like the ‘I’ve fallen and I can’t get up’ lady. I was pretty sure that while I was sleeping someone had drugged me, split my legs open and practiced tying intricate boy scout knots with my leg muscles.

For the next solid week, whenever I was confronted with a flight of stairs I would retreat and decide that wherever I was originally intending to go could live without me. My two kids who have bedrooms in the basement? They could have been hosting raves and Texas hold ‘em tournaments down there and there was nothing I could have done about it.

It was way bad.

So! Skiing again for me in February!

I’m bringing some morphine and a flask of weed-laced moonshine this time.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week..... ah fuck it

2009-11-23T15:14:00.003-06:00

This whole diet/exercise plan thing has come off the rails a little. Okay, a lot. Okay, almost completely. Most of my new ‘I’m skinny now!’ clothes have now gone back to their oh-so-familiar home at the top of my closet. They are out of the way enough that they are not taking up valuable moo-moo space, but still close enough that they mock me every time I open my closet door.

Sigh.

It was pointed out to me a few weeks ago that I was far more successful at dropping the pounds when I was blogging about the whole being fat thing on a regular basis. That is true, but it’s kind of a chicken and egg thing. I stopped blogging about it regularly because I wasn’t really doing anything positive in that area, and reporting that I just plain ol’ sucked AGAIN each week makes for some tedious reading. That, and well…I’m not super proud of the fact that I fell off the diet wagon. Again. For about the 459th consecutive time.

So, good or bad I’m going to start blogging about my big fat ass again each week. I swear I mean it this time. I pinky swear. I even best-friends-forever swear. I just spit on my palm and wiped it on my monitor and everything.

I’m starting with a new sense of resolve today after having a horribly indulgent weekend covered in football, beer, and all the good food that goes so well with football and beer. Our team won, by the way, so I now have next weekend to contend with too, as our beloved Saskatchewan Roughriders are going to the Grey Cup on Sunday (for all you Americans, the Grey Cup is Canada’s answer to the super bowl). I really hope those fuckers win, otherwise my football, beer, and all the good food that goes so well with football and beer weekend will have all been for not.

There is an upside - the whole city is freaking right out about our football team and therefore huge jerseys are practically a mandated uniform right now. That is a great deal for us fat people.

So! Instead of announcing my poundage lost like I did the last Fat Chick reporting cycle, I’m going to adopt weekly goals/challenges for myself and report back at the end of the week on my progress. Trainer Lady (she has a website now – go check her out!) is on vacation this week so I set the following goals knowing I will have to live without her -

1. Work out five times in seven days
2. No eating after super
3. No booze

Just those three goals. Short…..sweet…..simple. I can do it.

Does a milkshake count as ‘eating’ after supper?

Careful with dem dare status updates y'all....

2009-11-18T20:42:00.003-06:00

I have a sixteen year-old daughter who is currently in a "complicated" relationship with her "boyfriend" of a year. There are a lot of "quotation marks" flying around when she speaks of their relationship. For the most part, it's pretty much the same shit I remember dealing with when I was a sixteen year-old "in love", but this generation has the internet to contend with.

Social networking brings a whole new layer of bullshit to a relationship. To that end, I am posting a video that is nothing short of genius. This gets a straight up LMAO yo.

To all the lovers out there.........

The bird dance and inappropriate groping is my idea of a good time.

2009-11-09T12:58:00.007-06:00

I went to a wedding this weekend. God I love weddings. Everyone is just so fucking happy. It’s really the only place where it’s sociably acceptable to get drunk on cheap liquor served in plastic cups and squeal like a twelve year-old girl at the Twilight premiere when the Macarena starts up.

The traditional cast of characters at a wedding doesn’t really change no matter who is getting married. You have the relative that drinks way too much and either dances like a total asshole or starts a fight with someone – he’s usually worth the price of admission right there. Then of course there is the older woman who you can tell probably used to be attractive, but now is sporting a terribly unfortunate outfit and is still under the impression she is very hot in that short, low cut, strapless ensemble that is embarrassing the SHIT out of her teenage son.

The bridesmaids are always fun to watch – half of them are all about fixing the bride’s dress when it bunches, making sure the photographer is adequately documenting the day, etc. The other half are getting shit faced and trying to decide which groomsmen they are going to let feel them up in the coatroom.

I for one always beeline to the first gay guy I see and immediately make him my friend. Gay dudes are hands down the best wedding companions. They like to check out the outfits and hot guys just like a girlfriend does, but they bring the added bonus of being able to do a little bathroom re-con and report back on who’s packin’.

Oh shut up - like you never use your gay friends for evil.

Sadly, nary a queer was in sight this weekend and I was flying solo. I ditched the assigned seating chart about five minutes after the ceremony was over when I quickly realized that Cutie Pie was flying solo too and then spent the evening as his pseudo date. I really miss that guy. Aside from the fact that it’s hard to look at him without wanting to lick his face off, he’s just an all around cool guy. He’s kind of quiet and seems perfectly content to deal with my incessant drunken chatter which makes him the perfect date, really. You know, if neither of us were married and in love with other people* (and I was ten years younger and fifty pounds lighter)……..let’s just say I wouldn’t need my gay friends to follow him into the bathroom. Anyway….where was I? Oh yeah…weddings.

I have two close friends (*cough* KEELY and CARRIE) who should be planning their weddings as we speak but seem content to go against everything that is holy and just live in sin. Clearly they are not thinking of baby Jesus. Or even more importantly, ME. They know how much I love weddings! Why can't they simply acquiesce to my wishes and just get married already? Don’t they realize how much I would add to their wedding? I am the perfect candidate for acting the cool aunt and getting the 13 year-old cousins drunk. And who would be better at leading the drunken loco-motion around the room? I’m even up for hauling all that leftover pizza from the midnight buffet to the gift opening the following morning to the delight of all the hangovers.

I'm even willing to be dressed in a hideous pea-green monstrosity covered in lace with a huge satin bow on my ass. Provided it allows proper access for coatroom groping, of course.

*cute ex-coworkers aside, I love the hubby more. And he's AWESOME at making out in coatrooms. The Hubby, not Cutie Pie. I mean, I'm sure CP would be good at making out in coatrooms too, but you'd have to ask his wife about that.

Welcome to Holland

2009-11-05T23:13:00.003-06:00

We got some tough news today. Nothing life threatening, and nothing I was totally unprepared for, but tough none the less. I'll write about it in more detail maybe someday but not today.

I wanted to write something tonight, but I wasn't sure exactly what I wanted/needed to say. In my haze of frenzied googling I stumbled accross something someone else wrote that sums up perfectly how I feel. I have no idea who she is, but I'm going to turn it over to her anyway.

So....take it away Emily Perl Kingsley -

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.
After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland." "Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met. It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss. But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.

Just da facts, Ma'am

2009-10-28T17:52:00.005-06:00

I know I have been largely absent lately, and when I do show up I seem to be toting an agenda, but hey – it’s my blog so lump it.

There has been quite the lively debate on this continent lately about the H1N1 virus, specifically regarding the ol’ chestnut of whether or not to vaccinate. I am a largely suspicious person. I don’t just blindly take at face value what the medical community tells me. I learned that lesson when I helped my father die of cancer three years ago. If I didn’t ask the right questions or push for a real answer or make them show me the fucking DATA, they were perfectly happy to just let him croak because they needed the bed for the next poor sop they were keen to ignore. It’s not like I THINK they are out to get me, I KNOW they are out to get me.

Luckily for me, I have Politika. She is a masters degree educated research epidemiologist (gnarly contagious disease enthusiast) who has spent the last 10 years researching infectious disease, specifically influenza. Besides the impressive credentials, I have known Politika for 20 years, and she is nothing if not a critical thinker. Putting the science stuff away for a second, she is also a tree-huggin’ organic food eating vegetarian who doesn’t let her kids watch violent cartoons (raising a kid without hotdogs or batman seems just plain wrong to me, but whateva). Let me put it this way – when I was pregnant the second I went into labour I drove immediately to the hospital and ordered a double epidural on the rocks with a twist of morphine. Politika delivered her babies in her living room with a midwife. Then they all ate a tofu salad and started folding cloth diapers made out of hemp. She is far from a ‘western medicine’ flag waver.

Politika strongly believes I should get my whole family vaccinated.

We all have been bombarded with information, some true and some not on this issue. We’ve all heard the stories or watched a you tube video about people having bad reactions to vaccines or getting really sick from them or even dying. Has that happened? Probably. But I look at it this way – not getting immunized is like refusing to wear a seatbelt because you once heard a story about a car wreck where someone died because they were trapped by a seatbelt that wouldn’t release. Has that happened too? Probably. But I think we can all agree that the risk of dying because you’re NOT wearing a seatbelt is WAY higher than the risk of dying because you ARE wearing a seatbelt if you happen to crash. There is a chance that you could go your whole life without ever having a car accident. You might get into a few fender benders and live to tell the tale about how you don’t wear a seatbelt and still just walked away when some asshole rear-ended you. Or, you could roll your car when it was raining one night and die because you went flying through the windshield. Smell what I’m steppin’ in?

Therefore – I urge you to read the below. Politika has written this. This is factual information from a trustworthy source. This source is not trying make money, or pass a health care bill or kill your grandma. It’s long and sciencey, but this disease could kill you and your children, so it’s important you have the correct facts when making a decision.

H1N1 Vaccine Information - The vaccine is an adjuvanted inactivated influenza vaccine. The adjuvant basically gives the immune system a 'boost', which means that the vaccine itself can use less antigen (the influenza part). So whereas a normal, seasonal influenza vaccine shot contains 15ug (micrograms) of antigen per strain, this vaccine uses only 3.8ug of antigen. The antigen is an inactivated virus; the virus has been killed, then smashed into tiny pieces (the myth that you can get influenza from the vaccine is like expecting to get an egg from ground chicken).

The adjuvant is called AS03. It's a squalene-based adjuvant; squalene is a naturally-occuring oil, it's mixed with water and tocopherol (vitamin E). We are not entirely sure why adjuvants work, only that they do. The research indicates that with this adjuvant, it works only if it is delivered in the same area as the vaccine. Ie, if you were given the antigen in one arm and the adjuvant in another, the adjuvant wouldn't have the desired effect. This speaks to the fact that it is not a systemic reaction, but is more of a local reaction (which should allay any concerns that it's going to wreak havoc in other parts of the body or with other body systems).

The vaccine comes in multi-dose vials, which means that it does have thimerosal as a preservative. Thimerosal is considered the best preservative we have when it comes to vaccines. The amount is very small (5ug thimerosal per dose). It is a mercury derivative (2.5ug mercury per dose), but it is worth pointing out that (a) the amount of mercury is less than what you'd get in a tuna sandwich, and (b) it's ethyl mercurcy - which is metabolized quickly by the body (half-life of <1>

There has been much attempt to determine whether thimerosal causes any neurological damage (eg, autism), and there have been NO studies that have found any link. The authors of the one study that started all the concern, because it did find a link, have since recanted and have acknowledged that they should never have drawn the conclusions they did from the data they had. Thimerosal is considered safe by all public health bodies that have examined it (including the WHO, CDC Atlanta, Health Canada, EMEA in Europe, etc.), and they have all examined it thoroughly. The adjuvant, while relatively new, has been part of a research program for a few years now. Over 40,000 people have been exposed to it in clinical trials, and the safety profile is considered acceptable (which, in science-speak, means there are no safety concerns).

People may find that they experience slightly more injection-site pain than with other vaccinations, maybe even a bit more fever/feeling a bit lousy for a day, but this is to be expected, because of the 'boost' being given. We are trying to induce a stronger immune response. These side effects are WAY more mild than even mild influenza infection. The potential bad systemic side effects (serious infection-site swelling, high fevers, anaphylactic reactions, etc., etc.) seem to be no different from with any other vaccine, which are extremely minimal. The occurence of very rare side effects won't be known for sure until mass vaccinations are happening (e.g., Guillan-Barre Syndrome, which is a concern because of the experience in 1977, has a background rate of 1/million, which means that we won't know if the vaccine causes more until a million or more people have been immunized. That being said, among the 40,000+ people, there is so far no indication that any such severe side effects are going to be a problem).

The effectiveness of this vaccine so far seems to be in the high-90% range, compared to 70-90% for seasonal influenza vaccine.

Dem da facts, Jack.

Something else to love. Other than Neil Young, that is.

2009-10-14T11:25:00.007-06:00

We up here in Canada have thanksgiving in October. I’m not sure why it’s celebrated at a different time of year than the States. Maybe we like to spread our holidays out a little more. Or maybe we really need that full seven weeks of hearing the elevator music version of ‘Frosty the Snowman’ every time we set foot in a mall and a November thanksgiving would just steal thunder away from the more revered Christmas. Whatever – all it means to me is that I get an extra day off in October.

The last few years we have spent this holiday traveling to Winnipeg to see my mother. Winnipeg is about a six hour drive from where I live, but I have three kids and to do that drive anymore than once a year would be downright masochistic. There is literary NOTHING to do or even look at. It is six solid hours of bald-ass prairie. But, being the dutiful daughter than I am, I feel it necessary to make an appearance in Winnipeg at least once a year and I usually choose thanksgiving.

I was born in Winnipeg and lived there until I was fourteen and my father got transferred to Vancouver. We were only in Vancouver for about six months when he was transferred again to Saskatchewan where I have lived ever since. Since I was still quite young when I settled in Saskatchewan, I consider it home more so than Winnipeg. So whenever I return to Winnipeg I always feel this mixture of nostalgia and disgust. I fucking hate Winnipeg.

I was a nerdy kid who was socially awkward and desperately wanted to have friends and be cool and be good at stuff. I wasn’t athletic, my grades were mediocre, I tried to be good at music but really wasn’t and I had no real hobbies or interests that I could attach myself to. I had two friends in elementary school and the rest of the time I had to duck and weave the verbal and physical attacks hurled at me on a daily basis (I'm talking to YOU, Rob Morese). My cousins were older and cool and had no interest whatsoever in dealing with me. I have one brother but he is almost six years younger than me so he didn’t really factor in to my life that much. My parents traveled a lot and when they were home they couldn’t wait for me to be ‘filed’ each night (that’s the word they used when it was time to put me to bed). They practically high-fived each other every night when I was finally out of their hair. I always wondered what the hell they did each night that they couldn’t do while I was around. Closet drug addicts? Sex fiends? Satan worshipers? Was Jacee Dugard chained up in our backyard? Who the fuck knows what they did each night, but it had to be something because they spent a lot of time figuring out how to get out of dealing with me.

Anyhoo, this really isn’t a ‘poor me’ post; I know everyone has their stories of bullshit they’ve had to deal with and many are far worse than mine. I just had to give you a little background on why I hate going to Winnipeg. It drags all that shit up for me and I prefer to leave it buried nicely under a giant piece of chocolate cake where it belongs.

While I was in Winnipeg this weekend I did have a chance to see a friend I hadn’t seen in a very long time. Our parents were friends so we sort of grew up together. Now she was cool. She was very smart and got great grades and was even in French emersion so she could speak A WHOLE OTHER LANGUAGE. She had beautiful long blonde hair and could swim forever and could ride a bike super fast. She was good at everything. She was very popular and everyone loved her and she even had three sisters which I badly envied. For some bizarre reason she liked me and was willing to be my friend. As kids we saw each other periodically throughout the school year, but we didn’t attend the same school and since she was so wildly popular and fucking good at everything she rarely had anytime to just hangout. But our parents would vacation together every year so each summer she was mine for two whole weeks!

We kept in contact into our early twenties, but work and life took over us both and we fell out of touch. She of course went off to dazzle everyone with her fabulousness (as a physiotherapist living in Minneapolis treating the Twins baseball team), and I took a job pushing paper, bought a house four blocks from where I grew up, married my high school sweetheart and had a bunch of kids. Natch.

Thanks to the invention of social networking, we have been chatting via facebook and made a plan to get together while I was in town for the annual pilgrimage. For various reasons she has recently moved back to Winnipeg and came over for some drinks with her new beau Saturday night. He’s cute, and very well behaved. He must really love her because he sat back and calmly watched us get completely shit faced on red wine and didn’t bat an eyelash.

It was really good to see her. I still have very few positive things to say about Winnipeg, but least now I have someone to share some good memories with (read: get drunk and giggle) when I’m there.

And yes, she is still fabulous. And still wants to be my friend. Cool, huh? I wonder if she could get me some baseball tickets…..

I'm a Gypsy

2009-10-13T05:04:00.000-06:00

Hi there! I'm not really back, I'm just kickin' it over here for the day.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week Four

2009-09-21T18:37:00.002-06:00

I wasn’t able to get to my fat lady boot camp classes as planned because it was a very busy week at work and I had to work some evenings. This means I’ve missed two classes and I’m worried the other fat ladies won’t accept me now. Then I’ll be the loser who will be standing there alone when it’s time to pick a partner. That means I’ll have to pair up with Trainer Lady and next to her I look like Dom Deluise in girly workout clothes. Minus the beard, of course.

Speaking of Trainer Lady, she’s pretty fucking awesome. I don’t even have to suppress the urge to make fun of her, because while yes, she’s is iddy biddy and probably needs to wear weighted shoes when it’s windy outside, she somehow manages to never make me feel like a big fat person she feels sorry for. I like that about her. I’ve known other fitness crazed people in my life, and pretty much all of them were raging douche bags or mindless bimbos who would say the snottiest things ever and then try to wipe it all away with an extremely insincere, “Just kidding!”

The other amazing part about her is the never ending bag of crazy exercise tricks she’s got up her sleeve. Every time I see her she’s got some new horrible, yet beautifully effective (read: torturous) exercise for me to do. I’ve never been able to stump her, and it’s hysterical because she LOVES that shit. I have a theory that she really wanted to be a dominatrix but decided to go into kinesiology because she needed a profession she could tell her parents about.

So, I guess what I’m saying is that if you happen to be in the south Saskatchewan area, and you are fat or gimpy or both, get a hold or Trainer Lady. She’ll whip you good.

Probably not in *that* way though.

One step away from keeping a dog in my purse

2009-09-17T21:17:00.005-06:00

I used to work for a community development organization. I would help poor people buy houses, prepare for jobs, build relationships and improve their lives. I would raise money for community economic development projects, set up co-operatives, guide volunteers and organize community leaders towards working for the people in their neighbourhood. In their neighbourhood. In their neigh-bour-hood HEY

Today I finished up what was supposed to be a two day meeting a half a day early. Since I was sure the meeting would go most of the day, I had ordered lunch for everyone. Consequently, there was a lot of food leftover since most people jumped ship as soon as the meeting was done.

I thought it would be a nice gesture to take the leftover sandwiches and veggie tray to the mission. So I packaged up the food, jumped in my car and drove to the ‘hood to feed the poor. Aren’t I thoughtful?

I arrived at the doors and got out of my 2008 Nissan Pathfinder SUV wearing my business suit and heels. I opened the hatch and moved my golf clubs out of the way (they were still in there because I spent Monday afternoon golfing in a corporate golf tournament on a beautiful private course), and took the food into the building.

There were a couple of people sitting outside of the doors having a smoke and they smiled politely. I walked in and handed the food to the first staff person I saw, and they thanked me politely.

Then I got in my giant SUV and drove back to my office located on the top floor of my tall downtown office building.

I felt like a complete asshole.

The definition of obnoxious - dropping sandwiches off at the shelter in an SUV and having to move golf clubs out of the way to get the food out. While wearing heels and a suit.

How did I get here? When did I move from making fun of ‘those’ people to being one of ‘those’ people?

Seven years ago I was the one smiling politely to the business suit people when they decided to slum it for an hour and make their way to the ‘hood to drop something off they felt the poor and withering masses needed or wanted.

Now I am the one being smiled at.

The trade off, of course, is ease of life. I left working non-profit because in order to work for poor people, you have to chose to be poor. In 2008 I paid more in income tax than I earned while working community development in an entire year. It was too hard to be poor. I had the ability to get out..... so I did.

Most poor people can’t get out of poverty whenever they like. Most of them have to battle through addiction, mental health problems, abuse, racism, a long family history of poverty and a complete absence of education or opportunity. I didn’t have those barriers, so I was able to change my circumstances a lot faster than most people can.

So, I left them and moved on up to a de-luxe apartment in the sky. It’s much more comfortable up here. I really like having a car – grocery shopping without one when it’s 40 below really sucks. I love being able to buy new shoes when I want them. I like taking my family on vacation and feeding them whatever I feel like cooking that day. We even go out for dinner from time to time.

I’m grateful for all of this, but….. today just kind of sucked. I miss the poor people. I feel like I have abandoned them. I miss doing something that really matters with my days and I fucking HATE the fact that I’m one of *those* people now.

Yeah, I know I can volunteer, but it’s really not the same. Working on the ground and being a real member of that community is what I miss. I want to be sitting on that step smoking a cigarette and smiling politely to the suits as they show up to donate some random thing in order to balance their karma and get into heaven.

Sorry, this post was kind of a bummer. I’ll try to be more entertaining tomorrow.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week three

2009-09-13T18:56:00.000-06:00

I haven’t had the best week, but I think I’m slowly getting back into the habit of not eating like later-years Elvis. I had a few wins (Trainer Lady kicked my ass on Wednesday. I deserved it), and a few loses (a friend I hadn’t seen in 8 years was in town for a visit this weekend and I indulged TOO much).

My fat lady boot camp class starts this week, and I’m pretty excited about it. Well, about as excited as I can get about something like that. I guess I’m looking forward to getting involved with something that might help me look less like Marlon Brando. That might be a more accurate statement.

There are a few things I have found along this little journey that I have found REALLY helpful. First of all, has anyone heard of this? http://www.sparkpeople.com/

It’s a really great FREE site that has the best nutrition counter I’ve ever seen. It also has menu suggestions, group chats and exercise suggestions. It’s really great, and it really is free. I have been a member for a while now and I haven’t even ever been spammed.

Also, tea really helps me with my munchie issue at night. There are a million kinds, but I think my favorite is bangle spice. A bit of skim milk and a sweetener and I almost feel like I’ve had dessert. Almost. And, it’s even decaf so I can have as many cups as I need to.

