Christmas in Julyish

Hello my little kitten toed babies! Did you miss me?
You may have thought/hoped that I went away to rehab, but sorry to disappoint, I did not. I'm still Cabernet Sauvignon kicking it.

The truth is, I have been lazy. And drunk. And my life got really, really busy and chaotic.
But enough about me. Let's get to a rant and some bitchery, shall we?

I went to Costco not long ago. It started out as a usual trip of magicallness. (I am absolutely making that a word) 10 feet in the door, I wanted everything that was being show cased on sale. New coffee mugs? Yes.  Four thousand batteries all conveniently wrapped in one package? Affirmative.  900 litres of hair gel? Yup.  Two hundred fabric softener sheets for $8? Fuck to the yes.

Side rant: Maybe I'm really judgmental, but you know those people that have 5 carts full of stuff and it's clear they don't own a restaurant? It's a family of four and an entire cart is full of , like, mayo.  I don't get it and I desperately want to ask them why, and, depending on what they are wearing, punch them. There are other ways to get attention, folks.  Get out.

Anyway, as I was meandering through the my warehouse happy place, debating on whether or not I really needed a Winchester 16 cu. ft. fire and theft resistant executive safe, I stopped in my tracks. The horror!

Right there in front of me, was Christmas merchandise. Wrapping paper, lights, bows, Rudolph, the whole shebang.

Hold on just a goddamn minute, Costco.  Why are you doing this to me? I'm still wearing flip flops. I'm still willingly shaving my legs (kinda). Let me buy a pumpkin spiced beverage, dress like a slutty something for Halloween, and avoid raking leaves before you send me into a Christmas prep tailspin!  Why are they skipping Halloween candy and turkeys and junk and going right for the seasonal jugular?
I blame the crazy mayo people. They're the ones that start buying that shit this early.

Obviously pissed off and flabbergasted, I did what any self-respecting protester would do. I marched my overflowing cart containing everything in the world to the front, paid my nine thousand dollars,and got the heck out of there.  After I stopped at the Costco liquor store. I mean, 4 bottles of wine for $38 is nothing to sniff at.

In conclusion and protest of this calamity, please do this little hag a favor. Until mid-November, go ahead and say yes to six hundred and forty seven Q-Tips. Say no to the Christmas spirit. And mayo.

Worst Blogger Ever

Holy fuck, I am the worst blogger ever! In my defense, google and blogger whatever changed their layout and I have no idea how to use this thing anymore. Also, I am an alcoholic and go out drinking 10 nights a week.  I don't even really eat food anymore or do laundry. But that's a whole other blog post.

Stay tuned because my next blog is going to be bitchin'. I'm not sure what it's going to be about yet, but if I can successfully post this, the world is my blogging oyster, and it's going to be good. Maybe I'll read 50 Shades of Grey and give my own personalized review on it and how many times I got myself off? I hear this book is doing amazing things for women. No? Too inappropriate? Ok, just let me know. Love you my little sugar bears!

No Sex & The City

Let's talk a little bit about the birds and the bees and dating. And also the purpose of men.

For me, personally, when I find myself single, I go into a bit of a panic. Who the hell is going to put together IKEA furniture for me?  What the fuck is an ethernet cable?  The internet and TV only work in the presence of a male apparently.  Where do I buy a shovel?  OMG, light bulbs burn out.
So, yes, boys, you do come in handy. Sometimes.

I would rather eat glass and wash it down with rubbing alcohol than start dating someone new. It's annoying and stupid.  The beginning awkwardness is awesome. Is he going to kiss me? Do I kiss him? I am an independent woman and should get the bill. I have had 3 tequila shots and this is the perfect opportunity to take him home, but I am wearing underwear with the Cookie Monster on them. Why hasn't he called?  I'll just stare at my phone for 4 hours straight.

But, if you ladies date in Wine Hag fashion, a first date will consist of you getting trashed out of your mind, calling him Burt, telling him his cold sore looking zit is ready to be popped, and ending with you befriending your cab driver, Davinder, and going for Falafels at 2 am.  He will not call you.

