I need to pack for this winter getaway ski trip thing we are doing this weekend. I detest packing. I loathe it. And that is rather funny, considering my extensive clothing, shoe, and accessory collection.
That's precisely why I hate packing. Too much to choose from. What if I change my mind of what I'd like to wear from when I packed? I am so indecisive. I usually change my order three times in a restaurant before the server leaves the table. I usually turn that around so he or she thinks I am flirting with them, so they don't think I'm flaky. And then I get excellent service the majority of the time.
Anywho, I usually try to pack clothing that represents me as a classy ladylike human, but then I am pissed off that I didn't bring any of my sloth attire. And when I pack for slothdom, I feel the need to be dressed like a functioning member of society. I annoy me. Why don't I pack for both scenarios, you ask? Because, I am a female and then my suitcase will weigh approximately 354 lbs and my boyfriend will hate me.
What I already packed:
-16 bathing suits
-deck of cards
-bacon
-vodka
-advil
-camera
Really, do I need to bring anything else? I could have a pretty splendid weekend with just those items. I totally want a bathing suit made of bacon now.
Wednesday 29 February 2012
Thursday 23 February 2012
You Did What?
This evening I thought I would share some of my embarrassing/stupid moments I have had thus far in life. Some are not appropriate for this blog, but I do have some gooders that can be shared.
High school, grade 11, outdoor party in the middle of nowhere. I had just been told that my boyfriend had been flirting with some whore before I got there, and possibly had cheated. I was power pissed and out for blood. I did what any other non-sober 17 year old would do, and marched up to one of my very good looking male friends and asked if he wanted to make out. He tried to respond, but I kept cutting him off, ranting about said male slut boyfriend. When I finally stopped talking, I realized what he had been trying to tell me. As I said, this party was outdoors, and I didn't realize that when I threw myself at him, he was in the middle of peeing, and therefore, pissing all over me while I was ranting.
One story that was just stupid, again, was in high school. There was a football team in town from the US, playing against us. I ended up "befriending" a young fellow from Texas. He decided he was in love with me. I decided he wasn't that good looking and a big mistake. He wouldn't stop calling me several times a day and sending love letters. So I got one of friends one night to answer my phone one night and tell him I had died. In my 16 year old mind, problem solved! Well, that certainly backfired when he called later on to find out from my mother when the funeral was and where to send flowers. I have accepted the fact that I am going to hell.
About a year ago, I managed to trip while walking into the elevator up to my office. This is a special talent of mine. I manage to trip over nothing quite frequently. My purse goes flying and so does all of it's contents. Of course a reasonably good looking man was in there. I was pretty sure I had picked everything up, until he handed me a tampon. That was swell. I'm not sure who wanted to die more, me or him.
There's always the good old wine related stories. I should not be allowed near technology or public forum of any kind when I have been drinking. I am 100% the one that will call or text an ex when hammered. I've been known to apply for jobs online when I've been drinking. Apparently I thought I'd make an excellent paramedic one memorable night that involved a lot of vanilla vodka.
If you happen to be the love of my life via a secret crush, chances are, you will hear about it after half a dozen drinks. Loudly. I will then try to fight you after you tell me no, you don't want to get on a late night flight to get married in Vegas. It's because I'm ugly, isn't it?!
And speaking of fights, I've been in a few. Lucky for me, I grew up with a brother who seriously beat the complete shit out of me growing up. I learned a few things. And some girls, well, they fight like girls. Not that I'm a good fighter. I pretty much just close my eyes and start swinging.
I mentioned before in an earlier blog that I physically attacked a stranger at a work function over a board game. Seriously, you can't take me anywhere.
In terms of dumb shit, I'm not allowed to touch anything in our house. I'll wreck it. I'm not even allowed to hang pictures. They will be crooked, too high, while covering 19 holes in the wall behind it.