Oh! Did you guys know that the fudge bar at Dairy Queen is only 50 calories? It’s no blizzard, but it sure takes that sugar edge off. 50 calories for the whole bar!!

Now I need a good suggestion for a chip substitute. Anyone? Don’t say carrot sticks or I’ll make fun of you.

Wish me luck this week folks. I think I'm getting my mojo back.

Crazy Left-Wing Rant Part Deux

2009-09-10T17:35:00.001-06:00

I used French there just to irritate the right wingers because I know you guys have a bone to pick with France. HA!

Anyhoo, most of you who responded to my rant yesterday about the Obama school children speech were pretty much members of the invisible choir I was preaching to. However, G-Man’s Mama is a proud right-winger and decided to chirp up. Which, I really appreciate because my little world consists mostly of hippies and Canadians and I really did want that point of view. Her comment was as follows –

"At the risk of being stoned I will admit to being one of those "right-wing nutjobs" you all are cussing. Here is the problem. Obama is a way left democrat. I would not want my children exposed to his ideals without knowing what the speech for about before hand. If the speech or a transcript were released before hand I would have let my children participate. The problem was not the speech that was planned it was the assignment after by the white house that asked "How would you help President Obama?" Um...last I checked he was our president as in for the people (or those that voted for him anyway). If it was Sarah Palin addressing the children of this nation all of the democrats would be figuring out "how to band together, bring on the crazy and then spread the madness like wildfire." Just sayin'."

Thanks, G-Man's Mama. While I still don’t really understand that position, it was delivered articulately and at least flirted with logic. It was certainly a significantly better way of communicating a point of view than the crazy screaming people I’ve been watching on the news at those town hall meetings where somehow people have become convinced that Obama wants to kill them. Regardless of what side of the fence you sit on, politicians don’t ever take the position that they want to kill people. It’s really hard to get re-elected with that platform.

It’s also interesting the ‘right’ (sorry, G-Man’s Mama, since you are the only one who spoke up for that side you are representing them ALL now) see Obama as a ‘far left-wing’ democrat. I would consider myself a far left-wing democrat, and Obama seems pretty moderate to me. I think health care should be completely free to everyone and you can just go right ahead and raise my taxes to make that happen. Obama is proposing a shared-cost/income based approach to health care.

I think America should immediately pull every last troupe out of Iraq, throw themselves on the mercy of the UN and beg the industrialized world for help cleaning up that horrible mess that should have never begun in the first place. Obama is going with a more cautious approach and still has soldiers over there trying to….well, do something I guess.

If Sarah Palin was to give a speech to school children I would absolutely let my kids hear it. First of all, I think it’s good for kids to hear all sides of the issues since they are the ones who are ultimately going to lead the country one day and the sooner they can learn about issues/points of view (although Obama’s speech was just about the importance of education, not a point of view), the sooner they can start deciding for themselves what is good for the country and themselves and what isn’t. Second of all, it would give me, as their parent, a perfect opportunity to talk to them about what someone like Sarah Palin has to say and how they feel about it (and how I feel about it). And, I would of course need the chance to clear up the fact that Africa is indeed a continent (sorry, couldn’t resist).

And lastly….the ‘right’ starting flipping out IMMEDIATELY. They had no details, they asked no questions about what Obama was planning to say (although that information was available), gave no thought as to how it might open up communications and discussion with their children, and lept to all kinds of conclusions that because it's Obama it just simply MUST be evil and involve some kind of satan worship.

Just the fact that a democrat (horrors!) was going to talk to their children was enough to make them completely lose their shit.

THAT smacks of partisanship way more than your President speaking to kids about why staying is school is a good idea to me. No? And, while I have you, G-Man’s Mama, wasn’t the whole mantra of the ‘right’ for the last eight years of George W rule that unless every American blindly supports the President he/she is a trader? Why doesn’t that theory apply anymore? ESPECIALLY to one little speech that has nothing whatsoever to do with politics?

I like the lively, respectful debate. I’d love to hear from some more right-wingers. And, for the record, when I say, ‘right-wing bat-shit crazy nut-jobs’ I’m referring to the screaming town hall people whose heads are about to explode. Reasoned, respectful right-wingers are just fine.

Although horribly misguided.

Okay, I’ll stop now.

Yo - Yanks! You are KILLING me up here.

2009-09-08T18:29:00.004-06:00

I’m not American, so could you guys please explain this one to me?

Your President, the guy you overwhelmingly elected to the top office of the country (I’ll just take a minute here to say, on behalf of the entire planet, THANK YOU), spoke directly to all the students in your country at the beginning of the school year. His speech to the youth included the following quotes –

"Every single one of you has something you’re good at. Every single one of you has something to offer. And you have a responsibility to yourself to discover what that is. That's the opportunity an education can provide."

"You can't drop out of school and just drop into a good job. You’ve got to work for it and train for it and learn for it. This isn't just important for your own life and your own future. What you make of your education will decide nothing less than the future of this country."

“What you're learning in school today will determine whether we as a nation can meet our greatest challenges in the future."

“You'll need the knowledge and problem-solving skills you learn in science and math to cure diseases like cancer and AIDS, and to develop new energy technologies and protect our environment. You'll need the insights and critical thinking skills you gain in history and social studies to fight poverty and homelessness, crime and discrimination, and make our nation more fair and more free. You'll need the creativity and ingenuity you develop in all your classes to build new companies that will create new jobs and boost our economy. If you quit on school – you’re not just quitting on yourself, you’re quitting on your country."

Before and after this speech, I have read much in the media about how parents were OUTRAGED that the President would have the nerve to speak to their children. One of my ‘facebook’ friends (I went to high school with her and have never seen her since. She moved to America ) had this her status,

“Who does he think he is? Would HE let anyone speak directly to his kids without knowing what they are going to SAY?”

Uhh…..alright. Who does he think he is? Seriously?? What was she worried he was going to do? Start telling the kids some new fart jokes?

And here are some reactions from the right -

“That's Obama-centric. It's not focused on education but on the worship of Barack Obama," Michael Leahy, spokesman for the conservative grassroots Nationwide Tea Party Coalition, told AFP. "This is indoctrination, pure and simple, into the cult of Barack Obama, and we are opposed to that," he said.

And this -

Jim Greer, chairman of the Republican Party of Florida, raged that "Pied Piper Obama" was going "into the American classroom" to spread socialist ideology.

First of all…. Nationwide TEA PARTY Coalition?? Whose running that group, five year-old girls dressed in fairy princess dresses? Lena Chairs a tea party in her room with Mr. Floppy and Yellow Turtle every night, and even she would have the good sense to realize boycotting children from hearing your PRESIDENT speak is really fucking stupid.

(for the record I know that name is probably a reference to the Boston Tea Party brouhaha of seventeen hundred and whatever. Still stupid though)

Not to mention the fact that nothing included in Obama's speech had anything remotely to do with socialism, cults or even politics.

Your democratically elected leader decided he would speak to your children about the importance of education, working for a future, the betterment of the country and being contributing members of a democratic society.

What a bastard.

Please, I’m begging you – can someone explain to me why some Americans think that the President speaking directly to school children about the importance of education and their role in the country makes him an evil, commie-loving narcissist who is just DYING to kill your grandma?

Anyone? Seriously - I'm all ears.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week Two

2009-09-07T09:41:00.004-06:00

Here we are at week two! You can tell I’m enthusiastic by the exclamation point, right?! Right?!! And Casey at Hasay is back! To check on the Hasayers a year after starting their club, pop on over for a visit.

I met with Trainer Lady this week for an assessment. As part of the boot camp/getoffyourfatassalready classes she is hosting (starts next week) she has to assess everyone so we know where our starting place is. I have the unfortunate advantage of having a comparable; the assessment I had in January when I started my fitness plan and then the reassessment I had in March when I was kicking all kinds of ass.

I am now back up to only one pound shy of what I weighed in MARCH. Ugh. My fitness level is about the same or has even improved a little though, so that DID make me feel somewhat better about completly SUCKING this summer. I haven’t totally given up on the exercise. The problem is clearly the food. I like food. Food is good. Everything is always so much better when you get to have some bacon.

I haven’t been going to Trainer Lady much this summer, and after our meeting last week I think she gets that I need a kick in the ass. So she gave me homework. It was to figure out how many calories I will burn if I take the stairs at work instead of the elevator. That’s when I found this - http://www.caloriesperhour.com/index_burn.php

The most hysterical calorie counter EVER. It seriously has a function for every possible activity known to man. If I throw a hammer and then go polka dancing for twenty minutes, I will have burned 205 calories! If I fold me some laundry and then ride a unicycle for 15 minutes, I’m 149 calories down! It’s totally my new favorite website.

I’m going to really try and focus on the food part this week. That definitely seems to be my weakness. I have a ridiculously healthy eating boss, so maybe I’ll just follow her around at lunch and eat grass with her for a week. Sounds good, right?! The exclamation point says so!!

I just burned 43 calories writing this blog. Pass the bacon.

And then we turned 30....

2009-09-02T18:37:00.005-06:00

There are four main peeps in my posse. You have already met Keely, of course, and I believe I have mentioned Valentina and Politica a time or two around these parts. It’s really too bad Keely started blogging first and didn’t feel it necessary to hide behind the veil of a trumped up nick-name because now we all have cool aliases and she is still just Keely. When I put us all together in print like that it sounds like she hangs around a bunch of strippers and superheroes. Anyway….

The four of us went to high school together and have remained pretty close for the last (mumble mumble) years. We’re pretty much the same age, with all of us having birthdays within about 13 months of each other. Valentina is the oldest with Keely bring up the rear 13 months later. This if course means Valentina was the first one to turn 30.

Feeling it necessary to celebrate in a big way we planned a surprise party that included bringing Politica in from BC. She jumped at the chance since it was April and a trip to Saskatchewan would give her the opportunity to turn her nose up at our lack of adequate foliage. Keely was traipsing around New Zealand somewhere at the time, but we weren’t going to let that stop Politica and I from partying with our newly minted cougar.

We shelved the husbands and kids and took off to our neighbouring city about 3 hours away for a weekend of shopping, eating, drinking, laughing, pillow fights in our underwear and tickle parties (that last bit was just for all you male readers). We had a great time and definitely ushered Valentina into her 30’s in style.

Then it was my turn. Again, the girls planned a SURPRISE! party. Now I figured they would do something, but I was actually surprised when Politica arrived since she had just been here 6 months earlier. Keely had finally brought her Ozzy lovin’ ass home and was able to join us for a weekend trip to the spa. Off the four of us went and again, and it was awesome. We ate, we drank, we marinated ourselves in giant dry-cleaning bags stuffed with in seaweed, swam in some salty water and they even treated me to my very first manicure. I’m pretty sure that was strategic ‘cause if anyone needs a manicure it’s me. I have a nervous energy cuticle biting problem. But I digress…..

Then it was Politica’s turn! Clearly we had no choice but to head out to BC to celebrate her arrival into Club-30, right? Well, that was the position I was taking with the Hubby who was starting to raise an eyebrow about it all. I think the quote was,

“Holy shit, you guys are just turning 30. Why do you each need your own fucking Bat Mitzvah?”

Because we just DO, okay? Turning 30 to women is a big deal. Turning 30 to women is akin to a mans first incident of flaccidness. You want to be drunk when it happens.

So off we went to the bountiful blooming British Columbia so the three of us could be standing by with a warm dry towel when Politica was shoved out of the fountain of youth. You know the drill....we shopped, we ate we drank, blah, blah, blah… It was wonderful.

Then it was Keely's birthday. Holy shit, again? Alrighty....... Politica schlepped her ass back to Saskatchewan so we could have another weekend of indulgences. We rented a limo and went bar hopping. If you haven’t ever done that before, I highly recommend it because we had a blast. Keely refers to it fondly as the weekend we tried to kill her, and I’m pretty sure she hasn’t had more than three drinks in a row since. Her liver still sends me a Christmas card each year.

So, all in all it was a full year of partying our assess off. Looking back now I have no idea how we managed to afford to do all that, but we made it work somehow. I probably just fed my family KD for two straight months or something. KIDDING! Mr. Noodle is way cheaper.

So, we are now a stone’s throw from forty. But, like a really small stone you can throw really far. While the year of quarterly drunken madness was certainly fun, I think I might advocate just one group trip somewhere for the big 4-0. I think the four of us in Vegas would be pretty awesome. I better start sweet talking Keely's liver now.

Random Tuesday - It's okay - I'm crazy too

2009-08-31T22:08:00.007-06:00

Hey there, Tuesday bloggers! I haven’t played in a while so I thought I would stop back in for a RTT. However, it appears that our hostess has slept in. Uh...Keely? I'm standing here all alone with that fugly button! Bueller? BUELLER?

Last week I went for lunch with some of my old co-workers. It was great. There is a comfortable familiarity that comes with working with the same people day in and day out for five years, and I still miss it. As we quickly fell back into comfortable rhythms I found myself thinking, “Wow, I really miss these guys. Why did I ever leave my job again?’ After we were done the conciliatory ‘how are the spouse/kids’ type conversations, it naturally turned to work and I started getting caught up on what I’ve been missing. By the end of the lunch I walked away with a firm, “Oh yeah. THAT’S why I left my job. It TOTALLY BLOWS there.” A nice little side reminder with my buffet.

Does anyone else watch A&E? What is with all the new shows based around crazy people? And I don’t say that lightly; I have had a toe over the mental illness line most of my adult life, so that buys me the right to use the word crazy. Very much how I get to use the word fat - I’ve earned my right into that club too. Anyway…

Where was I?

Oh yeah, A&E crazy people programming. I think they built their new broadcast schedule around trying to make the rest of us feel better. And it’s working! I watch Hoarders and suddenly my housekeeping skills improve dramatically. Intervention? Pfft. I don’t mind if I do have that third glass of wine, now that you mention it! Hey, it’s not like I’m huffing on the cool whip can or anything. After watching Obsessed it’s suddenly perfectly fine that my son hasn’t had a bath in four days. Germs aren’t bad for you! Get a grip already!

Thanks, A&E. You have done a wonderful job putting my shortcomings in perspective. I’m fucking perfect.

My daughter's ipod was broken. After 2 days of trying everything she could think of to make it work again she got so frustrated she started to cry, and magically - it started working again. No kidding, just like that. I immediately sent her out to the driveway to cry on her father’s truck that has been sitting there broken for two months. I’ll let you know if that works. If it does, look for ‘J’s Magical Revival Tent’ coming to a city near you.

Keely and Xander came over for dinner this weekend. Upon hearing the news that the dreamy Xander was on his way over (they are affianced, by the way), my three year-old insisted on primping. No kidding. She looked at her dirty little toes that had been running outside with no shoes on all day and announced that she needed a bath immediately because, “Xander just can’t see me like this.” I’m not sure if that’s super funny or the most horrifying thing I’ve ever heard. I guess he is pretty cute.

That’s it for me. I can’t find any more mental post-its or scribbles written on the back of envelopes hanging around anywhere. Go see Keely - she has much more faithful RTTers that won’t let you down. If she ever shows up, that is. Slacker.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week One

2009-08-28T11:43:00.002-06:00

Technically it should be week thirty-something. Actually, technically it should be week hundred and something since this has been an issue for so long now, but fuck it. Just like Jon and Kate I’m starting over.

Summer kicked my ass. I have been indulging in bad food a LOT and my exercising efforts have been weak at best. And I’ve kind of turned into a bit of a wino. I just love me a malbec. I’ve only recently discovered this particular wine, and it is YUMMY.

I went to the gym last week and weighed myself on their super-doper scale, and according to that I’ve gained 7 pounds since May (the last month I actually lost anything). I suck.

That’s okay, I’m not going to beat myself up over it. At least I’m climbing back on the Fat Chick bandwagon before I backslide the whole way. I will do better.

I’ve signed up for a twice weekly boot camp thing Trainer Lady is starting up just for fat people. It’s a small class of six, and each class comes with an hour of exercise and a stern talking to thinly veiled as ‘nutrition counseling and support’. I’m hoping that a group of actual fat people to relate to will help me. I don’t really know any other fat people in real life. I’m pretty much it. I’m surrounded by nothing but ‘the last five pounds’ people.

A good friend of mine once told me that if I ran in place for ten minutes before bed each night the weight would just fall off and I’d never be fat again. See what I’m dealing with here?

I need the REAL fat people as a support group to help me. The people who can’t wear a dress in the summertime unless they baby-powder up their inner-thighs. The people who have drawers full of gigantic lycra underwear. The people who dress in layers even when it’s 30 degrees outside. The burger king people. Trainer Lady PROMISED me nothing but five other fat people who want to cross over to the other side. I would love nothing more than a cocoon of people who plan to emerge from this class as ‘last five pounds’ people. This class starts on Sept 15th. I’ll keep you posted.

In the meantime I’m going to fight Fat Chick as hard as I can. She’s really loud and obnoxious and filling my head with thoughts like, “Well, you don’t start that stupid exercise group for another two weeks, so why not live it up now? You’ll have to get back into it mid-September anyway, so just shut up and eat that piece of cake. Can I pour you a glass of vino?”

She is such a fucking bitch.

Rock On, Mr. FoN

2009-08-28T10:09:00.003-06:00

Hi! Where have I been? I’ve been waiting for summer. I’ve been all dressed up, sitting on my doorstep, clutching my purse and waiting for that stupid fucker to show up and make me hot. He never showed. Some time ago I finally gave up and reached the conclusion that I’ve been stood up. After that sad realization I retreated to my bedroom. Hugging my teddy bear while surrounded by balls of snotty kleenex I’ve been writing I LOVE SUMMER and MRS. FoN SUMMER all over my stuff. What an asshole.

In a few short weeks, I’m going to start bitching about how cold I am again. Fair warning, internet.

Sigh.

What else is new?

The Hubby started his teaching job yesterday. He is a teacher. Mr. FoN. That makes me Mrs. FoN, which is even funnier. He’s been in school for the last six years completing his Bachelor of Education degree. I know it’s a four year degree, but he went part-time for the first four years so that’s why it took him six years to finish. He’s not, you know…just dumb. Anyway, it was his first day as a teacher yesterday, and he is now in charge of a room full of 7 and 8 year-olds all day.

I really have to give a shout out to all the teachers in the world, because short of having to scrape road kill off the highway all day or letting fat, sweaty businessmen stuff money down my pants, teaching would be pretty much last on my list of career choices.

Don’t get me wrong, I like kids. Well, I like most kids. Okay, I really only like my own kids and my friend’s kids. I like the odd stranger kid, but some of them really kind of suck. If I was a teacher and had a shitty kid in my class I would not be able to hide the fact that I thought he was shitty. Getting picked on by the teacher is probably not that cool. I’d feel bad being openly bitchy to some kid, even if they were shitty. Plus, I have a lot of residual scarring from my elementary school days when I was tortured mercilessly by Rob Morrese. I can’t actually remember how to spell his name right now, but just so you know it’s pronounced More-eese. I’m going to write a whole post someday about Rob Morrese, and in preparation I’m going to find my elementary school class picture to figure out how to spell his name correctly so when that narcissistic fucker googles himself he can read all about what an asshole he is. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, teaching.

Whenever I walk into an elementary school I feel like I have been immediately thrust into the Lord of the Flies. All that yelling and bell ringing and bad artwork hanging everywhere is offensive to my senses. And what is with the smell? Why do elementary schools need to smell like that? Some type of Franken mixture of stale bologna, glue, cleaning supplies and urine. How could anyone want to work in that environment all day everyday? And enjoy it? And not even get paid that well to do it? No thanks.

One day last year in a weak moment I volunteered to be the parent helper in my son’s class for some project they were doing. I was there for two hours, and when it was over I couldn’t leave fast enough. I raced back to work and immediately started making out with my desk. Full tongue and everything. It was awesome.

So, here is a big shout out to all you teachers in the world. Thank you for taking the bullet for the rest of us. I won’t even begrudge you the 2 months off you get in the summer. And the 2 weeks at Christmas. And the other 10 days around Easter.

Hmmmmmm.

Sweatshops are totally underrated.

2009-08-10T14:09:00.009-06:00

So, I gotta say that so far this summer has been da bomb. Exploiting my family and turning them into sweatshop workers paid off big time and the two weeks spent at the cabin were fabulous. Mother Nature was being a total fucking bitch and didn’t see fit to provide us with the best weather of all time, but we had enough warm and sunny days to get in some swimming, boating and general laziness, which was pretty much my entire agenda.

Yes, that's me. In a bathingsuit on the internet. That's as close as I'm getting and the imagine gets super grainy when you try and zoom in so don't even bother. But...doesn’t that look like a good time? It was. Doing sweet fuck all for two weeks was all I thought it would be and more. Here are a few shots of the cabin –

Nice, huh? See why I was willing to whore out my husband and children? Lakefront people!! Lakefront!!!

And, when the weather wasn’t the greatest we played board games. Just so you know, internet, you are reading the literary works of the all time World Champion of Scattergories. Notorious people starting with a K? The Klu Klux Klan! THREE points right there. Crimes starting with a W? Whaling! Can you think of a crime that starts with a W in under 60 seconds?? It’s not easy. Clearly being the current Scattergories Champion of the World proves I’m a superior thinker. I’ve already put it on my resume.

So now, today….I went back to work. Back to my cold and sterile office building with my desk in the middle of the hallway. Back to the mind-numbing buzz of the florescent lights. Back to words and phrases like ‘template’ and ‘Governance Committee’ and ‘Meeting of the Board of Directors’. Back to highlighters and staplers and paperclips and that little chime that goes off constantly alerting you to the fact that there is yet another new email. Sigh. The party’s over.

FoN OUT

2009-07-27T13:53:00.004-06:00

Sup yall! Today is the day we're heading off to enjoy the fabulous lakefront cabin I acquired in exchange for turning my family sweatshop workers. The Hubby and the older kids were out there all last week doing yard work and now that all that heavy lifting is done I'm taking off for 14 wonderful day of sunning myself and drinking daiquiris. I like daiquiris.

I'm taking the laptop with me, but I have no idea what kind of connectivity they are rocking out there. I might be (shudder) completely without access. Either way I will be recording all of our adventures and taking loads of pictures so I will have plenty of material to annoy the shit out of you with when I return. Have a good couple of weeks bloggy land!