And then, after the first few initial dates, you get to know the idiot. Oh wow, really, you cry after sex?  Umm, no, you cannot snort cocaine off my ass.  Would you mind not wearing that "Fuck The Police" T-shirt out for brunch?  Actually, that is not a birthmark and you are disgusting. Get off of me immediately.  Sure, Super Hero trading cards are cute.

In my experience,  you will end up dating one of two guys. The Stage 5 Clinger, or the Commitment Phobe Man Whore.

The Clinger texts and/or calls 40 seconds after you say goodbye.  He is in love with you!  Oh happy day.  What did you have for dinner? Do you miss him?  His Mom would like your phone number.  Who is Mike and why are you friends with him on Facebook? Can we cuddle more?  This will get annoying because you actually like to pee in private.

The CPMW will not call.  He will not text. He will text your best friend behind your back. He will post on Facebook that he's on a date with 2 Asian twins and is totally going to score tonight.  He will call you at 3 am after his sexcapades though.  And this totally unacceptable asshole behavior will be a turn on for you, because you are damaged with issues and enjoy being treated like shit.  You can change him and all the pain will be totally worth it.  Totally worth it.

One shock to some is that when a girl finds herself single, life does not automatically look like an episode of Sex and the City. People have lives! No one is going to meet you at  a coffee shop at 4 in the afternoon to discuss dumb shit.  You will not be a socialite wearing sequins and fighting rich bachelors off. And you certainly don't meet men in a flirtatious serendipitous encounter at Home Depot. It does not happen.  But, you can be thankful you do not look like Sarah Jessica Parker.

Ladies, do yourself a favor. Get some cats. Stop shaving your legs. Drink wine and start a blog.

Random Reviews

I decided to review random things and stuff for you.  The good, the bad, the random. My recent trip to Vegas had some influence on what I reviewed.
I couldn't think of anything to rant on and on about. What does this mean??? Am I turning human?

Are you There, Chelsea?: A new TV show that I enjoy. It's  inappropriate and dirty. The star is basically an alcoholic whore. Obviously, I cannot relate. It also has a perplexing amount of little and short people in the cast. Watch it.

Air Canada:  Our "flag carrier". What a joke. I hate them. They are like your 38 year old brother that still lives in Mom's basement. Stop fucking up. Nobody actually likes you.  The end.

Bacon:  Bacon is my religion. I love bacon. I have even learned to embrace the low sodium kind. What can I say, it's the health nut in me.

Aussie Cheese Fries:  From Outback Steakhouse.  Fries, seasoned, 3 kinds of melted cheese, bacon, spicy ranch dip. Need I say more? Comparably, eating these is like having an orgasmic experience while entering the gates of heaven.  These are constantly on my mind.  We do not have an Outback where I live. There are, supposedly, 3 located in a city 3 hours away that I frequent for work and drinking. May consider moving there now.

Vodka:  When I don't feel like having wine stained lips and teeth that make me look like a Twilight character, I enjoy vodka. Not picky, although when I am buying a bottle for the old homestead, I usually go with Absolute. When someone else is buying, Grey Goose. Vodka does not give me the same awkward, paralyzing, you-should-be-kept-in-a-cage drunk that wine does. A definite win for those occasions where I must be classy. Like a baptism or children's Christmas concert. Or when the Bachelor is on.

Walgreens: Walgreen's, particularly in Vegas, can provide an alarming amount of entertainment. Next time you are shitfaced drunk and lost a substantial amount of money gambling, I encourage you to grab your best friend and checkout your local Walgreen's. You won't be disappointed. They sell underwear. Extra points for getting kicked out.

Turnips: Are disgusting. There is no good reason for them. Just say no to turnips.

Slot Machines:  In Vegas, money is not real. It's just paper that allows you to continue to play super fun games. I will shovel handfuls of cash into those machines, but, funny enough, I won't just light the bills on fire beforehand. In real life, I have (very little) self control and self respect. Not in Vegas. I will play those machines until my eyes are bleeding and I am considering prostitution so I can play another game.  The drinks are free though, so I just pretend that each drink cost me $250.