A few weeks ago, I was so proud of myself because I was at a hardware store, and decided to buy an extra jug of windshield washer fluid. I proactively put in my truck so I would have it when I ran out. (which always happens when I am conveniently going 100 miles an hour down a mudslide). Long story short, it turns out I bought plumbing antifreeze, and am a failure at life.
I've been in accidents in almost every motorized vehicle there is. I crashed my mini motorbike as a kid. I was a passenger on a quad that went through a barbed wire fence. I was a passenger in a car that rolled 8 times. Flipped a skidoo. I was a passenger in a van that drove INTO the convenience store in my hometown. (ok, that one is just hilarious) I avoid boats for obvious reasons.
I could really go on and on. How I have friends and a relationship is beyond me. Some of my readers know me very well, and know lots of other stories that didn't make tonight's blog.
My next blog is going to be a guest blog, written by somebody else. I think that is cool and interesting. I have a few different people in mind, but if you would like to write a guest entry, let me know. And that is not an invite for cyber perverts to submit pictures of their junk to me. Thanks.
High school, grade 11, outdoor party in the middle of nowhere. I had just been told that my boyfriend had been flirting with some whore before I got there, and possibly had cheated. I was power pissed and out for blood. I did what any other non-sober 17 year old would do, and marched up to one of my very good looking male friends and asked if he wanted to make out. He tried to respond, but I kept cutting him off, ranting about said male slut boyfriend. When I finally stopped talking, I realized what he had been trying to tell me. As I said, this party was outdoors, and I didn't realize that when I threw myself at him, he was in the middle of peeing, and therefore, pissing all over me while I was ranting.
One story that was just stupid, again, was in high school. There was a football team in town from the US, playing against us. I ended up "befriending" a young fellow from Texas. He decided he was in love with me. I decided he wasn't that good looking and a big mistake. He wouldn't stop calling me several times a day and sending love letters. So I got one of friends one night to answer my phone one night and tell him I had died. In my 16 year old mind, problem solved! Well, that certainly backfired when he called later on to find out from my mother when the funeral was and where to send flowers. I have accepted the fact that I am going to hell.
About a year ago, I managed to trip while walking into the elevator up to my office. This is a special talent of mine. I manage to trip over nothing quite frequently. My purse goes flying and so does all of it's contents. Of course a reasonably good looking man was in there. I was pretty sure I had picked everything up, until he handed me a tampon. That was swell. I'm not sure who wanted to die more, me or him.
There's always the good old wine related stories. I should not be allowed near technology or public forum of any kind when I have been drinking. I am 100% the one that will call or text an ex when hammered. I've been known to apply for jobs online when I've been drinking. Apparently I thought I'd make an excellent paramedic one memorable night that involved a lot of vanilla vodka.
If you happen to be the love of my life via a secret crush, chances are, you will hear about it after half a dozen drinks. Loudly. I will then try to fight you after you tell me no, you don't want to get on a late night flight to get married in Vegas. It's because I'm ugly, isn't it?!
And speaking of fights, I've been in a few. Lucky for me, I grew up with a brother who seriously beat the complete shit out of me growing up. I learned a few things. And some girls, well, they fight like girls. Not that I'm a good fighter. I pretty much just close my eyes and start swinging.
I mentioned before in an earlier blog that I physically attacked a stranger at a work function over a board game. Seriously, you can't take me anywhere.
In terms of dumb shit, I'm not allowed to touch anything in our house. I'll wreck it. I'm not even allowed to hang pictures. They will be crooked, too high, while covering 19 holes in the wall behind it.
A few weeks ago, I was so proud of myself because I was at a hardware store, and decided to buy an extra jug of windshield washer fluid. I proactively put in my truck so I would have it when I ran out. (which always happens when I am conveniently going 100 miles an hour down a mudslide). Long story short, it turns out I bought plumbing antifreeze, and am a failure at life.
I've been in accidents in almost every motorized vehicle there is. I crashed my mini motorbike as a kid. I was a passenger on a quad that went through a barbed wire fence. I was a passenger in a car that rolled 8 times. Flipped a skidoo. I was a passenger in a van that drove INTO the convenience store in my hometown. (ok, that one is just hilarious) I avoid boats for obvious reasons.