Silly Girl

2009-07-23T01:53:00.004-06:00

You know those girls who were are all anti-men types until they got a boyfriend? You know who I’m talking about. Those girls who whose vibrato would echo through the halls of your high school/workplace/coffee shop/ bar about how she feels sorry for all the girls ‘trapped’ in a relationship? Those girls who smugly fluff themselves up about how they can have a man in their life, but how that relationship would never become the ‘centre’ of their life because they’ll always be so much more than just a girlfriend/spouse/partner/significant other? Until of course they actually get a boyfriend and then they suddenly drop off the edge of the planet for weeks at a time? Yeah, as it turns out I’m one of those girls.

I have been married for a really long fucking time. Maybe not that long if we’re talking Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward married, but considering my age a pretty long goddamn time. The Hubby and I have never been one of those annoying couples who can’t make decisions about what to do or where to go until we talk to the other. We’ve never been overly sloppy or affectionate. Aside from picking food or bugs off each other when the occasion warrants, our public affection is pretty limited. Unless we’re drunk – then we’re grabbing each other’s crotches in the booth of the karaoke bar while some asshole is singing ‘Mustang Sally’.

A’hem. Maybe never mind that last bit.

As I was saying, aside from the necessary “You’ve got something in your teeth. No, THAT tooth” kind of stuff, we’re pragmatic. Unless there is sex at the end of the rainbow we really can’t be bothered.

That is until everything we’ve been working for, for the last fifteen years, ACTUALLY FUCKING HAPPENED. No shit! We’re done school, we each have jobs making a nice wage, we have the same working hours, our kids are all out of the baby phase and fun as hell, we live in a nice house, and our neighbours? The Joneses? We’re totally kicking their ass. We have finally reached the Mecca. The promise land, if you will, and it is a nice little normal existence comprised entirely of suburban bliss. Had I been writing this about someone else, I would have used the word ‘drudgery’ right then. SCOFFED at the everyday minutia that only people not nearly as creative and enlightened as myself find themselves existing in on a daily basis. You know what? Fuck that shit.

So far minutia is totally fucking awesome. No scrambling to figure out who is picking up who when. No fighting about who fed the kids between classes/working/lessons/meltdowns. We get up, we head off, come home, eat dinner, play with the kids, drink a bottle of wine, shoot the shit and go to bed. That’s it folks, and WOW is my life easier. I’m in fact so totally into my new reality that I’ve completely dropped off the social radar. I’m not even getting invites out anymore because my friends have figured out that I’m just going to totally ignore them anyway. Why would I go anywhere else? It turns out I actually AM living with my best friend! How cool is that?

Not only have I turned into one of those silly girls who abandon their friends for a dude, but I’m all sunshine and rainbows about it too. In fact, every time I have a conversation outside Mr. Bluebird rests upon my shoulder. I don’t even need to shop anymore because whenever I need anything fairy music starts up and woodland creatures magically appear to dress me in toile and sing me songs about happiness. You know what is the most ironic thing of all? I totally fucking HATE people like me.

I know a new reality will eventually settle in and the fairy music and woodland creatures will tire of me and go looking for their next silly bitch to infect with optimism and hope. I have no doubt my eyes will be rolling again soon enough.

But until that day comes I’m going to enjoy my newfound, if not fleeting, sense of blissful and contented existence. My friends will still be there when I’m ready to come back to the dark side. Something is BOUND to piss me off sooner than later so I'll need them soon enough.

Besides, the Hubby never has any spare tampons in a pinch. That selfish prick.

I hope you have sand in your crack

2009-07-16T07:10:00.002-06:00

Hello, ma’am. Yes, that is a lovely bathing suit you have there. The sliver stars really shine against the bright pink background. And don’t worry; you can still totally pull off wearing the same bikini as the 14 year-old girl sitting next to you even though you’re pushing forty. The botox is really helping. That look of utter contempt you just shot my eight year-old son as he mistakenly sprayed a few grains of sand on your beach blanket as he ran excitedly to the lake to get more water for his sandcastle moat was a little uncalled for, however. How nice for you that your very young child sits stone still while gnawing on the same piece of watermelon for two hours, but the rest of us with normal, non-sedated children must learn to tolerate their incessant laughter and silliness while at the BEACH.

You see, most people bring their children to the beach because they have fun there. Since you’re not familiar, fun can best be described as the expenditure of time in a manner designed for pure enjoyment, most often characterized by activities that make the participant of said fun feel joyful. Parents can usually tell their children are having ‘fun’, because they express themselves with laughter, smiles and the occasional excited ‘whoop-whoop’.

If you take your child off the valium and allow him to move about, he may be able to experience fun for himself. I’m sure that piece of watermelon is simply riveting, but so is the GIANT LAKE right in front of him.

Besides, my little bastard is going to get it covered in sand anyway.

Random Tuesday - Jon, Kate and Holden Caulfield walk into a bar....

2009-07-13T19:58:00.010-06:00

I know I really need to let the Jon and Kate thing go, but it just pisses me off more and more everyday. She rationalizes keeping the cameras rolling by saying, “Parents work. This is my career and I work for my kids”. Yeah, well most parents work by going to an office, or a restaurant or a car dealership or a factory. The butcher, the baker or the candlestick maker aren't whoring their little ankle biters out for a 'job', now are they? And then there is Jon who goes traipsing around France before the ink is dry on the divorce papers (and who am I kidding, most likely WAY before that) with a 22 year-old girl. That woman was in grade six when his first set of kids were born for crying out loud. What is wrong with these people? Could you imagine being those children and having to go to school everyday? When I was nine my mother dressed me in culottes one lousy day and I was teased for months. I feel so sorry for what those kids have to deal with now just because their parents are morons.

We sealed the deal on the cabin for trade yesterday! We went out on the weekend and had a look-see and it’s fabulous (for those catching up we found an on-line ad offering free rental on a lake front cabin in exchange for yard work). There is a lot of work that needs to get done, but I just happen to have in my possession an unemployed husband and teenager who needs to find a way to pay me back for the cell phone she lost with 26 months remaining on the contract. Hubby and the two oldest are going to head out next week and get most of the trees/bushes cut down and loaded up, and then myself and the little one are going to join them the following week for TWO WHOLE WEEKS at the lake. Ahhhh, the lake. I love the lake. The minute I step out of the car and am surrounded by trees and water I immediately just chill the fuck out.

I’m going to read Catcher and the Rye while I’m on vacation this summer. I’ve always wanted to read it, but have never gotten around to it for some reason. Then I’m going to get a dog and name it Holden Caulfield so everyone will think I’m an intellectual and take me seriously as a writer. Ha! I know, huh? Holla!

The follow are words and phrases I wish I could completely remove from my lexicon without consequence:
- Terms of Reference
- Governance Committee and Board of Directors
- Quarterly report
- Please pass the potato chips
- Where is your cell phone, J?
- Mom, it turns out we’re not going to make it to Winnipeg for a holiday this summer after all….

I think my husband is going to be the best teacher in the whole world. The thought he puts into not only what to teach the kids, but how to teach them is amazing. If all the world’s educators approached their jobs in this way, the planet would be filled with much different people.

I still need a pedicure. I'm prety sure I could sharpen knives on my feet at this point. I should really address this situation before vacation because I’m not planning on wearing shoes for two whole weeks. Hmmm…..maybe I should get one AFTER I’m back from the lake.

That is it for me, now go see Keely – she is queen of all things insightful and visionary. Is that better?

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week Twenty Four

2009-07-13T10:28:00.002-06:00

If you recall I was lamenting last week about how we can’t really have it all, I’m happy just to be home for a while with the family, a happy fat is just fine, blah, blah, blah. What a total crock of shit, huh?

Yeah, that is what we call rationalizing a backslide people.

This is an interesting turn of events for me. Traditionally, around the 30 pound down mark something shitty happens to me and I use that as an excuse to stop exercising and start eating chocolate cake for breakfast all the while telling myself that it’s okay because hey! At least I’m eating breakfast, right?

Here I am around the 30 lbs mark and life could not be going more swimmingly. All the things I’ve ever wanted seem to have fallen into place in a way that I never really thought would actually happen. No horrendous loss has befallen me, no reality crushing blow has shaken my foundation…. hell, my biggest worry of late is reserved for the kids of Jon and Kate Plus 8. Oh yeah, did you see him this weekend??? He was photographed in France gallivanting with some chippy – can you believe that? Dumbass. What about the KIDS Jon! Think of the KIDS!!! They’re old enough to read now! How do you think they feel seeing their father with someone else all over a magazine cover? Dumbass! Sorry, back to the fat chick thing....

As I was saying, my life is going just fine, and yet I still find myself in a familiar position - TOTALLY WUSING OUT. Why? Why Why Why is this so hard for me? Why do I fall off the wagon after seeing so much success? Oprah would say that it’s because I have low self esteem and don’t think I’m worthy of a healthy body. Okay, there might be some of that there, but I don’t think that’s the whole answer. I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and this time around I think I’m sabotaging myself because I’m worried my contented little life will vanish any day now if I get my weight under control. I know that sounds ridiculous to all of you sane and rational people out there, but I’m a little nutty. I believe that if I get the last major thing in my life that has been a serious problem for me under control I’ll be way too happy and therefore something terrible will happen. Logically I know that’s ridiculous, but that’s where my brain goes. It’s not easy being crazy, trust me.

I have all the tools I need. My whole family is very supportive. I do not have one of those husbands on the reality shows that makes his wife feel like crap every time she leaves him with the kids to go work out. He is all for it – never once has he ever suggested he couldn’t hold down the fort while I went to work out. I know he wants me to get into shape. That poor guy really is pretty screwed. He’s the one with a front row seat watching me give up, and I know how badly he wants to kick my ass and tell me to quit fucking around and get back at ‘er, but he can’t. He has learned that lesson well over the years. If he doesn’t say anything he has to sit back and watch me get fat all over again. If he does say something, he has to watch me have a total freak out, accuse him of not loving me anymore and then have a raging battle that ends in us not speaking. And then he’ll have to watch me get fat all over again anyway.

What I need to do is stop worrying about the things I can’t control and start focusing on what I CAN control. I can’t control when someone I love gets cancer, but I can control my weight and health. There really isn’t a finite amount of good things that can happen to me. Is it temping fate to even write that down?

I have gained five pounds in the last month. That’s a total loss of 23lbs since January, and a whopping 37 pounds to go. Sigh.

Backslide over. And……..here we go!

Random Tuesday - Americans, toques and mindless drivel. In that exact order.

2009-07-06T20:41:00.005-06:00

Happy belated Fourth of July you crazy Americans! I love you even though you shun the metric system, and the letter ‘u’ and the tasty goodness that is clamato juice. I hope you all had a blast with your giant trucks, bud light and apple pie. Or grits. What are grits, anyway? I’ve always thought they were some kind of potato concoction, but I’m not exactly sure about that.

Canada Day (our version of Independence Day) is July 1st, so last weekend we went for the obligatory celebrations in the park with over priced concessions, cover-bands and fireworks. I’m REALLY upset I didn’t bring my camera, because some of the people there were awesome. Who knew the Canadian flag made such a good toga?

My daughter is fifteen and desperately trying to find her ‘cool’. I’m usually just fine with this and stand by the motto that as long as she’s not dressed like a whore, she can wear whatever she wants. However, she has recently added a toque to her wardrobe repertoire (that’s a winter hat for all those south of the border). Yes, in JULY. I am usually good at biting my lip when she wears or does something I think is stupid provided it doesn’t cause harm. I shut it when she dyed her hair pumpkin orange. I kept it to my own self when she came home wearing 80’s style flashdance leg warmers. I even managed to let the phase that saw her wearing a skirt and jeans at the SAME TIME go by. However, I just couldn’t keep my mouth shut when she left to go to the mall this weekend in a skirt, tank top, flip flops and a wool hat. I knew the minute my ‘why in hell are you wearing a toque in July??’ comment came out of my mouth I had totally screwed myself. That stupid thing has been glued to her head every day since, and I predict will be well into August.

I REALLY need a pedicure.

I think I found an awesome deal for our vacation this year. We are really out of money (the Hubby doesn’t start working until September, so it’s been a little lean around the FoN household recently), but still really want to go somewhere for a holiday this summer. There is this super great used crap website for locals (sort of a Craig’s list type thing) that was advertising a free lakefront cabin about an hour out of town in exchange for someone to stay there and do some landscaping. Perfect!! I love this trade economy that has suddenly sprung up. The people with the cabin can afford to forgo rental income they would make on it, but have no time to deal with the yard work and upkeep. The Hubby has the whole summer off and a ton of free time, but subsequently we have no money to rent a cabin with. Sounds like a perfect match to me! Lakefront even! I have no follow up pithy comment for this, I’m just happy we figured out a way to have a vacation.

Hey – I wonder what kind of service I can offer to get a free pedicure? Surely I must have something to offer. If anyone out there hears of anyone who wants to trade a pedicure for a list of pointless observations and musings give them my email address, okay?

That’s enough from me. Go see Keely, our Captain O’ Captain of pointless observations and musings at the Unmom. She’ll hook you up with lots of drivel. It’s kind of her thing.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week Twenty Three

2009-07-06T00:07:00.003-06:00

So…..this is not going that well. The weight loss thing, that is. Lots of other things are going well, but Fat Chick vs. Food? Not so much.

Keely pointed out to me the other day that not everything can go well all at once. While my first response was of the, ‘No fair!’ variety, she has a good point. Everything requires effort, and most people have a finite amount of effort in them (super mom types aside, but they at least have Percocet). I have a lot of shit I need to pay attention to, and usually one suffers at the hand of the other. It’s a priority thing, I guess.

I can invest my marriage OR weight loss. I can play with my kids OR clean the house. I can go to work OR get all my personal ducks in a row. I have to pick, and there are consequences to each.

I can hang out with my husband who is home every night for the first time in our married life, or I can leave him and the kids and hit the gym. You know how long I’ve been waiting for all of us to be on the same schedule and to be able to do regular things like eat dinner together every night? Fifteen years. No kidding.

I can quit my job and have a beautifully decorated and spotless house, wake up every morning and go for a run, play with the kids whenever I want, etc, or I can earn money and pay for things like shelter and food and clothing. You see where I am going with this.

For the last six months Fat Chick has been a high priority. She has received a lot of attention, and it’s been working! She’s dropped almost 30 pounds! This is quite a bit and has certainly improved my quality of life, my clothing options and fitness level. I’m feeling good. I could be feeling better if I was working on dropping the next 30 pounds, but….the whole priority thing has shifted somewhat.

This is not to say I have given up all together. I’m making concessions here and there. I’ve been taking the stairs quite a bit at work (and I work on the 12th floor, so that’s a lot of stairs), and the other night we all went for a bike ride. Sure, it was to get ice cream, but it was still a bike ride dammit!

I’m going to continue the Fat Chick posts because they keep me honest. I’m also going to start trying to get my family active with me, which shouldn’t be too hard because they love being outside now that summer is finally here. The Hubby and I even tried playing tennis last weekend. I’ve never played tennis before, and not surprisingly I completely suck, but so does he so there is a lot of running after balls going on. I’m hanging in there.

Fat and miserable is a terrible way to live, but I might be okay with fat and happy. For the short-term, anyway. SHORT TERM.

FoN and Superkeely vs. the Fucktard Sisters - the Final Chapter

2009-06-26T07:23:00.004-06:00

I'm wrapping this bad boy up today! Click here if you need a refresher.

Like I said, I’m not entirely sure what went down while I was running for my life, but from the bits and pieces I can gather Valentina tried to unsuccessfully pin down the Fucktard Sister, the group of guys at our table just sat there half stunned, half turned on that a real honest-to-god girl fight was unfolding right before them, and Keely took off trying to find some help.

By the time I had reached the stage and the safety of the Hubby, Keely had alerted security to the situation and was trying to lead the bouncers through to the direction of the Fucktard Sisters. The Hubby, pretty fucking mad two crazy chicks were trying to kill his wife, threw his drumsticks down and charged to the front of the stage. Hearing the drums suddenly stop the rest of the four guys in the band looked behind them to see what the hell was going on. They were able to figure it out just in time to get out of the way while the Hubby took the microphone to address security.

“This crazy bitch here, and that crazy bitch there. Get them the fuck out of this bar right goddamn NOW.”

The bouncers were being led through the crowd by Keely who was trying to direct traffic and move the people on the dance floor out of the way.

From my view on stage all of a sudden I saw a huge bouncer come up behind each Fucktard Sister, grab them around the waist and haul them each – kicking, screaming and massive hair flying - out of the bar. Keely was standing front and centre, laughing hysterically while giving each one of them the finger. I’m pretty sure that if they would have managed to free themselves from the bouncers Keely would have been their next target.

So there we were. On stage in front of 300 stunned people, the Fucktard Sisters were being hauled out by giant men while screaming profanities, Keely was still giving the double birdies to each one of them, the band stood silent while they tried to figure out what in the hell was going on, and I was in the middle of the stage with a crowd of people (most of whom I knew) staring up at me. After a moment or two of awkward, the band decides to start up again with ‘We are the Champions’ and the crowd goes wild. I stayed up there for a moment, waving at the Fucktard Sisters (who were about halfway out of the bar at this point and still completely wigging out) and savoring my victory. My victory over the fact that not only can I run faster than they can, but I have friends who are good in a crisis. My one and only bar fight in the history books.

I know there were a bunch of you waiting to hear all about the ass kicking they took at the hands of me and Keely, but……. we’re Canadian. That’s just not how we roll.

Epilogue -

This happened about twelve years ago. Our city is not that big, and while the Fucktard Sisters and I don’t exactly frequent the same type of establishments, I am still to this day on the semi-lookout for that giant hair. I haven’t ever seen the youngest one (the one who hit me in the face), but I’ve seen the oldest one twice. The first time I saw her was in a mall and I managed to see the hair coming over the crowd in time to avoid a pass by in the aisle. The second time……. she was getting into a bar fight.

FoN and Superkeely vs. the Fucktard Sisters - Part IV

2009-06-23T17:30:00.001-06:00

The saga of my one and only bar fight continues. If you need to catch up a go read these.

She started to drunkenly charge through the bar immediately. I tried to stop laughing, because at that point I was terrified, but on her way over to my table she crashed into the corner of a chair and fell over. She was only down for a second or two when her giant hair shot back up and she resumed stumbling my direction. Amazingly, she was still clinging to her beer bottle.

Sitting at our table was a group of our male friends. To put it mildly, these guys are giant pussies. They are white collar dudes who avoid confrontation at all costs so not to get their polo shirts dirty. I had given them a general overview of the Fucktard Sister situation earlier in the night, but aside from cracking a few jokes they had long since forgot about it and were not at all concerned for my safety. I knew they would be no help whatsoever.

Realizing I only had seconds to live, I did a quick scan of the bar trying to locate a bouncer, an exit sign, Scotty waiting to beam me up, a bookshelf that if you pull the right book it leads to a secret passageway, anything that might help get me out of this. Nadda. Crap! Here she comes………..

“Whase so fucken funny? Youwannagobitch?”

“Um, no. I do not want to go. Are you okay? That looked like a nasty spill you just took back there.”

That's when the Fucktard Sister leaned across the table and swung at my head with her beer bottle. I was a little tipsy by this point, so my reaction time was not that great. I did manage to get out of the way enough that she didn’t knock me unconscious, but the beer bottle/fist combo still connected with my face just under my left eye.

Ow. The only thing I remember going through my head at that moment was RUN. Right as I took off I saw out of the corner of my eye that Valentina reappeared from behind the Fucktard Sister and was trying to restrain her from leaping over the table to kill me. I bolted.

I started running through the bar trying to find a bouncer. The band was pretty popular by then and usually at least once a show some stupid drunk girl would try to get on stage to grope one of the guys. Consequently, they often had security hanging around the dance floor area. I gave a quick glance over my shoulder to see if the Fucktard Sister was in hot pursuit or if the table of people I was with managed to restrain her. No such luck. As I looked behind me I could see that she had managed to free herself from Valentina (no surprise there, Valentina weights about 100 pounds) and with beer bottle and giant hair a-blazin’ was coming to get me.

You must remember a few things here. First of all, the band had been playing all night long so the band guys didn’t fully get what was going down. Secondly, the bar was filled with people I know. I didn’t tell them all exactly what was developing throughout the course of the evening because some of the people there were acquaintances and I really didn't want them to know I was in danger of getting into a bar fight. People from work, for example. I had a professional job and I didn’t think a drunk-bitch bar fight would really do wonders for advancing my career or reputation.

Anyway, back to the running. I was grateful Valentina managed to give me a bit of head start because clearly the Fucktard Sister was in it to win it. Thank god I was familiar with that bar because I knew exactly how to weasel my way through the crowd, tables and dance floor to try to get to security. There was a DJ booth right beside the stage, so I headed straight for it. Yeah, I know a DJ wasn’t really what I needed at that moment, but I figured bar staff of any form would improve my situation. I mean, they worked there, so they were sort of obligated to help me, no? As it turns out, not really, no.

I made it to the DJ booth! I started banging on the door - “Hey! Let me in! Some crazed fugly drunk and hairy chick is trying to kill me!! Let me in goddamn it! GAH! She’s coming!! For FUCK sakes open the fucking door!!!!”

Dude just starred through the glass at me pointing to his ear, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders.

“Yeah, I know you can’t hear me, there is a FUCKING ROCK BAND playing three feet away. Isn’t my crying and flailing enough for you to think you should open the door anyway?” FUCKER! Wait a minute…there is a rock band playing three feet away! Hubby!!

Without the aid of the 20 year-old DJ (fucker), no bouncer in sight and nowhere else to go, I jumped on stage and ran behind the drum kit. Mid song.

The band was on stage kicking ass when I ran up behind the Hubby all out of breath. He kept drumming, but looked at me and mouthed, “What’s up?”

I pointed at the front of the stage. I’m not exactly sure what went down while I was running for my life, but all I saw at that moment was Fucktard Sister 1 (the one that smacked me in the face) struggling through the crowd trying to get up to the left of the stage, and Fucktard Sister 2 (I had sort of forgot about her) struggling through the crowd to get up to the right of the stage. The band was still playing.