Vampires: Why is everything about vampires right now? It's stupid.  They aren't real. Our youth today (and, disturbingly, some adults) fantasize about dead people that drink blood and don't sleep. I don't see the appeal. Whether or not I would have sex with Edward Cullen is neither here nor there.

Marky Mark:  Mark Wahlberg. Love. Want. It's his badass frowny attitude that gets me going. Watch Contraband. Watch the Good Vibrations music video. They are all good. I am going to find a way to have his children one day. Or his sexually transmitted diseases. Either or.


Wine:  Last but not least, the wind beneath my wings. Without wine, this potential Pulitzer prize winning blog would not exist. I would not have character defining bruises covering my body.  Without wine, I would not have the courage to sing or dance as beautifully as I do.  I most likely would not have as many failed relationships. Stain removal is a skill now. The list benefits and credit I need to give to wine is endless.
Wine has made me who I am today. And that's sayin' something.

Kony Island?

Today's blog will be without the usual sarcastic, alcohol induced rantings. Oh, and no dick talk. Thanks for that Jenna.

I watched the viral Kony 2012 video today.  Usually, watching a popular video is at the top of my daily to-do list, especially when it involves funny cats, talking babies, or people hurting themselves.  I had an idea of what the video was about after seeing different Twitter and Facebook statuses.  I needed to be in the right mood for a video like this.  I feel an overwhelming urge to share my feelings on this video. I am not asking any of you to support or to not support this cause. Just my own thoughts.

The power of social media today truly amazes me. Especially when it is used for good, and not just porn distribution.Despite the light and uncaring nature of this blog, stuff actually gets to me.  If I see a homeless person on the street, I will think about them for the rest of the day. If I hear about a kid being bullied or made fun of, it will be on my mind for hours.

If you had mentioned or asked me about Joseph Kony yesterday, I probably would have responded with the title of this blog. Coney island fries?
The first word that comes to mind if I were asked how I felt after watching the informative 27 minute video, is embarrassment.  I am truly embarrassed that this man exists and has been doing what he is doing for 20 years, and I had no idea.   But I can name every celebrity that has filed for divorce in the past 5 years and what the top 5 songs on iTunes are today.  Shame, helplessness, anger and sadness quickly follow.

I've seen comments made about this video on both ends of the spectrum.. Some are very eager to support and stand behind this cause to create awareness.  Others of a more cynical nature are responding that Kony is just one of many horrible people in this world and a YouTube video isn't going to change anything.

What really bothers me is that I don't feel like I can make a difference and help the situation. Sure, I signed the pledge and can donate money.  But short of parking myself in the Uganda jungle with a lynching rope and a copy of "How to Capture a War Criminal for Dummies", I do not personally feel like I am making a difference. That bugs me.

I am grateful that I watched it, even though my whole weekend is now probably ruined because it is all I will think about.  It did what it was supposed to do for me - made me aware.  It also taught me a lesson  in which I am absolutely going to appreciate what I have, where I live, and what is actually important.
Less TMZ and more CNN methinks.

I hate that we live in a world where these activities are happening. It enrages me that this Kony character specifically targets children, who aren't being given a chance at a normal life, now or in the future. It literally makes me sick.  I am however, so grateful that we live in a time where the technology and so many different social media outlets exist that information can be shared and awareness can be made within hours. It's pretty amazing, really. 

PS. I am totally drinking a bottle of wine tonight

Definitely Maybe

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.

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.

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!

Don't Stop

First pole dancing class completed. Let me break it down for you.

First, I surprised by some of the girls in the class. A few were very "plain" for lack of a better word, but you could tell they were the "a lady in the streets, but a freak in the sheets" type as the class progressed.

Everything about this class is sexy. Even the warm ups. When you walk, you are instructed to sexy walk, dragging one foot behind you, swinging your hips, and touching yourself, running your fingers through your hair and down your body. Anyone that knows me, knows that this initially sent me into a fit of laughter. When we were doing some kind of wrist/hand warm up, all I could think of was "jazz hands". You know, from that cheerleading movie.

The class began with floor work. Learning the sexy cat pose, cat arched back, bicycle legs and..well....leg spreading. We were taught hip circles and grinding, even how to get up off the floor sexy manner. Everything is about sticking your butt out. Sounds pretty cool and empowering, right?  Now, picture Betty White with arthritis doing it.  That was me.