I could really go on and on. How I have friends and a relationship is beyond me. Some of my readers know me very well, and know lots of other stories that didn't make tonight's blog.
My next blog is going to be a guest blog, written by somebody else. I think that is cool and interesting. I have a few different people in mind, but if you would like to write a guest entry, let me know. And that is not an invite for cyber perverts to submit pictures of their junk to me. Thanks.
Monday 20 February 2012
Spring Fever
Long time no blog, kitty cats!
I am a stripper school drop out. I mean, I quit pole dancing. It was early afternoon every Saturday morning. I really don't feel like trying to be hot and sexy at noon on most Saturdays. And I grew tired of the judgmental looks of horror-disgust when I said I was doing pole dancing. Everyone immediately thinks of strippers. My boyfriend's aunt jokingly-but-not-really called me a sleaze when I told her. That felt good.
I'll find something else to join and it will be blog worthy, don't you worry.
I realize I haven't blogged in decades. That is because I really don't have much to blog about, my friends. I've been working, doing some home improvement projects and hanging out with friends. The last few times we've went out, I ended up being the designated sober driver. I don't even know who I am anymore. It's sick.
There is much excitement tonight though. Tonight we booked a trip to Vegas for my birthday. We are going with my BFF since the 6th grade, and her boyfriend, and her brother and his lady. It will be my birthday, St. Patrick's Day and BFF's bro's birthday occurring while we are there. St.Patrick's Day in Vegas just screams of debauchery. I'm thinking of doing a photo diary while we are there and then putting it on the blog. Then one of my faithful readers will come to the rescue and bail me out of jail, yes?
But before we go to Vegas, in a week and a half, we are going with said BFF on a 3 night mountain ski getaway to Kimberley, BC. Skiing is at the bottom of our list of excitement though. I plan on spending a minimum of 36 hours in our private hot tub drinking mimosas, thinking up stellar ideas to present on Dragon's Den, and napping next to the fireplace. One of us will most likely come back with a broken bone, a tattoo made with a pen and a lighter and/or a world record set by longest time riding a deer. That's just how we roll, yo.
This blog is about to get kicked up a few notches. Stay tuned!
I am a stripper school drop out. I mean, I quit pole dancing. It was early afternoon every Saturday morning. I really don't feel like trying to be hot and sexy at noon on most Saturdays. And I grew tired of the judgmental looks of horror-disgust when I said I was doing pole dancing. Everyone immediately thinks of strippers. My boyfriend's aunt jokingly-but-not-really called me a sleaze when I told her. That felt good.
I'll find something else to join and it will be blog worthy, don't you worry.
I realize I haven't blogged in decades. That is because I really don't have much to blog about, my friends. I've been working, doing some home improvement projects and hanging out with friends. The last few times we've went out, I ended up being the designated sober driver. I don't even know who I am anymore. It's sick.
There is much excitement tonight though. Tonight we booked a trip to Vegas for my birthday. We are going with my BFF since the 6th grade, and her boyfriend, and her brother and his lady. It will be my birthday, St. Patrick's Day and BFF's bro's birthday occurring while we are there. St.Patrick's Day in Vegas just screams of debauchery. I'm thinking of doing a photo diary while we are there and then putting it on the blog. Then one of my faithful readers will come to the rescue and bail me out of jail, yes?
But before we go to Vegas, in a week and a half, we are going with said BFF on a 3 night mountain ski getaway to Kimberley, BC. Skiing is at the bottom of our list of excitement though. I plan on spending a minimum of 36 hours in our private hot tub drinking mimosas, thinking up stellar ideas to present on Dragon's Den, and napping next to the fireplace. One of us will most likely come back with a broken bone, a tattoo made with a pen and a lighter and/or a world record set by longest time riding a deer. That's just how we roll, yo.
This blog is about to get kicked up a few notches. Stay tuned!
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