That’s when I saw Keely.

Random Tuesday - I'm BACK baby

2009-06-23T06:00:00.001-06:00

I honestly don’t know what has come over me with the Fucktard Sister trilogy. I just can’t seem to stop writing it. Aside from a few minor creative liberties here and there, it's a true story, but I had no idea it would take on a life of it's own. Odd, considering I really haven’t thought about that incident much in the subsequent years. Whatever, I’m really enjoying writing it for some reason and it’s my blog, so there. I guess fucking with the fucktards never gets old. I'm wrapping it up this week though, for sure. Honest.

My daughter has to go to summer school because she failed grade ten Science. That kind of blows, especially considering I either have to (a) go on holidays without her and leave her with her grandparents for a week or (b) postpone my vacation. Neither scenario is really appealing to me. Dumbass. You know, I’d feel better about it if she actually was a dumbass, because then she couldn’t help flunking. But she’s not a dumbass, she just only attends the classes she likes (and gets 80’s in those). As it turns out if you don’t attend class and never hand in assignments, you fail. Funny that.

Shut up Keely. I wasn’t hanging out at A&W alone you know.

I have to get my son’s teacher a kick-ass present for the end of the year, but I can’t think of a good one that doesn’t cost a fortune. My boy is a complicated soul, and this woman gets him. She is awesome and I love her to bits. Suggestions are welcome.

I wonder what’s for dinner? I think I’m going to hide all the mushroom soup cans the Hubby keeps buying.

We had an outdoor cinema night on the weekend and it was awesome! The Hubby found an old LCD projector at a garage sale, hooked it up to the stereo and DVD player, hung a white sheet off the deck as a screen and voila! We grabbed lots of blankets, pillows, snacks and drinks and had a little movie night on the lawn in the backyard. It was totally cool and we’re going to make it a regular thing. As long as I get to pick the next movie. The boy and the Hubby came back from the video store with Mall Cop for crying out loud.

I have no concerts planned for this summer. Last year I saw Lenny Kravitz, Stone Temple Pilots, the Tragically Hip, Rush (I am Canadian, eh), Elton John and Neil Young. This year, nada. AC/DC is coming here in August, but I hate them. Where the hell are all the other good bands this year? Maybe I’ll just rent a DVD concert and watch it in my backyard. Do you think the Hubby will let me sit on his shoulders and flash my boobs at the neighbours?

I'm very upset Jon and Kate are getting divorced. I'm very VERY upset that I give a shit that Jon and Kate are getting divorced. Hopefully Brangelina can hang in there.

Alright, that’s enough. It’s my first Tuesday back in a while; I don’t want to over do it. Today’s post was brought to you by the Un Mom. Thanks for the purge, Keely. And I don’t even have to go brush my teeth.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week Twenty Two

2009-06-22T13:49:00.001-06:00

I’m still pretty much sucking in the weight loss department but I have a good reason. I’m a newlywed!! Okay, so not really in the chronological sense, but for the first time ever the Hubby is no longer working evenings. This is major in our house.

The Hubby has had an evening job in one form or another since we were married almost fifteen years ago, and other than the odd mat leave here and there, I have had a day job my whole working life. Throw three kids into this mix, and it has not been easy. Given our history of scheduling problems it’s a miracle that we’re still married at all, never mind managing to survive it without coming out the other side saying, “Who the hell are you?”

Hubby graduated university with an education degree after a long six years the beginning of June, and once he secured a teaching position for this fall he left his night job waiting tables so he could stay home with the kids for the summer and get his poop in a group to start his first real ‘career’ type job. Yeah, I’m stressed out about the money and how we’re going to pull this off for next three months, but fuck it. Having him home at night is AWESOME.

I come home from work each day and not only is dinner made, but a glass of wine is waiting for me. The laundry is done and my yard looks like I’ve hired a landscaper. The kids are not screaming at me because I haven’t managed to put a full meal in front of them within 30 seconds of arriving at home, and I don’t have to go madly searching around the house trying to find the gear they need for whatever activity we need to dash off to.

Aside from all the obvious conveniences of having a parent home during the day to deal with daily life, having the Hubby home at night to just hang out with is way more fun than I ever thought it would be. It turns out I actually like this dude. A lot.

So Fat Chick is not rocking the gym that much lately because when I get home from work I don’t want to turn around and leave again. I want to hang out with my husband. The husband who gives me wine. The husband who covers every dish he cooks in cream of mushroom soup. The husband who thinks salads are for wussies. The husband who is finally at home every night and makes me happy.

I’m not abandoning all hope for continued weight loss, I’m still kinda sorta hanging in there. I did turn down a hot fudge sundae yesterday. That’s something, right?

I gained a pound this week. I wonder how slippery this slope is exactly?

FoN and Superkeely vs. the Fucktard Sisters - Part III

2009-06-19T18:00:00.003-06:00

I know - I’m sorry. This is morphing into a long one. It didn’t start out that way, but I’m on a roll now so you’re just going to have to come along for the ride. If you are just joining us, Part 1 is here, and Part 2 is here.

At some point during the evening Keely came up beside me with a good question.

“When was the last time you saw Valentina?”

“Ummm…...that is a good question. I’m not sure. Is she in the bathroom? Better yet, are the Fucktard Sisters still here?”

Keely and I looked at each other for a moment, collectively rolled our eyes and set off to find Valentina. We got about half way through the bar when a friend of ours stopped us to ask who the girl with giant hair was Valentina was talking to on the deck.

I think this is the point in the evening I realized there was no way I was getting out of this situation unscathed. Hmmmm. This was a tough call. If I went outside to see what was going on with Valentina and the Fucktard Sister I knew for sure she was going to come right at me. If I stayed inside and out of her way, I was hanging Valentina out to dry.

“Were they just talking, like…normal talking? Or was it more like yelling and scary talking?” I asked.

“Well, at one point Valentina looked like she was going to start crying, but then the chick with the giant hair gave her a hug.”

Oh, for the luva…… here is another thing you need to know about Valentina. She gives everyone the benefit of the doubt in every single situation. I could go to her house and burn down her garage one day and she would tell me that while she wishes I wouldn’t have sprayed gasoline all over her stuff and set it on fire, she's sure I must have had a good reason so she forgives me. Valentina is really one of the last pure good souls. God only knows what the Fucktard Sister was saying to her, but whatever it was it led Valentina to believe that everything was going to be a-okay. Yeah, not so much.

Once Keely and I realized the Fucktard Sister was not going to mess with Valentina, we made our way back through the bar and joined a table of people sitting near the back on the far left side of the stage. I had filled the Hubby in on the developing Fucktard Sister state of affairs while the band was on their last break, but I played down the situation a little. I didn’t want to worry him since there was little he would be able to do while trapped behind a drum kit all night anyway. Also, at the last break I hadn’t seen them in a while so the Fucktard Sister alert was only at DEFCON 4. After the Valentina/Fucktard Sister deck exchange the situation had taken a leap to DECFON 2 and I had a sinking feeling it was quickly approaching 1.

I took my seat at the table with my back to the wall so I could have a birds eye view of any approaching drunk and fugly lunatics. It only took one sip of my drink to catch a glimpse of her over the rim of the glass. The youngest Fucktard sister (not the one talking to Valentina on the deck, the other one), was shooting me a drunk chick version of the Zoolander Blue Steel stare.

I tried to act casual, and I even put my head under the table when I started laughing. I know laughing at her was just poking the bear, but I really couldn’t help it. Picture this –

with giant teased hair and heavy black eyeliner wearing a tank top three sizes too small with a huge stain of spilled beer down the front.

Keely joined me under the table long enough to inquire what the hell I was doing under there.

“Ummm…well, I’m avoiding making eye contact with Headbanger Charo over there – 3 o’clock.”

“Where?” Keely asked, as her head snapped up and whipped around to the general direction of the Fucktard Sister. “Oh, HA!” “Bwaaahahahahahaha, that is FUNNY”.

That was it – I just couldn’t help it anymore. Keely’s reaction, the cocktails and the absolute absurdity of the situation made me totally lose it and I started laughing hysterically. As it turns out, that was the green light the Fucktard Sister was waiting for.

FoN and Superkeely vs. the Fucktard Sisters - Part II

2009-06-18T11:48:00.004-06:00

Continuing on with the Fucktard Family tales from yesterday.......(if you're not sure what I'm talking about, go here)

Right around the same period of time Valentina was going through her divorce my Hubby was a drummer in a moderately successful local rock band. They played bars around town and throughout the province every weekend. Since the band played so often, I developed friendships with the other ‘band wives’ and attending the shows was our main social activity.

Valentina started rediscovering her friendships and social life once she was free from Fucktard and able to leave her house unescorted, so she started coming out to gigs with us. Since she was hanging out with us and the band a lot more, Valentina (like all good newly separated women before her) started digging the musician scene and became quite enamored with the lead singer. While she hadn’t technically divorced Fucktard yet, they were separated and heading for divorce so she started pursuing Lead Singer with a vengeance. I did everything possible to advance that relationship because Lead Singer was a pretty decent guy, and the closer Valentina got to him the further away she ran from Fucktard. And, it made Fucktard very angry when he got wind of Valentina’s new object of affection, which was just straight up gravy to me.

One weekend the guys had a gig at a popular local bar and we had all decided to go and see the band play. And when I say all, I mean ALL. I invited everyone to that show – my family, friends, coworkers, the cashier at the grocery store, the guy that pumps my gas….you name it and I had probably invited it to see the show that night. The band wives piled over to my place for some pre-game activity and shortly after 10:00 pm we headed out to the show. We took longer at my house than we intended to, so by the time we finally got to the bar Valentina was already there and the guys were on stage in the middle of their first set. I had barely checked my coat when Valentina ran over to me with her ass on fire and yanked me around the corner. She was speaking in a tense, high-pitched tone that could only indicate clearly something was up with something.

“The Fucktard Sisters are here! They are IN. THE. BAR!”

“So?” I said. “It’s a big bar; we can steer clear of them. Besides, their hair is four feet high. I’ll keep an eye out and we’ll relocate if it starts bobbing this direction.”

“No, you don’t understand,” stressed Valentina. “Fucktard has told them you are responsible for destroying his family. They are not mad at ME, they’re mad at YOU.”

At this point in the evening I actually wasn’t all that worried. While I am definitely not one who courts drama, Valentina sure is. I love her to pieces, but she routinely gets herself involved with people and situations straight out of All My Children. I wouldn’t at all be surprised if it turns out she has the mailman’s love child locked in her attic. Considering this fact, I kind of pooh-poohed her.

“C’mon, it will be fine,” I said. “What are they going to do? Beat me up?” (That would be foreshadowing right there people. My high school English teacher would be so proud)

I gave Valentina the guy punch on the shoulder and made my way to the bar to get a cocktail. While I wasn’t exactly panicked, I did have the peripheral vision working double time scanning the crowd for that ridiculous hair. I had a simple strategy – make no eye contact whatsoever, and pretend that I had no idea they were even in the bar.

I started walking through the crowd hoping to find a table of people I knew or the other band wives quickly. I spotted Keely sitting at a large oblong table with a group of mutual friends and swiftly pulled up a chair. Keely immediately leaned over, “Did you see Valentina yet?”

“Of course. I barely had my coat off and she was all over me”

“Are they going to start anything you think?” asked Keely.

“I doubt it. I invited a lot of people here tonight. I know they’re stupid, but they’re not that stupid.”

Now, I’m going to interject here to explain that up until this point I have led a very violence-free life. I grew up in a nice community surrounded by reasonable and peaceful people who would never think to punch anyone. If you’ve been reading the blog for any amount of time I’m sure you have figured out by now that I’m actually kind of a hippy. I don’t fight. The idea of fighting anyone was so far out of my frame of reference that I really didn’t believe it actually ever happened in real life. Sure, on that ‘bad boys bad boys’ COPS show maybe, but I sort of assumed that was just an American thing (uh, no offense).

The night went on initially without incident. The band was kicking ass, a whole ton of people I knew showed up, we were dancing up a storm, I had a few more cocktails…..I had all but forgotten the Fucktard sisters were even there. That is until Valentina suddenly disappeared and we couldn’t find her anywhere.

Superkeely vs. the Fucktard Sisters - Part I

2009-06-17T16:02:00.005-06:00

Valentina got married really young to a complete asshole. This guy was the poster boy for abusive douche bags. He would assign her a curfew whenever she went anywhere without him, controlled who she was allowed to talk to and hangout with, manipulated her family against her, blah, blah, blah. Unfortunately, I’m sure most of you know the type I’m talking about. Needless to say, he hated my guts.

Not surprisingly the marriage didn’t last long and she cut him lose shortly after their first wedding anniversary. This pleased me to no end, especially since by that point I wasn’t allowed in her house anymore. This guy – let’s call him Fucktard – was devastated when Valentina left him. Fucktard was a Captain America type who thought he was the greatest thing to ever walk the earth and was incensed that his wife would have the gall to leave him. He set about trying to get her back, and when that didn’t work he decided he was going to ruin her and everyone around her. Since he gave Valentina no credit for having her own brain, he decided it was my fault his marriage ended. His controlling, obsessive and abusive behaviour had nothing to do with it, of course. He convinced himself, his family, Valentina’s family and anyone else that would listen that I corrupted Valentina and brainwashed her into leaving him. Trust me, if that was possible I would have done it before she married him.

The whole brouhaha surrounding the period of time Valentina was trying to free herself from Fucktard is a long story, but let me just say it went on for months. Fucktard would routinely call me at all hours trying to track her down, park outside my house waiting for me to come home so we could ‘talk’ (in a vain and brief attempt to get me on side, since I was the one controlling her, remember), and he even tried to convince her family (and was briefly successful) that I was a drug dealer who had hooked her on drugs. Yeah, I know. It was all very Days of our Lives. I am not one of those individuals who courts drama, so the whole thing was a major pain in my ass.

Fucktard comes from a redneck family who is…….let’s just say quite lacking in basic social graces. They are the type of people who say ‘I seen it’ and put an ‘s’ on the word ‘all’. They have giant hair and are almost always covered in bruises, cuts and have missing teeth (the men and the women). I don’t recall ever going to any of their trailers, but a hundred bucks says there would be a rusted out 1980’s model camero parked on the lawn. Oh, yes. A very charming bunch indeed. How does all of this tie into the Keely bar fight incident you ask? Well, Fucktard has two sisters.

These girls were pretty much violent, hairier versions of Fucktard. I did feel a little bad for them (the younger one showed up to Valentina and Fucktard’s wedding beaten to a pulp, and the oldest one was a grandmother by age 34), but they didn’t exactly go out of their way to act like civilized adults. True, they may not have known how to act like civilized adults, but I don’t know……something like learning to read might have helped their lot in life a little. Their heads are gigantic; surely they could have used them for something other than backcombing hair.

Anyhoo, Fuckard had no problem convincing these two brain waves that it was all me – I was the sole reason Valentina left him, and I needed to be dealt with accordingly.

You can take down all those 'Wanted' posters now

2009-06-16T22:56:00.002-06:00

I’m sure there are at least five or six of you that have noticed I’ve been a little MIA of late. Sorry about that. I was going to throw up a ‘Gone Fishing’ sign and a quick note of explanation, but….well, I just didn’t.

I am having a crisis of blog. I’m not really blocked per se, but I am feeling a little creatively stifled. Long story short – I was outted. My new workplace found my blog (stupid google) and all of a sudden I am surrounded by people who know the real me and FoN. Aside from a handful of close friends, up until recently people either new me, or FoN. Not both. It’s fascinating (inside work joke – hi guys).

I have since poured through the internet to make sure no one else can tie the real me to FoN, but that’s a little like getting out of the pool when it starts raining. I really like FoN – she gets to say stuff (she would have said ‘shit’ right there) that I can’t say. I have to be appropriate pretty much everywhere. I am a professional, a mom, a wife, a volunteer, etc. I wouldn’t really show up at the PTA meeting with an umbrella cocktail and tell the uppity suburbanites to bite me. FoN would though, and I loved the indulgence the ‘anonymous’ blog gave me.

When I first discovered I was outted I totally freaked out. I started reading through past posts and was more and more horrified as I went. I said I liked Jesus because he rocks out with his cock out. I was pissed off when I got demoted at the last job and talked about how I gave the finger to everyone at work as they walk by. I suggested the best way to relax is to have a bath and smoke a fatty. Yeah....not that cool in the workplace.

I thought about starting all over with a new alias, but that’s too much work and I’m super busy (read: lazy). I have seriously considered quitting blogging all together, but I would miss FoN and the creative outlet blogging gives me. So…..I have decided to press on. They haven’t fired me yet, so that’s a good sign, right? I might say ‘fuck’ a little less (oops) and blogging about work clearly isn’t going to happen anymore (which is too bad because there is some seriously funny shit going on around that place), but FoN will live on. I still have to tell you the Keely/bar fight story, after all.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week Twenty One

2009-06-15T17:30:00.004-06:00

Huh? What’s that? All of you just never mind.

This past (ahem) week was a little hit and miss. We have so much to catch up on people! I spend a lot of my time summarizing conversations into pretty spreadsheets, reports and presentations, so I’m going to rock this bad boy bullet point style -

- The Hubby graduated university and then went and got him self a grown-up job. He will be teaching a grade 2/3 split class starting in the fall, and I’m going to giggle every time I hear someone call him ‘Mr. FoN’.

- What does that have to do with Fat Chick, you ask? Well……she celebrated. A little. Okay, a lot. For about two weeks straight.

- Interesting fact – I didn’t gain any weight whatsoever.

- Another interesting fact – the week prior to my two week impression of Anna Nicole before she became all coked-out and hooked on Trimspa and then died? I was religious with my eating and exercising. I didn’t lose an ounce that week.

Ummmm, excuse me, but I thought this whole thing was supposed to be scientific? Isn’t the magic formula burn more calories than you eat and then you lose weight? That’s what Oprah told me. That’s what Trainer Lady told me. That’s what Google has said over and over again. What the fuck with the plateau? Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful I’m not gaining weight because I SO should have, but why does all of that not seem to matter anymore? This would all be fine and good if I was struggling with the last five or ten, but I still have more than 30 pounds to drop.

I have agreed to run in a marathon relay team this September, which is pretty hilarious because I don’t run. Ever. This one time a crazy drunk chick in a bar thought I had wronged her in some way and gave me the ‘Wanna go?’ line, and I started laughing so hard she got super pissed off and came after me with her giant teased hair and Old Stock beer bottle a blazin’. As far as I can remember, that was the last time I ran anywhere, and that was about twelve years ago. Interesting side note to that story – I ran as close as I could get to the bouncer and Keely because I had a little confidence in the bouncer, but I knew for sure Super Keely would TOTALLY kick her ass. I think that is a blog for another time though…….

As I was saying, I am going to run in this relay marathon. It’s just a tad abstract because our ‘team’ has been planning this for a few weeks now, but the only action we’ve seen is in written form on a Facebook events page. I don’t hold out too much hope it will happen, but the threat of it is so far enough to keep me somewhat motivated.

My major motivation lately? SUMMER.

Waterskiing season is upon us. I am going to try and haul my fat ass out of the water this year people. Picturing me cutting through those waves is my workout fantasy, and I’m getting a little scared. I have about two weeks left to train before I try to get up on those goddamn skis, and I’m having some doubts. I’ll keep you posted.

Speaking of posted – yeah, okay……so I took a little time off. More on that tomorrow. Or maybe Wednesday. This week for SURE.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week Twenty

2009-05-18T16:54:00.005-06:00

Dear Body:

While Fat Chick's enthusiasm is often a pleasant addition, she is very easily distracted. The next twenty weeks should be pretty telling when determining the overall success of project ‘Quit Being So Fat, Yo’.

Working out: B-
FC's effort this term has been hit and miss. While she is sometimes extremely motivated, she is easily sidetracked by various occasions such as going away parties and long weekends. It would work in her favor to develop a plan well in advance of the week and make more of an effort to stick with it. She has, however, made some marvelous improvements to her strength, balance, and endurance levels. I am excited to learn that she has agreed to run as part of a relay team in the Queen City Marathon this September. With a continued focus on training, I am hopeful she won’t make a total ass of herself or break something. I’m not laying bets though.

Balanced Diet: C-
FC is able to stick to her diet regime during the week, but on the weekends she eats like she was just kicked off of Survivor. Finding a balance and observing a healthy diet throughout the week would work towards the ultimate goal of moving from Fat Chick to Hot Chick. Laying off the booze would also be advisable. Amy Whinehouse is plenty skinny, if you get what I'm sayin'.

Overall progress to date: C+
Week twenty and Fat Chick is down some noticeable pounds. A reasonable weight loss by this point would be between 40 and 45 pounds, and FC is currently sitting at a weight loss of 27 pounds. Acceptable, but not exactly awe inspiring. Given the current obstacles in her way (work, kids, finances, lazy) she is meeting expectations. With some increased dedication and additional focus, Fat Chick shows a lot of potential. Keep up the good work FC!

Dear Conscience:

Yeah, I know. I’m trying, but it’s not that easy to change years of bad habits and neurosis. I’m working on it, and it’s always top of my mind, and every time I cheat I feel really guilty about it which is all thanks to you. I don’t want to cheat, but…well, it’s finally summer and that comes with some stuff like eating nachos and drinking beer. Okay, so I did that during the winter too, but it’s so much more satisfying during the summer. And, I still really miss my co-workers and they were getting together this weekend, and what’s a girl to do? I know, I know. I’m going to stop. Honest. Quit looking at me that way. I mean it. Fuck off.

I did lose three pounds this week. I have 33 to go.

Fat Chick vs, Food - week Eighteen and Nineteen

2009-05-11T07:00:00.001-06:00

I’m combining Fat Chick posts this week since I missed last week. I suck.

I’m still struggling with trying to get exercise and eating right into a schedule that seems to be all consuming. I’m getting there, but it’s not easy.