Every time I did a hip circle, something in my body cracked. Lowering down into a squat, my knees were threatening to give out.  I was in pain 47 seconds into the moves. My arms and legs were shaking, and I was seeing spots. ( I fixed that, I grabbed an A&W teen burger on the way home) I pretty much resembled a female version of Napoleon Dynamite way out of her league.

Carrying on from the floor work, we learned how to flow from the floor over to the wall and to basically have sex with the wall.  Ok, not really, but we did learn a routine up against the wall to Janet Jackson't "Don't Stop".  From the wall, we made our way to the pole.  Walking around the pole, doing fancy pole turns, more f*cking squats against the pole, and then eventually, a pole hold, where you slide down.  Remember in gym class where there was a bigger kid that struggles to climb up the rope? Yup, me. I was grasping that pole, legs flailing, for dear life. Nowhere near sexy, my friends.  And when we were supposed to seamlessly slide down, my sweaty hands made a screaching sound as I dropped to the ground like an uncoordinated bag of bricks.

We ran through our routine a few times, from the floor, to the wall, to the pole. The more we did it, and the more I couldn't feel my limbs, I actually got the hang of it.  The whole room is covered in mirrors, and as I continued, I watched myself and was somewhat impressed. I couldn't believe it was me. And I think I got the pole hold pretty much down. Haha, pole hold made me laugh, because I have the mind of a perverted 15 year old boy. Anywho...

All in all, it was actually super fun, and as funny as it sounds, empowering. I had to remind myself not to "sexy walk" out to my car. Next week we learn the fireman pole spin! I'm going to take some muscle relaxants and a few roofies before class. 6 more weeks to go!  How lucky am I to have a willing participant to watch and critique my routine practices as well?  What a supportive boyfriend!

I may have to rename this blog "Aches & Pains of a Pole Dancer".  Maybe I should just keep enrolling in different classes in blogging about them. Bonsai Art Pruning?  Porn Directing 101?  Gymnastics for Seniors? Let me know what you think!

Pole Star

A friend and I have enrolled in pole dancing classes. Do not laugh.
No, I have no plans to take up stripping or exotic dancing as my new vocation.  Pole dancing is apparently a great full body work out, and as per my previous blog, strengthens your arms and legs immensely.  And if they teach me a thing or two about being sexy along the way, bonus!

In preparation for my new fitness class, I watched some "pole dancing gone wrong" videos on YouTube. Hilarious.
Guaranteed these classes will lead to some humorous blogs. I am not the most coordinated individual to grace the Earth. First class is tomorrow afternoon.  What does one wear to pole dancing classes? Hmmmm. I'm thinking a glass or three of wine will need to be consumed before class.

Just The Tip

It's kind of a long and nonsensical story of how myself, my lover and our friends (another super cool couple) ended up at a strip club last night. In pervert's row, I might add. (Sorry Mom. I know, I'm gross and going to hell)

I think of myself as a reasonably confident and secure woman. I'm not jealous of other women. If my boyfriend decides to leave me for a stripper, well, then he's a douche and good riddance. So I had no issues with going. I actually find them entertaining and impressive.

I will give any girl credit that can contort and hold themselves up on a pole using only her leg muscles. I cannot even touch my toes. Sad, but true.
The strength that those girls have blows me away.  It's kind of like watching Cirque du Soleil, but with naked performers.  What was fascinating to me is out of the three strippers I watched last night, not one of them had an ounce of cellulite anywhere that I could see. Perhaps it was the lighting, but I had a seat right upfront and, um, personal, so I am thinking it is the pole work that attributes to their fantastic shape. Clearly I need to invest in a pole for my house.  And, I am highly competitive, so if cracked out, uneducated "Destiny" can do it, I sure as hell can too.

Their faces were a different story, but I am thinking the men that go to see these entertainers aren't too concerned about the facial region. Or their feet for that matter, because I saw some pretty gnarly toes as well. I also noticed they all had really bad tattoos.  I will also add that I was extremely proud that I had bigger boobs than stripper number two, because that almost never happens. Moving on.