I think I am coming around to the inevitable conclusion that I’m going to have to exercise in the morning. I really, really, really don’t want to do that, but I can’t see away around it. I am not a morning person at all, and I have tried to work out in the morning in the past without much success. I bought into that whole line of thinking that it is a great way to start the day! If you exercise at 5:00 a.m. you’ll feel fabulous all day long!! I tried that, and all it did was make me a raging bitch all day long. I just don’t have the gene that makes people fabulous at 5:00 a.m. Unless it’s 5:00 a.m. and I’m still up, then I’m fabulous.

The kids have started soccer, we’re down to one car again, my work hours have increased, I have two parties to plan and I’m getting defeated. I ate crappy all weekend and I haven’t exercised as much as I should. I really need to get it together. This is what the backslide feels like. I haven’t even had time to read or write blogs lately, and that’s something I actually like to do. Life is too much and stressing me out.

I can’t even think of anything else to write. I’ve lost two pounds in two weeks. I have 36 more pounds to go. Blah.

The W.A.S.P and the Albanians

2009-04-28T21:55:00.015-06:00

I don’t have any family in town. Actually, I barely have any family at all. I have a mom, a brother and a tiny smattering of aunts/uncles/cousins who I speak to about twice a year. I’ve tried, a few times, to establish more of an actual relationship with these people but it’s pretty clear they are not really interested. None of them live in the same province as me anyway, and it appears I have cemented my position as black sheep when I was a teenager and now I’m just going to have to live with it. Not even facebook is thawing this bunch. Whatever, that’s fine. I often wish I had some family, but it is what it is.

What I do have are in-laws. LOTS of in-laws since my husband is one of six children. I have been with the same man since I was fifteen years old so I have grown up with my husband’s family and consider them actual family and not just an indiscriminate collection of people I inherited that I need to contend with during the holidays. I love them. They make me crazy because every single last one of them is certifiably insane, but it’s kind of part of their charm.

The large extended family option that came standard when I purchased the Hubby was part of the initial draw. The family I grew up with is considerably different than my in-laws. They are a small group who is quiet and conservative. They eat really nice expensive food, drink good wine and go on a lot of trips. I get the feeling they are somewhere between amused and horrified that I married a Ukrainian (he’s actually Romanian, but it took my family eight years to stop referring to him as Albanian so I take what I can get). They all have immaculately clean houses (like, freakish hospital-quality clean houses) and none of the women have careers. Well, I do have an aunt that is a nurse and a cousin that is almost a nurse, but the only reason they work at all is because they don’t have husbands. Female careers in my family are pretty much unheard of unless you have no one to ‘support’ you. They also have very nice manners and grammar and all family dinners are eaten properly at the beautiful dining room table using the matching china. Kids are trained not to speak or create any noise or generate any mess, and only a few certain people are invited to family occasions at a time. If you had more people than seats or plates, (a) there would be a tragic mismatched dinnerware situation, and (b) an increased risk of sound. There is NO NOISE EVER allowed around my family. They are a quiet bunch who like things proper and orderly and dignified. It's just how they roll.

The in-laws, on the other hand….are....umm..... different. They are loud (like, bag-pipe marching band loud), opinionated, invite whoever is hungry to whatever occasion is happening and all the kids get to talk or make noise whenever they want. Nobody has a clean house and all the women work. In fact, most of them make more money than their husbands. They burn every piece of meat to a scorching chunk of coal and buy whatever red wine is cheapest and then put it in the fridge. They eat food like perogies (SO good) and cabbage rolls (meh). They have random, quirky relatives whose average age is about 97 and when they come over for a family occasion my father-in-law assigns them a seat and proceeds to get them drunk. After a few stiff ones they start telling fart jokes in Romanian. Everyone eats dinner sitting in whatever free space they can find and if you can score a TV table it’s a major triumph. The brothers and sisters speak in these randomly bizarre pretend accents for no reason and play board games after dinner that include actions such as screaming ‘YODI YODI YODI YODI YODI’ as loud as possible while rubbing bums together and flailing arms whenever a team scores a point. There is nothing proper, orderly or dignified about this bunch. I fit in quite nicely.

Because my family doesn’t live near me and I have grown up with the in-laws, my house is a closer reflection of the environment created by my husband’s family than it is my original family. This works for us, but I don’t think it’s advancing my goal of some day fitting in with my original family. The world they live in has very specific rock-solid rules to live by and I don’t live by them. I work a lot, my house is always mess, my kids make noise and act like, well, kids, I earn more money than my husband and I have adopted the ‘more the merrier’ philosophy to hosting. I’ve tried to marry the two families together a few times for various occasions, and…..let’s just say it hasn’t really worked out all that well. That’s okay. I’m making peace with it. I’m grateful to have this ‘other’ family who makes me laugh and doesn’t take themselves all that seriously.

I’m never putting a bottle of red wine in the fucking refrigerator though. A girl has to draw the line somewhere.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week Seventeen

2009-04-27T22:22:00.005-06:00

Week seventeen. Yeah……it’s coming off the rails, folks.

I should be down at least 35 pounds at this point and I’m not. I can hear my inner-skinny person yelling at me, but it’s pretty faint and muffled -

“Help me! I’ve fallen down and some giant Fat Chick is sitting on me and I can’t get up!” Heeeeelllllpppp Mmmmeeeeee…….”

My accomplishments so far have been respectable, but by no means awe inspiring. I’ve taken the edge off my fatness, but I’m still miles away from being fit and healthy. I feel and look better, but my progress has been non-existent for about the past month. I need to re-focus here. Fo sho.

Let’s have an Oprah moment, shall we? Why, exactly, is my commitment to kicking Fat Chick’s ass waning? Yes, I am very busy and my schedule is a definite cause of my lack of exercise and less than stellar diet choices lately. With three kids, a new job and various other commitments I can totally use lack of time as an actual reason why I have not been able to exercise and eat right everyday. But, that begs the question. How badly do I want to make this change? If some crazed lunatic broke into my house and kidnapped one of my kids and told me I would only get her* back if I ate a balanced diet and worked out everyday, I’m pretty sure I would magically find some time. It wouldn’t be easy, but I’d find it somewhere. Alas, I don’t have such a threat hanging over me and therefore when I finally get home and flop my fat ass on the couch it’s pretty easy to convince it to stay there. Who wants to go to the gym when Jack Bauer just found out that Tony Almeda betrayed him? Please! Gym shmym.

So, according to daytime talk show logic there is another reason I’m ‘choosing’ to stay fat. I have some deep seeded issues around body image, my parents, self-esteem or some long buried childhood trauma that is manifesting itself in shield of fat. Is there anyone else out there that thinks that line of thinking smacks a little of bullshit? I agree that for people who need to be cut out of their house and transported via semi-trailer there is probably some other issue at work there, but what about the rest of us regular fat people? Aren’t there any of us who are just plain straight up lazy? Do we ALL have some problem that reveals itself as fat? There are a lot of fat people in the world. I can’t believe that every last one of us would be raring to go the minute we fixed whatever emotional problem we have that is making us fat.

I like relaxing, and eating food that tastes good, and seeing my children for more than 30 minutes a day. I don’t like waking up at 5 a.m. to exercise, or tasteless food, or missing a night out with girls. But the thing is I really don’t like being fat, either. Not even a little. So…off I go. Week seventeen here I come. I am going to find some time this week to workout and my hidden emotional trauma and Jack Bauer are just going to have to suck it.

I gained 1.5 pounds last week. That means I still have 38 pounds to go.

* I’m assuming a crazed lunatic would take one the girls. The boy’s bedroom is at the back of the house and kind of hard to get to, and even if he manages to find him I’m pretty sure a crazed lunatic would trip on one of the 500 action figures spread all over the floor, waking everyone in the house with his swearing while he pulled out the transformer action figure piece that had became embedded in his knee cap.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week Sixteen

2009-04-22T21:01:00.004-06:00

Well, hello there. I've been a little MIA lately. My bad. You guys can all stop the letter writing campaign now, I'm back. Ha! Yeah, whatever.

We are now actually about half way through week sixteen, and I’m only getting around to posting now. Unfortunately, that is a pretty accurate representation of how last week went with the whole Fat Chick project. I’ve been trying to get around to exercising, but well….my car was broken for a few days, and then work got SUPER busy, and then my kids got all needy and wanted a mother, blah, blah, blah.

I’m having a problem with balance. My old job was boring and easy so I had all kinds of time to plan meals, research fitness ideas and take off early to go workout. Since I went and got myself a real job, I’ve actually had to work during the day. Can you imagine? Like, all day.

When I get home I have a whole bunch of kids maul me immediately and by the time I manage to shake 'em off all I want to do is watch some crappy television show and then go to bed. I’ve tried working out in the morning, but I just can’t do it. My body can't be forced to do anything other than stand underneath running water and ingest coffee before 8:00 am.

I’ve been pretty good with the food, but the taunting force of the Easter chocolate that I KNOW is in my house has broken me a few times. I gave it all to the Hubby to hide so I wouldn’t be tempted, but all that’s really done is provoke me to rip my house apart like some crazed crack addict who has misplaced her stash. Seriously, last night you would have assumed I had hosted The Who concert after party based on all the crap I had thrown around looking for that fucking chocolate rabbit.

So, what’s a Fat Chick to do? I’m not sure, actually. Cut what I’m eating way down and make peace with starvation? Exercise like a lunatic on the weekends? I honestly can’t quite come up with a real option right now, but one thing I know I’m not going to do is surrender.

I have lost weight in the past and I know how this goes. I inevitably get to a certain point and then surrender to it all. I let the Fat Chick win and then spend the next year gaining all my weight back. I’m not sure how to continue the momentum I have grown these past sixteen weeks, but I’m going to come up with something. I better come up with something.

I haven't lost any weight in ten days. I still have 36.5 pounds to go.

Random Tuesday Thoughts - I'm a mean white Obama lovin' fool

2009-04-13T22:44:00.007-06:00

It’s Tuesday Randomness over at Keely’s place. You know the drill.

I’m feeling a little bad for being so hard on Trainer Dude yesterday. The power of the blog is quite something because based on your comments I could easily form a little army of pissed-off mommy bloggers to go and kick his ass. You guys are awesome, and I’m pretty sure if I was able to unleash you into the world you’d have this whole Iraq/Afghanistan war business dealt with in a couple of hours. I think I’m going to email Barack and tell him what time it is.

As for Trainer Dude, I may have misled you. It’s not like he’s a total muscle head shit-for-brains or anything, he just gives off an ‘I don’t like fat chicks’ vibe. But, let’s be honest – don’t most guys to a certain degree? I don’t mean regular guys like our husbands or the fearless Captain, but I think the beer drinking, macho, pub-crawl loving meathead guys have a genetic predisposition to the anti-Fat Chick point of view. It's not even really his fault, if you think of it that way. There is also a reasonable chance it’s all in my head anyway.

Did you know that Obama just held the first ever White House Passover Seder? I think that is the greatest thing ever. Especially since Christianity reigns supreme in pretty much everything, observing a holiday from another religion is awesome. Inclusion rules.

I need advice on how to change the colour of my legs. They are currently about two shades lighter than snow. They don’t tan naturally, tanning beds totally freak me out and every spray on/rub in tan stuff I’ve tried makes me look like a carrot. I know I should just embrace my whiteness, but it’s so bad people audibly gasp when they see how truly white the gams really are. I just want to stop making children cry. Suggestions are welcome.

I haven’t actually had the pleasure of seeing Master’s Degree since last week’s RTT, so I don’t have any updates on the crazy chick front. It’s too bad, really. I had a lot of fabulous suggestions I was dying to try out on her. I’ll keep you posted.

I’m so hungry. I really miss my friend’s chips and dip some nights. My friend’s carrots and celery are boring. It’s sort of like trading in cocaine for earl grey tea.

I think that’s it. All cleared out now.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week Fifteen

2009-04-12T22:53:00.007-06:00

I’m still going to boot camp three days a week and it’s very effective. I’m sweaty and gross by the time I leave so I think that is a good measure of any workout session. Unfortunately for me Trainer Lady went and got herself a day job, and therefore is not running the boot camps anymore. She is still offering one-on-one sessions thank god, but running the boot camps three times a week has been passed to another trainer. A DUDE no less.

At first I kind of liked him. He was so hilariously awkward that it was sort of charming. Watching some big muscle-head guy stand at the front of a gym leading a group of mom-types in a fitness class was providing a new level of amusement to my exercise routine. He also plays really loud circa 1995 alternative rock music which I also like. It’s sort of like being 23 again and back in my favorite bar shaking my fabulous ass. My ass was fabulous in 1995.

The last few classes, however, I have been reminded. He’s a guy. A fitness trainer guy. Guys, especially the type of guys who become personal trainers, don’t like fat chicks. I love Trainer Lady not because she is a great trainer (she is), but because she didn’t pass judgment on me when I showed up on her doorstep all fat and out of shape and defeated. She accepted me for where I was and dug in. And, a couple of weeks ago when we did my three month reassessment and had discovered that I had lost twenty pounds and sixteen inches, she was genuinely happy for me. Trainer Lady has played a big part in my success so far. I don't even know her very well, but I somehow still want to do her proud. I love her.

I’m not feeling the love from Trainer Dude. He is trying his best to mask his distaste for me (as resident fat chick in boot camp class), but he’s not very good at it. I’m pretty sure I’m the butt of a few jokes when he goes home to whoever he goes home too. Whoever that person may be, my money is on them not being a fat chick.

You know, I honestly don’t care what he thinks of me. I don’t need to like this guy; I just need him to lead me through some exercise three times a week. The thing that does bother me is that in his subtle way he drives home the fact that I’m the fat chick. He reminds me that more often than not I’m the chick who is standing next to the hot chicks being completely ignored by some random asshole. I don’t need or want attention from assholes, I just don’t want to be the fat chick anymore. Yes, I know I’m the fat chick. That’s why I’m in that fucking exercise class in the first place.

Well, you know what Trainer Dude? You’re ugly* and you have stupid clothes. So there. I’m fat and immature. Deal.

I lost two pounds this week. I have 36.5 to go.

*He's not really ugly - he's just a regular guy. I kind of feel bad writing that, but not quite bad enough to remove it. After a talk with myself I settled on a disclaimer. I totally stand by the stupid clothes comment though.

Whoever said 'time is on your side' must have been in their twenties.

2009-04-08T21:10:00.008-06:00

The lovely Sprite's Keeper has this groovy little thing over at her place called the Spin Cycle. The assignment last week was to write a post about time. I started my post about time, but then I got all busy and lazy and well....I ran out of time. But since I sort of appreciate the irony I finished it late and am posting it now. This week's assignment is a free for all, so it still kind of counts, right?

It’s no secret I have had a weight problem for years and it’s been a major pain in my enormous ass. I have had such tunnel vision about the fact that I’m fat I haven’t really paid much attention to anything else. Now that I’m starting to lose some weight and my body is looking good (well, better), I have only recently noticed another problem. Cyberland, I am OLD. When did that happen exactly? I embraced the fact that I’m somebody’s mother years ago, but it honestly hasn't occured to me that I might actually look like somebody’s mother too. I’m old, and it snuck up on me. I’m super worried that any minute now I’m going to have an uncontrollable desire to cover my furniture in plastic.

Alright, so I’m not really old old. Not old by conventional standards anyway. I don’t have pieces of hard candy covered in lint at the bottom of my purse or anything. There is no denying that I’m definitely aging though. I need to go to bed at a reasonable hour or else I’m cranky and tired the next day. I don’t let my gas tank get below a quarter of a tank for fear of running out and being stranded somewhere. I can’t function on any level when I'm hungover anymore. These are all things that have become my life standard since I got old. Ahem, mature. None of those things would have ever crossed my mind to consider in my twenties. That’s all fine and good – maturity, responsibility, reasonable behaviour…it turns out all that stupid crap is actually pretty useful. I was an idiot fifteen years ago, now I’m not. For that, I’m grateful.

For what I am certainly not grateful is the inherited treachery that is slowly taking over my body. What the fuck am I doing looking like my mom all of a sudden? What IS that and when did it get there? Do I need to start using some kind of cream product in order to deal with it? When did my skin stop agreeing to report back to its original position? Is there some kind of government sponsored subsidy offered to help with the additional time and money I am losing in order to keep myself running? I was under the mistaken impression that I was under warranty.

My friend Politika did her master's thesis (no, she’s not this chick) on the health impacts to women who get breast implants. I didn’t read it (she’s a lot smarter than me and I wouldn’t have understood what she was talking about anyway), but not surprisingly the bottom line was they are bad. Bad, bad, bad and it doesn’t matter if they are silicone or saline implants, they are still bad bad bad. She completed her thesis about ten or so years ago, and her firm position back then was that no one should ever get implants for any reason ever. Not for cosmetic vanity, not because you are a woman trapped in a man’s body, and not even if you ended up with cancer and needed a radical double mastectomy. I remember somewhat trying to argue the point that for some women the risk to their physical health might be smaller than the risk to their mental health should they not be able to correct whatever problem they have (or perceive to have).

She was having none of it – they are bad bad bad regardless of circumstance. Now, that was ten years ago. Politika is gorgeous and always has been – she never wears a stitch of make-up, has a great body and looks fit and radiant all the time. However…..I would be willing to bet the boobs of the 25-year old thesis student who wrote that paper are probably different than the boobs of the 35-year old mom who has now nursed two children. I often wonder if her position on that subject has changed slightly. Not that I believe for a moment she would ever consider getting a boob job, but I bet time has softened her stance on the bad bad bad implants somewhat, at least for a few special circumstances. It’s pretty easy to say NEVER when you are twenty five with an absolute perfect body and have no idea what it’s like to live in an imperfect body.

Either way, I have no firm plans to get a boob job. I’m just going to watch them shrivel up and sag to my waist like a regular old person. They’re heading south pretty fast right now too. Maybe in a few years I’ll be able to smack people around with them. Wouldn’t that be awesome? People talking in a movie theatre, people crowding me in the elevator, whoever happends to be in striking distance and pissing me off would get a whap! upside the head. I could just whip out one of the girls and tune in whoever needs it. They wouldn’t know what hit ‘em. Alright, getting old might not be all bad.

Random Tuesday - the one where I'm not even bitching about anything!

2009-04-06T21:37:00.008-06:00

It’s Random Tuesday again folks! Ahh, it’s good to be back. I missed last week because I was having a personal crisis and forcing my brain into unstructured behaviour was just too tall an order.

I have recently met a woman who uses every possible opportunity to mention to anyone within ear shot that she’s working on completing her master's degree. Within the first thirty seconds of meeting anyone new it manages to come up in conversation.

“Hi there, nice to meet you. What do you do?” I’M COMPLETING MY MASTER’S DEGREE , and I’m a teacher.

“Hey, did you get that email?” I HAVE A MASTERS DEGREE, I know how to read email."

At first it was odd, then it was obnoxious, but now it’s fucking hilarious. I have started a new game called Six Degrees of Masters Degree Separation. I think of the most random, bizarre thing to say to her and see how quickly she can bring it around to her MASTERS DEGREE. So far I’ve tried, “Hey, do you like monkeys?” and it only took four steps to get us there. Monkeys = rainforest = environment = class she took as part of her MASTERS DEGREE. I see her a few times a week usually, so I’m open to suggestions for questions. I’ll report back on progress next Tuesday.

It’s spring here finally! Thank god. I know you’re all as happy as I am because you don’t have to listen to me whine anymore. Yeah, I know it was annoying, but that was honestly the worst winter I have ever experienced in my entire life. I think Mother Nature finally got laid because she was being a major bitch for five solid months. Maybe JC fixed her up with an apostle or something. I’ve heard Luke was something of a babe.

My new workplace has a fridge stocked with all kind of drinks. It’s pretty awesome, but there are no diet drinks so the temptation for a coke ….a cold, cold frosty, bubbly and delicious can of coke (Barry White is giving me the oooooohhhhhhh yeeaahhhhhhhh in my head right now), is torturous. The only non-42-grams-of-sugar beverage they have is V8, and you all know how I feel about that. I’m going to bring some sparkling water in tomorrow. I like that stuff. It’s fancy.

I miss my beautiful big office with a window. I have a cubical now, and I really didn’t think I would care, but I do. Natural light can really do a lot for ones mood. No, I didn’t take a demotion. It’s more of a ‘big fish in a small pond’ vs. ‘small fish in a big pond’ kind of arrangement. It’s okay. When I take over the world I’m pretty sure I’ll get an office again.

Drop by on Keely and see what’s up with the rest of cyberland. There are a lot of people signing on for RTT, so clearly it's THE place to be.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week Fourteen

2009-04-05T18:59:00.010-06:00

Alright week fourteen! Wow, that week went by pretty quick. In fact, all the weeks are going by pretty quick. I’ve been using the “I’ll just cheat a little now, and be REALLY good next week” line of thinking for a while now. I’ve missed two boot camp classes in a row because I decided to go for beer and nachos instead of exercising. I’m still losing weight, but I betcha it would be coming off a lot faster if I didn’t cheat so much. I know, I should give myself a break, and I do. Obviously. The plate of nachos I inhaled Friday night had a little voice with a sexy Mexican accent telling me to go for it.

‘Seniorita! What is boot aaa feuu nachos? You cheeet a leetle, no?’

It’s hard for me to walk the line between leading a regular life that is healthy with the odd treat, vs. indulging every craving, opportunity and whim that comes my way that involves food and drink. I’m stressed, I miss my co-workers, I feel like I’m always behind, and I use these excuses to cheat. Just this ONE time. This ONE time seems to be happening a lot lately. And holy SHIT, it’s almost Easter. I am seriously expected to buy a huge bag of chocolates and hide them all over my house? Are you kidding? That’s what I’m trying to STOP doing. Do you think my kids will mind if I gave them yogurt cups and grapes instead?

I did get my first 'holy shit, look at you’ this weekend, so that felt good. My life is pretty regulated and I do the same things day after day. I am in fact quite dull. Consequently, I see the same people every day which means my weight loss has gone largely unnoticed. On Saturday I went to a baby shower that was filled with people I only see a few times a year, and more than a few people seemed obviously surprised with my new boot-ay. It felt pretty good. So, off I go! The beginning of week fourteen. I am going to boot camp tonight (thanks to Keely who it going to take over some of my mom-duties in order to make it possible for me to go. She rocks), I have trainer lady Tuesday, boot camp Wednesday, the gym on Thursday, boot camp Friday and most likely squash during the weekend. And, I might throw in a few AA meetings because I’m jumping back on the wagon. No booze for me, the WHOLE week. Now, if I can only figure out a way around those fucking chocolate eggs I’ll be golden.

I only lost one pound this week (stupid nachos). I have 38.5 to go.

It's a new one - I better pace myself

2009-04-03T00:03:00.003-06:00

I’m having drinks tomorrow night with the a group of ladies I worked with ten years ago. It’s amazing I still even know these women, considering when we worked together I was very young and pretty much a dumb-ass. We worked in the ‘sales and marketing’ department of an insurance company. That sounds really dull, but actually, it was kind of awesome. One year we entered a team in the local Dragon Boat festival (long canoes paddled by semi-drunk people wearing matching t-shirts) and called ourselves the S & M Dragon Warriors. Get it? The S &M Dragon Warriors?? Aren’t we clever? We even had a banner designed that included a logo with a large cartoon dragon sporting a dog collar and a whip. Yeah, it was insurance, but we managed to make it cool. That was a long time ago, and I’m still in touch with my ladies. This, along with my recent career change, has made me think a lot about co-workers and the role they play in our lives.

Co-workers are a mysterious thing. They’re sort of like in-law’s – life just assigns them to you on a totally random basis. You have no say whatsoever in who they are, but more often than not you spend more time with this ad-hoc group of people then you do your own family or friends. You get to choose your husband, you get to choose your friends, but your co-workers are completely pre-determined. As a result, you need to think more strategically about how you manage these pre-assigned relationships, especially when they're brand new. When do you get to talk about your weekend and mention the drunken escapade to the gay bar? When do you get to say ‘fuck’ without feeling like a serial killer? When do you get to sing ABBA songs in your office in a weird falsetto voice when you can’t stand the hummmmmmmm of the fluorescent lights anymore? Ahem…not that I would WANT to do that…..

Counting my new position, I have now had four ‘real’ jobs in my life. I’m not counting the years of total shit ‘I just need rent money’ kind of jobs (I’ve had a million of those), but four honest to god, career-esque kind of jobs. Thinking back to each of those I remember less about the actual work and more about the people I was working with. Some of them were the greatest people ever. Some of them totally sucked ass. Some of them I wouldn’t remember if you put a gun to my head, but the one thing they all had in common was that they were part of my separate world that no one in my ‘real’ life gets to be a part of.

Starting a new job has made me wonder….how does the real life FoN match up with the work FoN? If you asked my friends who I have known for twenty years what they think of me and the type of person I am, would you get the same answers as when you asked my work friends? Not sure. I bet you wouldn’t. Work is a very different environment, and even when you get comfortable and form real friendships, you still have to be a different person than you are in your regular life. Okay, maybe not different, necessarily, but certainly modified. However, the longer you work someplace, the more of the ‘real’ you comes out. What makes a good workplace? When the ‘real’ you comes out and it turns out to be a good thing.

I better pace myself though. Too much of the real FoN might just freak them the hell out. I don’t think they’re ready for the sadomasochistic dragon banner quite yet.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week Thirteen

2009-03-29T21:02:00.005-06:00

I have officially completed my first three months. I have been working with Trainer Lady since January 8th, and at my session last week she decided to re-check my measurements. If you will recall, my first meeting with Trainer Lady was a lesson in humiliation. This time, the measuring was far less horrifying:

Here is the new vs. old:

Big and Fat FoN (Jan 8th)

Chest: 43.5
Waist: 40
Hip: 49 (ugh, that one hurts)

Moderately Chubby FoN (March 24th)

Chest: 40.5
Waist: 35
Hip: 40.5

You betcha ladies – that is a total inches down of 16.5! Almost nine of that has come off my ass alone. I’m pretty pleased with myself. However…I must say I am starting to miss my boobs. The girls were the only good thing about getting fat, and now they are disappearing and I can’t wear any of my good bra's. But, let’s look on the bright side. My ass is now less Rosanne Barr and more J-Lo. Alright, that might be getting carried away. My ass is now more J-Loish. I’m Jloish. FoN Jloish, that’s me. If I ever have to flee the country at the last minute and need an alias, I'm totally using that one.

Anyhoo – this week was not only the end of my first three months of Fat Chick vs. Food, but it marked the last full week at my job. So what does that have to do with a Fat Chick post you ask? Umm….well…it meant that I cheated a LOT this week. Tons of food, drinks, drinks, some food and maybe a few drinks here and there. Let me put it this way – Friday night found me and my soon-to-be former co-workers at the gay bar at 2:30 am doing the Thriller dance and drinking some kind of liquor that tasted like apples.

I would normally be beating myself up about sucking on the ol’ diet this week, but it’s been an emotional week that had me focusing more on my impending career change and less on the size of my ass. I still did manage five days of exercise though, so I was able to stop the bleeding a little and didn't gain anything this week. I didn't lose anything either, but whatever. Watching Cutie Pie get down with his bad self was totally worth it.

Yeah, they're Weirdos - but they're MY Weirdos.

2009-03-25T10:30:00.002-06:00

I only have one more week at my current job, and I’m starting to freak out a little. Don’t get me wrong, I know it’s time to leave and I am excited about moving on to something better, but I have gone to the same place and been surrounded by the same people everyday for five years. Some of these people have become genuine friends that I know I will stay in touch with, but a lot of them I will potentially never see again. It’s making me a little sad, so I am going to take this time to bid adieu to some of the work people who didn’t quite make the transition into my real life, and will therefore be completely out of my world in one short week:

The ‘Good Morning’ Guy: Good Morning Guy comes to work everyday and says good morning to everybody. Literally. If four people are standing around talking in a group, he doesn’t just issue one general ‘good morning’, he says it four times in a row. “Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning!” He works in the very last back office, so he can usually hit just about everyone on his way by.

The Gratuitous Swearer: The Gratuitous Swearer manages to incorporate the words ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, ‘motherfucker’, ‘twat’ and various other profanities into every conversation, regardless if it’s work related or not. It’s kind of like working with George Carlin. It doesn’t matter if we’re in a meeting or just in the lunchroom, the Gratuitous Swearer lets it rip. I tend to have my own potty mouth (as I’m sure you’ve figured out if you have been reading this blog with any kind of regularity), but I’m a very ‘appropriate time and place’ kind of swearer. Swearing in front of clients or the powers-that-be seems in terribly bad taste to me, but it amuses me to no end when GS does it.

The Bawler: The Bawler cries about something at least once a week for various reasons. She has an extreme emotional response to being happy, sad, overwhelmed, angry, or confused. It wouldn’t be so bad if she wasn’t a senior manager, but she is. And, she bursts into tears all the time, even in meetings. Awkward.

Cutie Pie: The most adorable guy ever. Not only is he adorable, but he is a dream to work with. I never have to deal with any bullshit when I'm working on a project with him. I love this dude. He is a man of few words, but when he does talk he always says something great. Just being around him makes me happy. Who am I going to fantasize about in meetings now?

The Fishbowl: – Our technical staff sit in an all glass room and geek-out all day long. About three years ago I made the mistake of asking them something about a satellite dish, and now they tell me about every new techy sky-based computer thingy and are under the mistaken impression that I’m interested. I’ve never had the heart to tell them I don’t really give a shit. They are all single.

Monty Hall: If you need something, any random thing, Monty Hall has it at her desk. I don’t know if she is psychic or a pack-rat, but I haven’t been able to stump her in five years. When I’m a little bored I think of the most random out-there thing in the world and then I go ask Monty if she has it. She ALWAYS does.

TMI: Too Much Information – guess what she’s like? I know WAY more than I care to about her menstrual cycles, sexual history, finances and digestive system.

I’m really going to miss these folks in all their quirky glory. Speaking of quirky, head on over to Sprite's Keeper's place for the Spin Cycle! This week's topic, as it turns out....quirks! Finally - I fit right in.

Random Tuesday - a little BLLLAAAAHHHH

2009-03-23T22:39:00.008-06:00

It’s Tuesday, and I’m having a hard time being Random. I’m a little OCD so this meme kind of stresses me out. What the hell is a meme, anyway? Is it just a blog related word that only comes up in cyberland, or is my vocabulary woefully inadequate? Or, shall I say derisory. Thanks, thesaurus.

I read a lot, I write quite a bit, but for some reason I am a horrible speller. Like, really, really bad. It makes texting very difficult because of the whole OCD thing.

This guy? He’s an asshole.

I really want a dog. I have three kids, I’m starting a brand new job, my husband works nights and I’m trying to workout five days a week. A dog would be perfect, don’t you think?

Our family is renting a trailer and is going to spend three weeks this summer living in a van down by the river. Five people in a camper trailer travelling through the BC interior? I’m pretty sure this is the worst idea ever. It will probably be fabulous for blogging material though.

I really like the blog Frogs in my Formula. This chick totally cracks me up every time she posts. I hope her job gets really boring and she gets to post everyday because my job is really boring and I need more to read.

V8 is gross.

Today I am taking my daughter to get her learners license, and she wants me to let her drive home. I really, really, REALLY don’t want to do that. Not only do I want to live, but I haven’t had the chance to go and increase my insurance (read: lower my deductable) yet. I need to think of a way to get out of this. For the next two years. At least.

Go see Keely. All the cool kids are doing it.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week Twelve

2009-03-22T21:03:00.010-06:00

This is the twelfth week of Fat Chick vs. Food. I have been officially at this for three months, so I think it’s time to take stock of who is actually winning this contest.

In the left corner we have Fat Chick, wearing sweatpants, a ponytail and a t-shirt she pulled out of a case of beer. She’s looking leaner than we last saw her, and sitting in her corner are her friends Determination, Strength of Will and the Desire for Nicer Clothes.

In the right hand corner we have Food, wearing a potato chip bag and glazed donut bracelets. Food has taken a beating these last few rounds, but is still standing and should not be underestimated at this point in our competition. In Food’s corner we have his friends Indulgence, Stress and Insecurity.

We’re only a third of the way in and think we’re going to have to call it in Fat Chick’s favor......so far. Food has put forth an impressive effort, especially with a very strong starting line up that includes beer, wine, nachos, pizza and cheeseburgers. However, Fat Chick has shown a remarkable counter offensive that includes the gym, bootcamp, squash, vegetables and Trainer Lady.

So here we are, three months in. Food is tricky and has landed a few good blows, so we can’t count him out yet. Complacency, Self Doubt and Beer on the Deck are all ringers Food has just signed to contract and they may see a spot in the starting line up in the very near future. Fat Chick is going to have to keep vigilant and be ready to take Food out at the knees. No more fucking around, Fat Chick. You better be prepared to pop a cap in his ass, sista. True dat, yo!!!

Uhhh……sorry. I guess Fat Chick sometimes forgets she’s a chubby white girl living in Saskatchewan. All 'gangsta's' write in the third person, don't they?

I lost another 2.5 pounds this week, bringing the total to 20.5 pounds down. I have 39.5 pounds to go. Wow, 39 pounds sounds so much better than sixty.

Kicking it Old School

2009-03-18T22:33:00.002-06:00

It's been about six months since I started this blog, and in honour of my mini milestone I have decided to totally cop out and re-post my first real blog entry. Since the early beginnings I have managed to find a few other kindred souls in the Blogosphere with some older kids, but for the most part it's still pretty much mommies and their ankle bitters. Oohhhhh, are YOU guys in for a treat!

Don't Say I Never Warned You

I know I am new to the whole mommy blogger phenomenon, but as far as I can tell I am the only one on here who has older children. All the rest of you are up to your eyeballs in dirty diapers, suffering sleep deprivation, running after toddlers just learning to walk and trying to teach your kids that shoving tic-tac's up their nose doesn’t end well. I speak from experience – I once raced frantically to an emergency room with my toddler who had managed to shove at least one and possibly more tic-tac's up his nose. He shoved one so far up there, in fact, that you could actually see the visible lump in perfect tic-tac formation poking out just slightly below the bridge of his nose and just over from his left eye. Yeah, I don’t know how he managed that either.

After waiting in the emergency room for decades to see whatever twelve year-old and/or foreign exchange student intern they had working at the time the tic-tac had melted sufficiently and they sent me home with a stern warning to not let my two-year old have tic-tac’s anymore. Nothing like not only feeling like a horrible parent for not appropriately supervising the toddler/breath mint combo, but I also had the privilege of spending FOUR HOURS in a hospital with a crying/tired/minty-fresh toddler and was then subsequently judged by a doctor who was probably in charge of organizing the pub crawl for later that weekend.

I do remember the stress of being a first time parent and the parent of young children. They’re messy, demanding, totally clingy and do not respond whatsoever to compromise or logic. When it comes right down to it, toddlers are pretty much like the worst boyfriend you ever had. Except for the fact that you inexplicably love them more than anything on earth (even though a large percentage of the time they make you want to grab the nearest sharp and pointy object and jab it as hard as possible into your ear just to get some relief).

I remember all of this, and to a certain degree I’m still right in there with you. However, in addition to my darling almost three-year old Lena and hysterically odd seven-year old Jake (tic-tac incident) I have another one, and that one is FIFTEEN YEARS OLD. Oh yes, the stories I could tell about this fascinating daughter of mine does indeed warrant the use of the dreaded ‘ALL CAPS’.

So, this presents an interesting factor that none of the rest of you need to deal with. My oldest spawn can actually read this, right NOW whenever she wants. I know, most of you have little ‘dear So and So’ pages you will faithfully update with the intent of having So and So read all about their first years, gain some insight as to who their mother really is, etc., etc. Yeah, that’s all fine and good when they’re TWO. In fact, this will not be any real concern of yours for a good decade or so. That gives you a whole lot of time to reconsider if posting the picture of your cute little man wearing his sister’s dress while shoving his nose in the dog's ass is really something that will ultimately advance your goal of forging an unbreakable bond between mother and child.

See, here’s the thing - you poor souls have no idea what you’re in for. You are all typing away imagining little So and So all growed up and having a good chuckle at mom’s wit all while feeling so very loved because you went through the trouble documenting their every fart. You’re thinking So and So will be all “I used to poop in the bathtub??! Awwww, Mom that’s funny, and by the way, thanks so much for cleaning it up all those times. Do you want to go for a walk and hold hands?” Well folks, I hate to burst your blogger bubble, but in reality, it will likely go down a little more like this -

(boy version) – “MOM! Get that shit off the internet right NOW. Take down your stupid website, you’re so GAY. And MOVE ‘cause I want to play World of Warcraft with Blaze (it will be around 2018 by this point so your kids will likely have friends named Blaze or Titan since we have had a rash of very unfortunate baby names of late. For some reason there is a growing group of parents who, in an effort to prove their own uniqueness, name their kids something completely ridiculous. Really, this trend needs to stop now or we’re going to end up with a Prime Minister named Spirtall. Yes, believe it or not I actually know a kid with that name).

or

(girl version) – “OH!! MY!! GOD!! I can’t believe you would tell the WHOLE WORLD about me and say such totally embarrassing things. Take it off right now or no one will ever talk to me again and you totally SUCK!!” (stomp–stomp–stomp–stomp–stomp-stomp- SLAM).

No, my little blogging friends, what you are writing right now will not please your little ones at ALL. You know when they will like it? When they are in their thirties and have started their own blogs staring YOU. Who’s going to have the last laugh then?

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week Eleven

2009-03-15T22:44:00.004-06:00

This week rocked everybody! I have hit my stride, I have seen the light, I am in total control of my little universe and I am super awesome.

I ate very well and managed to haul my fat ass off the couch to get exercising a few times this week. I had a little diversion while in Saskatoon for a meeting on Friday that came with quite a bit of rich food and wine, but I managed not to indulge as much as I would have a few months ago.

To make my fabulousness complete, I have accepted a fantastic new job! I start in the next couple of weeks, and I couldn’t be more thrilled. It’s a great opportunity for me, and it will give me a chance to actually work during the day. Trust me, that fact alone is enough for me to turn into the ‘good morning!’ guy from the Viagra commercials.

My new job will have me out and about a lot more than I ever have been at my last job, and therefore I am going to need some new clothes. I have a lot of ‘work’ clothes now, but I am happy to report that most of them don’t really fit me anymore. I have found myself having to actually roll down the waistband to keep my pants up so they don’t end up around my ankles when I walk. I’m pretty sure the people walking behind me in the hallway can do without the FoN full moon.

So….operation new clothes! In the next few weeks I am going to go buy myself some new ‘yay, you lost weight!’ and ‘yay, you got a new job!’ clothes. And I’m NOT going to the fat girl stores. I might do a little nah-nah-nah-nah-naaahhhhh dance as I walk past them in the mall though.

I lost three more pounds this week! That brings the total poundage lost to 18. I have 42 lbs to go.

Random Tuesday Thoughts

2009-03-09T16:28:00.016-06:00

Good day everyone! It's Random Tuesday again, the day Keely at the un-mom gives us permission to totally phone it in. Thanks Keely! Here is my half-assed effort for the week -

The kiss of death when you go to the doctor or the dentist? When they say the word ‘pressure’. As in, “You may feel some pressure." That is doctor code for SEVERE FUCKING PAIN. The next time a doctor says that to you, pray you have a leather strap handy to bite on because it’s not going to be pretty.

It’s almost the middle of March and its forty below. The people from CNN who called us the ‘hot spot’ of North America clearly have never actually been here. Sure, we all have jobs, but if it doesn’t warm up right fucking now we’re all moving to Mexico to work in sweat shops.

I don’t feel like going to the gym. It’s cool damn cold. I want to go for a bike ride or a walk or something. All of you who have the ability of being able to just walk out your front door whenever you want to have no idea how much of a luxury that is. I would kill to be able to see something, anything that’s green right now.

Shannon Doherty seems like someone who is just a gigantic bitch. She was awesome in that Heathers movie though. That show still totally stands up. That movie made me want to eat pate. Fuck me gently with a chainsaw.

Speaking of movies, the Watchmen was the worst super hero movie I've ever seen. It was excruciatingly dull and horribly depressing. It's very pleased with itself and has absolutely no reason to be. Seriously, save your ten bucks.

For more randomness, go check out the rest of the clan at the un-mom. Git Git!

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week 10

2009-03-08T22:41:00.008-06:00

Nothing comes between me and my Calvins……except possibly my huge ass.

I have brought out the jeans. You know which ones I’m talking about. THE jeans. The skinny jeans. The jeans that you keep in vain hope of one day being able to suck it in, grab the nearest coat hanger, lie flat on your back and wriggle on until you almost pass out. The jeans you keep in the ‘I have a dream’ section of your closet.

My skinny jeans actually are Calvins and I love them. I love them and I haven’t been able to squeeze my fat ass into them in more than three years. I didn’t retrieve them to torture myself; I actually want to look at them. I can’t get them on yet, but I’m close enough that looking at the Calvins gives me hope instead of making me want to give it up already and just start rocking the moo-moos.

As for the plan I’m working on to get back into those Calvins, on Tuesday I spent an hour and a half with Trainer Lady. I wish I could win the lottery and afford to see her a few times a week because the shit she dreams up for me to do is ingenious. She has the unique ability to keep pushing me really hard without making me want to bash her over the head with a hand weight. I think Trainer Lady should start a cult because if she can make me work that hard and (almost) enjoy it, she’s the fucking pied-piper.

I was pretty good with the food this week, but I fell victim to the siren song of popcorn twice this weekend. I have a MAJOR popcorn addiction. Let me put it this way - if I had to choose between never eating popcorn again and having to give up one of my children, I would finally be getting that guest room I have always wanted. That shit is GOOD. Aside from those two minor indiscretions, I ate pretty well this week.

You know what is cool though? All of my work pants are falling off. I no longer have to actually undo them to get them on and off. While this is pretty cool from a weight loss perspective, walking around with the poopy-drawers is not a great look. In about five more pounds I’m going shopping!

I’m beginning my tenth week, and by this point I was really hoping to have lost twenty pounds. I didn’t make that goal, but I did lose another 2.5 pounds this week and 15 pounds total. I have 45 to go.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week 9

2009-03-02T07:01:00.007-06:00

I cheated. I’m a big fat cheating cheater who cheats.

Okay, so……this week sucked. I suck. I suck huge donkey balls. I let life derail me. I was all, “Life dealt me a shitty hand and therefore I get to eat crap.” I ate shitty food, I didn’t exercise really at all, and I drank too much. More than once.

A few days I was okay with the food. Actually, I was feeling so shitty I didn’t eat much of anything. One day the only thing I ingested the entire day was a cheeseburger and vodka. I’m pretty sure that’s not really very healthy. That might be standard operating procedure if I was some tweaked out little skank getting ready to shoot a music video, but alas, I'm not. I know better.

My career is going to shit and I have let that sad fact get in the way of the weight-loss mission. How stupid is that?? In this current employment climate, I really could have it a lot worse. I’m a government employee who still has a job, good wage, great benefits, a pension, etc. Mine is definitely a first-world problem. It’s not like I need to carry a bucket on my head for five miles three times a day to provide my family with water or anything. I spent yesterday evening bemoaning my problems over a steak dinner and a glass of shiraz for crying out loud. I’m pretty sure people have bigger problems than me.

Yet, I let my life circumstance derail my progress. I have been at this eight weeks now – shouldn’t I have found a rhythm? Why can’t I get this food and exercise thing under control? How do I let myself cave in so often?

I would never, ever, EVER cheat on my husband. Ever. Even when I really want to, I would never actually do it. I know this young guy who is somewhere in his twenties and is so dreamy every time I look at him the song ‘Mrs. Robinson’ starts playing in my head. While he may not be into a chubby thirty-something at first glance, let’s be honest - he’s a guy. If I was so inclined, I could have my way with him. But, I won’t. I took a vow, and that is just not an option anymore. Sometimes I wish I could venture away from the familiar man (that I love), but I know it would do nothing but ruin my life so I won’t.

Why doesn’t the same resolve apply to food? Why is it just not as simple as – ‘I just can’t eat that because it will ruin me.’? Why can I be so faithful in all areas but one? I am not a weak person. Why is this so hard? I’m only screwing myself. This post is depressing.

I just weighed in and somehow still managed to drop two pounds this week. Stress must burn a lot of calories.

I have 47.5 pounds to go.

An open letter to Rush Limbaugh

2009-02-27T13:03:00.007-06:00

Hi everyone – I have been a little out of touch this week. I have issues. Yeah, I know...who doesn’t.

There have been a few things bugging me this week, but the main thing would be that it appears god hates me. I’m not exactly sure why – I love Jesus. However, lately it has come to my attention that I don’t love Jesus the correct way. I think Gandhi said it best –

“I like your Christ, but I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”

My experiences of late certainly reaffirm that message. For the last little while I have noticed a growing movement among many Christians, both public figures and regular joes, that is hard right leaning, conservative, judgemental, unforgiving, disrespectful and cruel.

I consider myself a Christian because it gives me comfort to believe something, and Jesus seems like as good a dude as any to buy stock in. He was the first social activist that got enough attention he was actually written about. He was all about helping the poor, comforting the suffering, and equal treatment for all. He loved women and the disabled and the sick. He thought everyone was a child of god and deserving of respect and kindness regardless of their race, creed, gender, orientation or health. He brought us the first pair of open-toed strappy sandals. JC rocked out with his cock out and I can’t for the life of me figure out when all these far right leaning conservative assholes decided Jesus was going to be THEIR leader.

They have somehow managed to take the history of this man whose entire mission was to bring peace to the world and distort it to such a place that its now actually a REASON to be an asshole. I know people who get up each day and spend their time trampling over everyone in their path and then head right over to church and thank Jesus for the strength in which to do it. They cite Jesus when they decide that only certain people are good enough to marry others, or when they send our teenagers over to fight a war for money and oil and get their legs blown off.

Well, I’m here to tell you that Jesus is pissed. He is not down with their stupid shit AT ALL. We are all here to work together to have happy lives and take care of our friends and neighbours, not to destroy each other and then name Jesus as the reason. All the conservatives who are using Jesus as the reason to be complete fucktards are going to end up in the big time-out chair in the sky when they kick it. You know the saying ‘Karma is a bitch?’ Well, Karma IS a bitch and she and Jesus are totally doing it.

Sorry for that little rant. I feel better.

On the lighter side, earlier this week I posted this picture –

A few of you were brave enough to tackle the weirdest, most unexplainable picture of all time. Go check ‘em out!

Keely at the unmom – story here
Ginny Marie at Lemon Drop Pie - story here
Church-punk mom at Embellished Truth and Polite Fiction - story here (who hopefully still loves me after today's post)

Random Tuesday - Beware, I'm dull as....can't even think of a good analogy for dull

2009-02-23T16:34:00.019-06:00

Its Tuesday again and that’s a good thing because I’m becoming a little unglued. I don’t really have anything to do, so I’m extremely random. Thanks for providing me an outlet, Keely.

It appears that I’m losing followers on this blog. What’s up with that? Yesterday I had two people jump ship on me. I hope it’s because I’m offending people. I definitely prefer that over boring the living shit out of them. Uh...for all of you considering leaving me because I'm boring the living shit out of you - you should probably stop reading now.

You know what’s a great game if you’re a government worker? Sit at your desk and pick a random number (say, 31) and stare out the window and count all the cars that drive by, and the 31st one you win! I know you think I’m making this up but sadly, I’m not. I’m paid a lot of money, too. No, it's actually not a great way to spend your time.

White is the worst colour of all time. Bad starchy foods, cocaine, snow, old people’s hair and blank monitor screens that I can’t think of anything to write on are all white. White sucks.

Why does Beyoncé always dress like an asshole? She has one of the greatest bodies of all time and regularly shows up to public events looking like this –

You know, Beyoncé, gold leaf glued on a black dress does not a ball gown make. You have a bazillion dollars – hire a stylist.

Okay, I’m going to stop now before anymore of you decide I’m not worthy. Cyberland is a tough room lately.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week 8

2009-02-22T23:21:00.008-06:00

Happy Fat-Chick review day everyone! It’s Monday, again, and while I'm only at the start of my eighth week, it feels like it's been a lot longer. A LOT longer.

I did pretty great this week, especially with the exercise. I took a ‘body blast’ class at the Y, went to the gym, took a karate class called ‘spirit training’ (kicking, punching and then a bunch of running and sweating) and of course I had my session with Trainer Lady. She cracks me up, that one.

We were talking about eating and how I seem to be struggling on the weekends. My family is still not quite used to all this ‘healthy eating’ business I have forced upon them and I cave more often than I should when they start campaigning for pizza. Upon hearing this, Trainer Lady gave me this advice –

“Well, if you do order pizza have just one piece, and then eat salad.”

Isn’t that adorable? She is just as cute as a button. Really, it was hard not to reach over and pinch her cheeks. She said it with such earnest too, like she believed not eating the pizza hadn’t ever occurred to me before. Healthy people who have a normal relationship with food really don’t understand why we (fat people) are overweight. Telling me to only eat one piece of pizza is like telling an alcoholic to just not drink so much or a gambling addict to only spend $20 at the casino. I know I shouldn’t eat it, but once I know it’s available I can’t think of anything else and end up pigging out. In fact, I need to change the subject right now because typing this is making me want pizza.

Did you ever hear the one about the priest and rabbi who walked into the bar? Yeah, me neither.

I’m going to increase my cardio this week and NO CHEATING in the food department. My children are just going to have to go to someone else’s house if they want to eat junk food. I bet the crazy neighbour lady with the grow-op in her living room has tons of munchies in her kitchen.

I’m doing just fine and I am proud of myself, but the once or twice a week I indulge is not doing me any favors. It showed on the scale this morning when I weighed in and the results were a big fat zero. I didn't loose an ounce this week. Damn.

I STILL have 49.5 pounds to go.

Lay down and boogie and play that funky music 'till you die

2009-02-21T03:05:00.010-06:00

I'm back from my night of shaking my groove thing. I think I should probably make some kind of rule about blogging while tipsy, but.....um, well... let's make that rule tomorrow, shall we?

I had a GREAT time with the girls tonight!

It was my friend's birthday; isn't she lovely? She is thirty-something years old, but she still looks like she is early into her 20's, doesn't she?

Know why? She hasn't had children yet.

Here are the rest of the girls, including me! I don't think I've ever posted a pic of what I actually look like on here, so here you go!

That's me, second from the left.

Here is another pic of me, shaking my ass on the dance floor -

Mine is the fat one on the left. I wouldn't normally put my ass on the internet, but I'm using it as a frame of reference because I'm eventually going to post pictures of my SKINNY ass on the internet. I have had a few cocktails, however, so there is a reasonable chance that only you early risers will actually see my ass, because in the light of day I might change my mind on the ass-showing internet action. This is where the no drunk blogging rule would come in handy.

I like this pic of the girls -

Do you get the feeling they are a tad annoyed with the camera action? Too bad ladies! I have a blog and I'm not afraid to use it.

Alright - last couple. This one is funny 'cause I just took it as a random crowd shot -

This was a disco/funk band. Lots of 'jungle boogie' type stuff. I find the utter lack of females in this picture hysterical. Who knew the dudes loved to disco??

Okay, last one. Me and Valentina -

It was a fun night. I may feel differently in four hours when my children wake up and expect a mother, but at the moment I am basking in my glow of vodka, disco and a successful girls night out!

An Assignment!

2009-02-19T15:52:00.012-06:00

Alrighty everyone - here we go! Your mission (should you choose to accept it) is to write something that explains this -

The longer you look at this picture, weirder it gets. Exactly what kind of vehicle is that on the hill? Milk truck? UPS? The prisoners bus from the Fugitive?

If you want to write about what you think created this particular scenario on your own blog, send me the link and I'll link you up here, or you can give me your version of events through comments or via email - FoN_eh@yahoo.ca and I'll post the stories over the next few days. Get creative!!

All stories will be posted (or linked) and open to bloggers and non-bloggers alike (Rickie, you know you want to). I hope you will all play along or I'm going to feel like the fat kid in gym class who no one wants on their team. No pressure 'tho. Just my self-esteem and will to live on the line here.

I'll post my own version tomorrow. I'm thinking about throwing in some zombies to mess with Keely.

The first story is in! Check it out at Keely's place over at the un-mom

Random Tuesdays 'cause it's Tuesday

2009-02-17T11:06:00.001-06:00

All I wanted to do this weekend is see some of the movies nominated for Oscars. I haven’t seen Milk, Revolutionary Road, Slumdog Millionaire….even the long Brad Pitt old guy/baby movie looks cool. Instead I saw ‘Madagascar 2’. It was stupid. Although, the ‘dying hole’ bit was pretty funny (you see, when the animals get sick they need to pick out a ‘dying hole’ to dig and then just lay there to die. All you see are these heads sticking out and everyone pretty much ignores them, but then the main giraffe decides to become a doctor, and…...oh never mind).

I want to go dancing this weekend. I don’t really do that anymore (unless I’m dragged there by my bar-fly friend), but lately I’ve been getting the urge to get down with my bad self. There is a band called Absofunkinlutely playing at the one bar I will agree to go to, and they’re described as an R&B/funk/disco band which is right up my alley. Hopefully I can get a little posse together and have a girl’s night out.

I called my little girl a drama queen this weekend. She is one, trust me. She thought it was a compliment of the highest order - one step up from princess, after all. This morning she was still talking about it (but she’s only three so she couldn’t really remember exactly what it was I was calling her), and when we arrived at daycare she proudly announced to her group that she is a ‘drag queen’. I love it.

I should really give blood. I work directly across the street from the Red Cross (oops, Canadian Blood Services) and I haven’t ever donated. We can’t call it the Red Cross anymore because they infected a lot of people with Hep C and HIV in the 90’s. They felt the best way to deal with that little whoops is to change their name, and then turn around and blame the ‘old’ Red Cross. This province does that a lot.

For example, the last conservative government we had in power (in the 80’s) ended with most of the elected officials going to prison for stealing tax payer money. They were called the Conservative Party, but after they all had to go to jail the few of them left standing decided it might be a good idea to change their name. They are now called the ‘Saskatchewan Party’ and actually WON the last election.

People around here really aren’t that bright.

Except me. I really should be running things.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week 7

2009-02-15T22:32:00.015-06:00

I’m still having a hard time this week staying on the straight and narrow post vacation. I worked out four times, and it was hit and miss with the food. The weekend is still a bit of a problem for me.

Also, I’ve been struggling a little bit with the role of the blog. It certainly helps me – no question about it, but what is the message I’m communicating here? Someone very close to me said something about my blog the other day that was so off the mark I found it quite offensive. He said, “Yeah, the blog. I’ve read it. It’s just a way to slam skinny people in a light hearted way”

Huh? That is not at all the point. Not even remotely close or even almost resembling the point. At all. Um, dude? This blog is about ME. Interesting that the people closest to me who should be my rock of support don’t get it. Strangers from other countries? You all seem to get it just fine.

I’m not just ‘slamming’ skinny people here, in fact I think I make fun of myself more than anyone else anyway. I throw some jokes in here and there because it’s my writing style and I’m hoping you will take my wife, pleeease. Ba da dom.

I do not have some bone to pick with skinny people – everyone I know is skinny. Seriously – 100% of all of my friends are thin people. The biggest problem any of them have is trying to lose the last five or ten pounds of hanging around baby weight. I’d be pretty lonely if I had some grudge against skinny people. I’ve had the same friends for twenty years and body shape is not a qualifier. They don’t give a shit that I’m fat. I need them, they get me. Besides, there are plenty of other reasons to make fun of them and I do, frequently. Hey, it's just all part of my charm!

This is actually fairly important to me, what I’m doing here. It’s my own on-line journal and I keep myself honest all week with thoughts of having to update the world on Monday. While it may look stupid, this is my way of trying to accomplish something that has been pretty hard for me for a lot of years. I put it out there like this to get the support I need. And, it’s working. While I have some good weeks and some bad weeks, it’s working. Casey, the head Nagger-in-Chief over at Hasay was kind enough to ask me to guest post this week's Hasay update located here. Go check it out! I’m very flattered she asked me because it means that someone somewhere is reading this and doesn’t think I’m just a bittered old fat girl who is a stupid joke. I’m a snarky, overly sarcastic fat girl who writes her own stupid jokes. There is a difference people!

Usually when someone I love really disappoints me I eat crap. I hereby vow not to fall into that again. This week will be a better week! I’m going to try a few new things – new exercises, new foods, some new drugs and possibly an eating disorder. Ha! See? I kid.

(Disclaimer - that joke was not directed at any skinny people. I love you in all your lu-lu lemon glory)

I just weighed myself and I’ve lost 3.5 pounds this week. Really?? Wow - this has got to be some kind of miracle. I'm going to double check my bowl of cornflakes now because the face of Jesus must be floating in there.

This means I lost the 2.5 pounds I gained last week, plus another pound on top of that! Do you know what this means?? I'm officially over the first landmark, the FIRST TEN POUNDS! Yay me!! I'm mentally jumping up and down high-fiving myself right now.

So far I have lost 10.5 pounds. I have 49.5 to go.

The Things I'll do for Fish

2009-02-10T17:58:00.038-06:00

I am home for a rest after spending a mostly relaxing weekend in British Columbia, the land where everyone refers to their items by brand name, not description. As in, “The airline lost my Peg Perego” (an infant car seat) or “I just love walking in my Saucony’s” (shoes). I spent a lot of time nodding and smiling as to not appear to be the prairie hick luddite who owns a playpen, not a ‘Baby Bjorn’. I’m tired. Not only for the mental exhaustion that comes with trying to pretend I have any clue what people are talking, but also because I’m still recovering from the trip to the Vancouver Aquarium with two three year-old girls and a four month old baby in the middle of a Saturday.

Armed with a Primo Viaggio (stroller), the girls, snacks to satisfy every anticipated whim of a toddler, a baby, and at least two cell phones in case we needed to call for back-up, off we went to see the whales, dolphins, various kinds of fish and maybe an otter or two.

After we arrived and had to circle the parking lot for 15 minutes before finding a spot, a slow, dawning realization came to my friend and I that this might be challenging. We kept quiet though, out of respect for the other who may have decided to comfortably embrace the warm bosom of delusion.

It appeared there were quite a few people that picked the same day to take in the aquarium. Undeterred, we set about the process of un-buckling the girls, getting the baby settled in his stroller, and hauling out the bags, toys, snacks, tequila and valium before we forged ahead into the great unknown.

We arrived at the doors to the aquarium, steeled our nerve and prepared for battle. At some point during the walk from the parking lot the girls had managed to apply war paint which went perfectly with the low hum of jungle drums that were suddenly playing in my head. I even heard a monkey squawk. Wait a minute…aren’t we at an aquarium? There were people EVERYWHERE.

We were to meet two friends and their children at the entrance (safety in numbers), but alas, only one made it. We were only an hour into our voyage when traffic took out our first solider. We bought a stuffed beluga at the gift shop and sent it to her family with notes of kind regard.

The girls were not at all shaken by news of our first casualty or the masses of resistance forces that were stationed at every corner. In fact, along with the war paint the kids had managed to organize an impressive zone-defence that would have made any NFL coach proud. After yelling a squeaky ‘BREAK!’ they each took off in opposite directions with their little heads bobbing between a sea of random legs.

Man, those kids are fast. It also didn’t help that they are also super short because it was as equally hard to see them when they are standing right beside you as it is when they are bolting towards the nearest display of sea horses.

There was some pretty cool stuff to see at the aquarium, but we only got to see it when the girls took a break from plotting our demise.

"Dude, what are you doing just standing there? It's totally your turn to take off running in the opposite direction."

Cute though, right? The cute is all part of their plan, you see. Just when you’re all ‘awwwe’ they hit you with a tantrum or an owie or a sharp and pointy toy upside the head.

But, all that stuff is okay because the way they go about it is somehow charming in its own right. One flash of that mischievous grin and even though I know I’ll pay for it with some kind of natural disaster caused by the cyclone that is the collective 60 pounds of these children, I let it happen anyway because whatever the fallout, it’s probably going to be worth it.

Although it has taken me a few days to recover and I’m not sure we won the battle, the weekend was a blast. I wish I could freeze those girls in time and visit them at this age whenever I want because right now they are about perfect. I washed off the war paint though.

p.s. If you're wondering why my kid is practically bald, read this.

p.p.s. - I should also point out that only the bald kid is mine. The other one belongs to my friend who graciously gave me permission to exploit her daughter on the internet.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week 6

2009-02-10T13:07:00.003-06:00

Hello all! I know its Tuesday and I really should be all random, but I didn’t post fat chick yesterday and I need to catch up. I don’t have very many self-imposed blog rules, but posting weekly on the fat-stats is one of them. Actually, it’s the only one.

It was a mixed week; I worked out Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. I think Wednesday should count as two days of exercise because it was the most excruciating 45 mins of my life. Some callous individual created this merciless exercise class called “Xtreme Kettlebell Workout”. I’m not sure what happened to the first ‘e’ that should be out front of ‘xtreme’, but I’m guessing it’s in the bathroom vomiting because that’s where I almost ended up three quarters of the way into that class. It was unpleasant.

On Friday I took off to BC for the weekend to visit some friends. I had planned to maintain a strong resolve and adhere to my strict caloric intake during the entire weekend. Uh huh. I didn’t even get out of the Regina airport before that plan was abandoned. Our flight was delayed by two hours and I decided to celebrate with a cheeseburger. I had to contend with a cranky toddler for two hours in the worlds lamest airport – food was my only weapon! Huh? What’s that? Yes, I needed to eat it too. Shut up.

The rest of the weekend was a complete blow out. Don’t get me wrong, most meals I ate were healthy enough, but when you eat your weight in them I don’t think it counts anymore. I also cheated. A lot. Full disclosure perfect strangers – please feel free to judge and berate me:

- I drank beer. Lots of it. At least six and probably more like eight bottles.
- I drank wine. Lots of it. At least four and probably more like six glasses.
- Two bowls of ice cream
- Half a brownie, but it was a HUGE brownie, so half was really more like one full brownie.
- Cinnamon scones. They were yummy, especially after I slathered butter all over them.
- Vending machine food at the airport. Enough said.

I’m pretty sure there were more indiscretions, but those are the highlights. Consequently, I weighed in this morning and I’m up 2.5 lbs.

But, I’m going to use this as a personal test for me. In the past, right around the beginning of the second month I fall off the wagon due to something – a holiday, crappy life circumstance, boredom, whatever, and then I stay off. For about a year. All of my progress is wiped away and then some. I am not going to do that this time – I have been eating very well today and I’m going to the gym after work even though I don’t at all feel like it. What I really want to do is go home and see the other two kids who did not have the benefit of a weekend trip. My boy told me today that he missed me. Just like that – I was getting ready for work and he popped his head in the bathroom and said, “I missed you mom” and then took off like a bat out of hell because he (correctly) predicted the hugging and kissing that was about to be bestowed upon him. My boy is a fellow of few words, and when he does have words they’re usually aggressive and/or smart-assy. That kid must have missed me BAD to spit that out.

But, as I was saying I am not going home to my son who missed me, I’m going to the gym. I have to. I can’t give in to the reasons I can’t go, even if those reasons are good ones. It’s too slippery a slope, and if I indulge my desire to be elsewhere on a day that is scheduled to exercise it usually marks the beginning of the end. I’m going to the fucking gym. BLAH.

Head West! and drink some good wine when you get there

2009-02-06T13:02:00.002-06:00

Alright everyone – I’m off to the land of tofu, February flowers and delusions of grandeur. I’ve made the decision not to take my laptop, so you won’t hear from me until Tuesday or so. Going cold turkey from this thing is going to be pretty hard, and I might have to visit the methadone clinic on Hastings St. if the cold sweats and shaking gets too out of hand. It’s a good thing Vancouver is laden with addicts and nutters. Maybe it is my kind of town after all….

Facebook exists to remind you that you suck

2009-02-04T16:46:00.006-06:00

I was on facebook chat last night with a woman I went to high school with, but who I haven’t actually seen since high school. She moved to BC (and yes, she does indeed suffer from the BC Effect as evidenced by her conviction of how I should move there), found herself a husband and settled down and had some kids. Prior to that she did a LOT. We’ve had a few conversations since the advent of ol’ facebook but the first one was the most memorable. It went like this:

HS Friend: So what have you been up to since high school?

Me: Umm, well… I stayed in town and had a baby pretty much right out of high school, married my high school sweetheart, got a job, bought a house a few blocks from where we grew up and then had a couple of more kids. That is pretty much it. You?

HS Friend: That sounds great!! (BC Effect kicking in, because she sounded like she actually meant that) Well, after high school I completed my social work degree, and then went overseas to work in London while I completed my Masters degree. I did quite a bit of volunteer work with orphans in third-world countries before I published my first book. Then I was invited twice to speak in front of the United Nations - once with the first book, then again with the second. Shortly after that I moved to BC, met the man of my dreams, had two wonderful children and now I am a professor at the University.

Me: Oh. That’s nice. You'll need to excuse me for a moment while I beat myself in the head with our yearbook.

Are you kidding me with that? I had to fight the urge to tell her that I invented post-its.

It actually hadn’t occurred to me to be dissatisfied with my life until I talked to her, and then all of a sudden I am a huge loser with no soul. Starving orphans are not exactly top of mind, unless of course I’m watching Entertainment Tonight and Brangelina is transporting their tribe somewhere exotic, and then I’m really only looking at his ass anyway (and let’s be honest, Angelina’s ass too). I didn't get a masters degree either. I got myself a completely useless certificate like a normal person.

I have never taught anyone anything except for the time my little cousin needed help learning how to sneak into the bar underage. I sure as hell haven’t been published, unless you count this blog that currently holds a grand readership of twelve. As for appearing before the UN? I’m pretty sure the leaders of the world aren’t that interested in hearing my fart jokes.

Don’t get me wrong, I really like this woman and I am happy she has managed to accomplish so much in these last seventeen years, but....wow. The least she could have done was get fat.

Random Tuesday Thoughts

2009-02-02T14:20:00.008-06:00

I don’t really do football, but I make a point to watch the Grey Cup and the Super Bowl even though I'm really only watching for the musical acts and commercials. The economy sucks so the commercials were kind of ‘meh’ this year and thanks to Janet Jackson and her boob the Americans are too scared to put anyone on stage that isn't some really old guy now. Seriously, Bruce Springsteen? In the last few years since boobgate they've had Paul McCartney, Tom Petty...even Prince for crying out loud. They really can't think of anyone slightly more relevant? I know those guys are 'legends' and all that but enough already. It was just a boob people! Lighten up.

I’m excited about my trip to BC this weekend! Politika has a daughter the same age as mine (they are three) and all I want to do is dress them in matching clothes for some reason. That kind of kind of thing is usually a little too ‘cute’ for me, but I’m dying to do it anyway. Weird, huh?

I want to drive to Ontario and punch that groundhog in the face for telling me I have to live through winter for another six weeks. Every year I’m hopeful, and interestingly enough in 35 years of living on the prairies winter has never once ended by the middle of February. Curse that stupid rodent for taunting me with hope every year.

I died my hair red and that seems to have helped with the old lady factor. And I figured out how to style it without looking like a television sitcom mom, so it’s starting to grow on me. A little. I still regret cutting it though.

I’ve been thinking about my Winnipeg friends a lot lately – Erin, Tobi, Rickie…..I would like them to come and visit me. Well, Erin is in Vegas now, so I think I’ll go visit her. As for the other two…come on over ladies! Well, maybe it would be better to do it in the spring. We can spend two days on the deck drinking and then jump on the trampoline like idiots when the kids are asleep. Hey, don’t knock it; it’s a pretty decent workout.

How many people out there have heard this before -

"I don't have close friendships with women. They don't really like me because I'm too pretty. It's a lot easier to hang out and work with men"

Hey, you know what? It's not because you're too pretty. It's because you're kind of a fucking bitch. The men think you're a fucking bitch too, but they continue to suffer through your inane nonsense in hopes that some day you will have sex with them.

Now it's time to go see Keely who will be able to hook you up with more Tuesday randomness. Speaking of Keely (who by the way manages to be loads pretty and not at all a fucking bitch), her potty mouth is finally being recognized for all its vulgar glory. Today is the last day to cast a vote for her in the mom dot 'best use of a cuss word' award. I love that Americans say 'cuss'. It's so cute.

Okay - go vote now!

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week 5

2009-02-01T18:08:00.013-06:00

I rocked it out this week folks! I met all of my exercise goals by working out Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday, and I was very good with the food. The weekend saw a few more indulgences than I allowed myself during the week, but it wasn’t that bad at all. In fact, I kind of felt like I was eating like a normal person. I stopped eating when I was full, I allowed the odd treat without overdoing it and I was a label reading fool.

My clothes are looser (especially the pants) and my fitness level seems to be improving. So what did I do to celebrate my successes? I went off and butchered my hair.

I’ve had long hair pretty much my entire adult life and I decided since I was in change-making mode I would chop it all off. I’ve been thinking about doing this for a while, but on Saturday I finally got the nerve and now lucky me! I look like Carol Brady. This young and hip hairstylist at the youngest and hippest salon in town decided that I needed to look like a forty-five year old soccer mom. It’s awful.

God forbid my self-esteem starts to improve. I cannot believe I did this to myself! Now every time I look in the mirror I want a brownie. What the hell is my problem? I better run out and pierce something on my face so people don’t go thinking I’m an old lady with kids and a mini-van. Hmmm, wait a minute…..

I weighed myself at Trainer Lady's place on Thursday night, and according to that stupid scale I GAINED a pound! I was not best pleased, but as I do every week I weighed myself Monday morning (completely naked after taking off all my jewelry and voiding my bladder. I even tried to poop - couldn't) and according to my crappy weight watchers scale I lost 2.4 pounds this week. I like that better, so I'm going with it (although I'm sure at least a pound of that was hair).

As of this morning I am down a total of 7.4 pounds. I have 52.6 to go.

I need to go work in the marketing department at this company

2009-01-30T18:16:00.009-06:00

I get a lot of 'joke' emails and most of them are stupid. This one came today and I think it's hysterical. I'm clearly a twelve year-old boy trapped in a soccer mom's body.

I wish I could afford Liposuction

2009-01-29T13:52:00.003-06:00

“It’s a tricep party!” is now a punch line for everything. Keely and I went to ‘boot camp’ class last night, which included 45 minutes of resistance training and 45 minutes of cardio calisthenics-type stuff. It sucked. I hate lunges and there were many many lunges. What I hate even more than lunges? Exceedingly perky boot camp class instructors.

Good god, this chick was a piece of work. Between shouting motivators such as “Hey ladies! Are we having a party or what!!? It’s a TRICEP party! WOOOOOOO HOOOOOOO!” she would mouth the words to the Duran Duran remix tape she forced us to listen to.

Nobody should be that enthusiastic about exercise. It was NOT a party, we were NOT having fun, I DON’T want to pretend I’m making a rainbow with my arms while holding five pound weights and nobody over the age of twelve should be allowed to wear pigtails.

However, I am in an appropriate amount of pain today and I must have burned a lot of calories because I have been starving since I finished that class at 8:00 pm last night. I didn’t even cave and eat junk food either! Do you hear that Ms. Donuts for Lunch? And since Ms. Donuts for Lunch is going with me I will have someone to roll my eyes with the whole class so I might just do it again. We’ll have to see how high my tolerance level is for annoyance by next week. I’m going to look into some kind of martial art too. Punching things is appealing.

Top Five Worst Jobs Ever

2009-01-28T10:32:00.006-06:00

Lately my career could be going better. I would like to continue to be able to pay my mortgage so I won’t go into details, but I will say this - if this was Survivor I have found myself in the wrong alliance and now I am very close to getting voted off the island. But it could be worse. My current employment woes pale in comparison to some of the other craptastic jobs I’ve held in my lifetime. In order of suck -

#5. Cocktail waitress at a local casino - 1995

Don’t go thinking all Vegas glamour here – this was a small and mucky casino in the middle of Regina, Saskatchewan. The top prize offered in one of the games was a used 1987 Ford Tempo that smelled slightly of vomit. My boss would sit in the back room and get completely shitfaced all night and then grope me while I tried to cash out at 2:00 am. The co-worker I was closest to was a fellow cocktail waitress who only worked one night a week because she wanted a break from her regular job as a prostitute. Most of her clients she found at the casino, so that gives you an idea of the kind clientele I was dealing with.

#4. Administrative Clerk at an insurance company – 1997

I had only two duties at this job. One was to do all the filing for everyone who worked in the pensions department, which was about 75 people. I would average 4 to 5 hours a day in a little room all by myself filing. The other task was to answer the telephone and talk to old ladies whose husbands had just died. Because these women were in possession of a vagina their husbands didn’t tell them anything about their financial situation. Once they become widowed they would call me and repeat random numbers they found on random pieces of paper and ask me to help them figure out if they were going to be homeless or not. Most of the time, they were.

#3 Donut kiosk at the mall – 1990

It wasn’t even a full-fledged donut shop, it was just a little stand in the food court. My boss didn’t speak a word of English and I never had any clue what he was talking about. He always seemed angry though, and he eventually spit out ‘FIRED’ pretty clearly so that was the end of that.

#2 Receptionist at an electrical repair company – 1996

I was hired as a receptionist, but when I got there they wanted me to do the accounting. ALL of the accounting. Since I didn’t know anything about accounting, I ended up cleaning all day. It was a mom and pop operation and the mom was extremely anal retentive. They had a little fluffy punt-dog that would run around the office shedding everywhere so I was asked to vacuum a lot. When I was done vacuuming the office? I had to vacuum the dog.

The number ONE all time WORST JOB EVER goes to –

#1. Bill Collector – 1994

I had to call poor people all day and hassle them about not being able to pay their bills. This was sadly ironic since I spent most of the 90’s in abject poverty myself. The boss was a megalomaniac of the highest order and would routinely take our chairs away if we were not making quota. He would also blast horrible mariachi band music throughout the office as a way to ‘motivate’ the staff, and then stand at the front of the room throwing a gigantic football indiscriminately at our heads in order to ‘keep us on our toes’. Most days I would spend standing over my desk trying to read the screen for details on the poor sops I was supposed to yell at with my finger in one ear to drown out the blaring music while dodging the football that would routinely go whizzing by my head.

Yes, it certainly could be worse. Anyone out there have a horrible job experience? I would love to hear it. Other peoples misery makes me feel better.

Random Tuesday Thought day - for KEELY!

2009-01-26T20:59:00.004-06:00

I need a lesson on blogging manners - I keep participating in these standard weekly posting themes but always forget to tell you who is the mastermind, which is kind of the point, correct? This one is for Keely at Un-Mom. The weight loss posts are for Casey at Hasay. There. Sorry ladies! I will try to be more considerate in the future. Unfortunately these days I can't think of anything other than how fucking cold I am every minute of every day.

I’m going to go completely insane if it doesn’t warm up soon. I have to escape this weather – no human should have to live through this. Right now I’m totally willing to cash in my Canadian citizenship and go join Castro’s revolution. Democracy can go fuck itself if it means I get to feel the tip of my nose again in this lifetime.

My daughter died her hair orange. On purpose. Yeah, I know it’s a right of passage to massacre your hair at fifteen years old, but…...yikes. She looks like she just stepped out of a Dr. Seuss cartoon.

I’m sad I didn’t win that 44 million dollars that was up for grabs in the 6-49 this weekend. I had all kinds of plans for that money. I guess it’s not very responsible to have ‘win the lottery’ as your plan A, is it?

How come Paula Abdul isn’t shit-faced on American Idol this year? Watching that train wreck is the main reason I tune into that show.

I learned today that smart on its own gets you nowhere. Smart with a side order of evil? Now THAT gets you places.

I’m really cold. I know I’ve covered this already, but I just can’t let it go. All day every day I am freezing to death and I just can’t take it anymore. My entire body has been ice cold for two solid months and if I don’t get some heat in my person sometime soon pieces of me are going to start dropping off. My last power bill was $260. Yes, that was only for one month. This is inhuman. What kind of dumbass decided this piece of nowhere was a perfect place to stop and build a town? I don't know, but that guy was an asshole.

I think I would qualify for refugee status because if I stay here any longer I am going to die – from either frost bite or my own hand. Florida? Nevada? New Mexico? Anyone out there want me? I have a myriad of useless skills that qualify me to do all kinds of useless things. I’m sure there is some douche bag somewhere south that needs a secretary, right?? Please, someone out there rescue me from this godforsaken land. It's really, really, really starting to effect my usually sunny disposition.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week 4

2009-01-25T23:50:00.008-06:00

I really hate this shit. It sucks. Okay, so it turns out this week wasn’t the magical week my inner-voice rose up and started kicking some serious boot-ay. I didn’t fall off the wagon per se, but by Saturday of this week I was hanging off the side while one of those Hollywood bad-guy types dressed as nachos and beer was kicking me in the face with his boot.

On the exercise front I managed two trips to the gym, a squash game and a few half-hearted workouts at home with my new routine complements of Trainer Lady. There are a surprising number of exercises you can do with a giant ball and a fat rubber band, by the way. Working with the ball has taken some getting used to because (a) I have the balance of a toddler, and (b) the only other time I've been on that ball a few hours later I was holding a new baby.

I did have a few legitimate excuses for my lame effort this week – its back to being slightly cooler than the arctic circle around here and I screwed up my back early in the week which was pretty painful and limited my movement. Of course the main excuse would be that I suck. I really could have done more than I did. I need to figure out a way to get over it all ready and just get my fat ass off the couch. The exercise still is easier than the food issue, though.

It would be sooo much easier if I was just a heroin addict. Those lucky bastards with their cold-turkey option and fancy rehab centres don’t know how good they’ve got it. Heroin is a lot easier to avoid than food. I have yet to have anyone say to me, “Hey! Do you want to join us after work in the back alley to shoot up?” But the offer of lunch/drinks/munchies happens ALL the time. After a long week at work the siren song of booze and junk food with my fellow co-workers was just too much for me to resist on Friday. Yes, I tried to order water and a salad, but well….I didn’t.

But, this is a new week! I’ll be at the gym on Tuesday, I’m going to some horrible boot camp class on Wednesday, I have Trainer Lady Thursday, I’m taking a dance class Saturday and then I’ll play squash on Sunday. I’ll sprinkle some ball/rubber band workouts in there on the off days and will ingest nothing but carrots and crystal light. Calm down all you healthy people, I’m just kidding. If that was possible for me to do I probably would have tried it by now. Besides, carrots have a lot of carbs.

I lost one lousy pound this week this week. 55 to go.

Fat Chick vs. Food - mid week motivation post

2009-01-23T09:43:00.005-06:00

After spending a lot of time on the internet reading about other people's motivation, I feel motivated to post on my own motivation. Huh? Its okay, you’ll catch up in a second.

What is my real weight loss motivation…that is the question. The answer I tell my children, and trainer and skinny friends? Why, health of course! I don’t care about the number on the scale or what I look like, I just want to be healthy! Yeah, that is a TOTAL crock of shit.

My real motivation? There are three main motivating factors for me to lose 60lbs and not one of them has to do with health.

1. – I want to run into people from the past and not be completely humiliated. I live in a relatively small city (about 200,000 people give or take) so it’s big enough that you can avoid people, but small enough that you occasionally (and inevitably) run into people you used to know but who you haven’t seen in years. The most recent occurrence of this phenomena happened at a Christmas party in December.

I was at a work function that included many other organizations who work in the same industry around town. I was busy schmoozing the usual suspects when from behind me I heard the dreaded, “Christie? Is that you? Do you remember me?....” I turned around and was greeted by a girl that I knew from high school but who I haven’t seen in over 17 years. The worst part? She looked fabulous. She hadn't gained an ounce or aged a day. I stood there talking to her and the whole time I was thinking,

“I can’t believe she is seeing me this fat. She must be an actor because I’m sure it’s not easy to mask the shock and horror of what is my current appearance. Should I mention that I’m fat? Yeah, well...that’s obvious, but is it better to pretend that everything is normal, or acknowledge that I am aware of my fatness? Quick – tell her you have three kids! That should buy you a few pounds, right? Suck it in! Don’t turn sideways…stand up a little straighter and stick your neck out a little....”

It was totally horrifying on many different levels. Not the least of which was that I actually quite liked this girl in high school, and if I wasn’t so preoccupied by being 'outed' for getting so fat we could have reconnected a little more. I know where she works now, so I think I will call her for a coffee date or something. Maybe in a few months. When I’m skinnier.

2. – I want to buy cool clothes before I’m too old to wear them. When I was skinny I was poor, so I wore whatever was available. To have a little money and a skinny body? The mall is my oyster! I don’t need a ton of fancy designer duds, but I would like to be able to shop in any store I like and be reasonable assured they will have my size. I’m on the bubble between the regular people sizes and the fat people sizes. I’m not quite fat enough for the plus size stores, but it’s touch and go on whether the regular people stores will have the one size 14 or 16 left that I can squeeze my ass into.

See, the regular people stores don’t really want the fat people to shop there, so they only order one fat person size. If I don’t get the one larger size they bring in I’m s.o.l. And the fat people stores don’t want the smaller fat people to shop there because they want the super fat people to feel comfortable. Therefore, if I don’t get the one 'small' fat person size they bring in I’m s.o.l there too. Either way I usually get screwed on the clothes front.

3. – I want to go waterskiing. Really, really, badly. Three summers ago we bought a speed boat. There are quite a few lakes within an hours drive from our house, and I grew up on a lake and in a boat so I really wanted one for my family. I have never been a fabulous water-skier, but while it wasn’t pretty, I always managed to at least get up on those skis for a trip or two around the lake. I have tried for three consecutive summers now and I can’t haul my fat ass out of the fucking water.

My husband skis like a champ, as does my 15 year-old daughter. Every summer I try, and for three years now I haven’t gotten close. My family is very patient with me and would be willing to spend all day trying to haul my fat ass out of that lake, but after a few tries I give up due to exhaustion and humiliation. They all laugh and it’s no big deal ‘cause it’s just mom and mom waterskiing would be too funny for words anyway. I am NOT ready to play that role. I do not want to be the fat old lady sitting in the boat with the ugly hat and giant sunglasses reading a shitty romance novel. I want to do more than just handout the sandwiches at lunchtime. I’m 35 years-old for crying out loud! I am going to ski behind my boat this summer so help me GOD.

There are a few other minor motivations such as health and fitness, but they really take a backseat to the three primary motivators listed above. I want to ski behind my boat and wave at a group of people I went to high school with while wearing a great bathing suit purchased at a trendy surf-type store.

That’s it.

The Legend of the February Flowers

2009-01-22T00:09:00.013-06:00

I have just booked myself and Lena a wonderful three days in the beautiful British Columbia for the first weekend in February! Gleefully taking full advantage of the tanking economy which is resulting in ridiculously cheap airfares, the two of us are going to finally meet the new baby boy born to one of my closest friends last October. This friend fled Saskatchewan many years ago, but we have managed to stay in touch and can usually pull off a visit or two each year. I can hardly wait until I get to grab that new baby and eat his face.

There are a few other reasons I am very excited about this trip, not the least of which is the fact that BC is WARM. Well, it’s Canadian warm. I’m pretty sure Casey in Florida would still freeze her ass off, but for everyone north of Montana it might as well be Hawaii. Also, I don't get much one on one time with Lena, so this trip will be a nice break for the two of us. The only thing left to contend with is the ‘BC Effect’.

For those of you not familiar with the BC Effect, it is a syndrome that inflicts all people that come to the decision to make BC their permanent residence. Once the u-haul crosses the border from Alberta to British Columbia an invisible mist engulfs the head of the soon-to-be resident and alters their molecular structure in a way that makes them forever convinced that BC is indeed the most extraordinary place on the planet. No other square foot of earth on any continent can contend with the enchantment that is British Columbia. I have family, friends, former co-workers and even mild acquaintances who have all moved to BC, and they all suffer from the BC Effect.

Now, I will concede that there are definite advantages to BC. It scores big points for scenery, warm winter weather, an impressive cultural element and the shopping is spectacular. And the people, for the most part, are very positive. Really, really positive. Stepford, positive. Nobody is fat, or smokes, or harms the environment or drives around in an obnoxious oversized pick-up with naked women on the mud flaps. They walk everywhere possible, recycle and eat organic food. It can be quite enjoyable.

The BC Effect does, however, remove all logical perspective and the ability to have a solid base in reality. This manifests itself in many ways including a consistent (albeit subtle and polite) distaste for other locations to live (mostly directed at the province from which the BC Effect sufferer originated), as well as a burning desire to convert the non-believers. I’ve known born-again Christians in my life, and they have the same unwavering conviction found in people with BC Effect.

An example of BC Effect is the legend of the February flowers. Since it’s much warmer in BC than other places in this country their flowers bloom relatively soon into the new year – usually around the middle of February. I have heard about these mystical flowers from every single person I know with BC Effect, and to hear them tell it by February of each year the minute you step out your door step you are greeted by masses of blooming bouquets so exquisite that you are immediately rendered mute by their splendor. These flowers are in fact so amazing, that BC Tourism passes out little packets of kleenex at the airport so the new arrivals can appropriately deal with the aftermath of the exploding orgasm that will inevitably occur once eyes are first laid on the February flowers.

Not being able to resist the temptation of the flower orgasm, my last trip to BC was during the month of February. The airplane ride was the best foreplay I’ve ever had. The building anticipation of seeing the February flowers was extremely overwhelming. I was heading to the Mecca. I was off to the promise land. I was going to get as close to seeing God as any mortal has come before…..

I got off the plane experiencing heights of anticipation I have never known previously and raced outside breathless with expectation.

These, ladies and gentlemen, THESE were the February flowers:

Me: Huh? That sorry little group of crocuses? THOSE are the February flowers?

BC Effect sufferer: Yes! But….. they are flowers! In FEBRUARY!

Me: Oh. Umm..yeah, they’re nice.

BC Effect sufferer: It’s FEBRUARY! And there are flowers, right there! And there is no snow on the ground!!

Me: Yeah, but it’s pouring rain and I’m just as freezing as I was when I left Saskatchewan.

BC Effect sufferer: But, I have flowers at my house too! Just wait until you see them! Flowers! In February!

Me: Hey, yeah….okay. They're great. Ummm……. do you need to borrow my kleenex?

Random Tuesday

2009-01-18T15:16:00.009-06:00

It's FINALLY warm outside. It's been about +2 for a couple of days now and people are celebrating. This weekend I saw four people walking outside with shorts on. Snow boots and shorts is an interesting look, but hey - after such a long stretch of tundra hell I don't blame anyone for embracing the shorts. I was also able to have the first conversation with my neighbours since November. Hopefully I'll get to see them again before April. Hell, I even saw a squirrel! Thank you, Mother Nature. I wasn't going to say anything, but you've been quite the bitch lately.

My house is a complete disaster area. I've really got to start cleaning it more often. My last housekeeper quit. Again. I think that should be another New Years resolution - I hear by vow to keep my house clean enough that the maid won't get fed up enough to quit.

My children are driving me crazy. I love them, but sometimes I wish someone would take them away for a couple of days. Why do you have to get divorced in order to have a weekend off here and there? Man, they're just so needy. Mother of the Year - right here.

I have bags of potato chips and giant glasses of coke dancing around in my head. I'm pretty sure if people looked really close at the little space above my head they could see my dancing junk-food bubble too.

I really need to organize my office before I get fired.

J is in the middle of writing finals, and all I can think is that I am VERY happy I never have to write another final as long as I live. She's on the bubble for math, and I really hope she can pull it off. I'm shelling out $30/hr for a math tutor so she better frickn' pass. That will serve me right for not paying attention in math myself, I guess. When she asks me "What good is math anyway?" I'm going to tell her it's important because later in life she will save herself $30/hr twice a week in math tutor fees for her child.

Looking for a fantastic way to torture your teenager? Drop her off at school in a mini-van with 'Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy' blaring from the stereo. Extra points if you add sweet air guitar moves.