What makes me sad is the degrading activity of when she spreads out a blanket, rolls up a piece of paper, and encourages men to hurl coins at her. Tips, as I call it. My first thought is: Sick! Money is so so dirty. Who wants that touching their vag?  Second, all the credit I just gave her is gone.  Girl, you are stark ass naked and asking guys to throw money at you! Coins for that matter.  Do you not see what is entirely wrong with this picture?  I desperately wanted to throw a robe on her, take her home, ask her what the hell went wrong in her life, and then show her where to find the job ads.  I honestly do not believe that any of those girls actually enjoy doing it. And as for the stories you hear that these girls are doing it to put themselves through med school? Come the fuck on.  I have yet to meet a doctor that looks like any of those girl or with a body like that.
As degrading as it is though, I would feel even worse not "tipping" them, so I chucked loonies at the stripper. I have a magnet now of her to prove it. I felt like we really connected. Maybe we'll go shopping together one day and I can buy her a sweater. With a high neck.

Some girls have questioned last night's activities and couldn't believe I let my boyfriend go and watch other naked women. And the fact that I went with is just bizarre to them. Well, let's think about this for a second. She can make sexy eyes and shake her ass in his face all that she wants. He's going home with me. He may have to help me take my boots of because I am so out of shape I can't bend over, but that's neither here nor there.  I think of it as men like strippers like we ladies enjoy shoe shopping. Whatever turns your crank, baby.

In conclusion, I recant the evening with one end thought and goal: I am going to master working the pole.  In sweatpants.

Allow Me to Slap You

I realize the title of this blog is "Rantings of a Wine Hag".  The definition of ranting is: To Speak or shout at length in a wild, impassioned way.

I do rant. I do complain. We all do. What I cannot stand is people who constantly complain or bitch about their lives and the trivial shit that we all have to deal with.  Sure, everyone has a complaint or something that bugs them. That's normal. But to constantly be a Debbie Downer and actually LOOK for something to complain about is disgusting to me.  Yes, everyone hates and grumbles about Mondays. You burn the dinner that you so carefully planned and prepared all day.  Shoveling snow sucks ass. There definitely are some sucky times in life.  I think what some people are forgetting is there is a huge difference between crappy situations and instances, and just being plain ungrateful, insensitive and ridiculous.

Facebook is a complainers paradise. And a great source of some of my rage: 

 "Wahhh, I sneezed 6 times today. I'm dying!"

 "Boo,  my plane ride returning me from a luxury vacation in Fiji was soooo long." 

 "I couldn't find a job for over a year, but now that I have one, I hate going to it." 

 "I had to brush snow off of my Porsche Cayenne."

I don't know if they just feel too much pressure to have a status update and complaining is their default option? Honestly, I'd rather see someone declaring they are about to get shit-faced drunk (like moi) or discussing how many bowel movements they have had that week, than see some petty, ignorant, bitchy comment like "The line up I had to stand in to buy my new iPhone was so long. FML".

Which brings me to my next rant. To those of you that consistently use "FML" (f*ck my life), I suggest you take a good hard look at your life before you say that. I wonder what acronym starving children in Africa have? The homeless person trying to find somewhere warm and out of the wind?  Or even the person that has been unemployed for 2 years and struggling to keep their house. I'm sure they would gladly take your place in 40 minutes of traffic.  The woman struggling to beat breast cancer for the second time would in a heart beat take your sniffles and flu bug than sit through another round of chemo.  And don't even bellyache about being broke while you type from your $1200 MacBook Pro.

The weather is going change, people. We don't need to write a book on it. It's too cold, it's too hot, it's too windy.  You will never be happy, ok? Bring a speedo and a parka with you everywhere you go. And while we're on the subject of a speedo, yes, ok, fine. You are fat. Are you happy now? Is that the validation that you needed?

I am not, in any way, trying to say what is an acceptable complaint and what isn't.  I am not the bitching police.  I would just like to urge you to think before you speak.  If someone says "Gee, that movie really sucked", I am not going to fly into a fit of rage and remind you that not everyone owns a television. Come on. Let's remember what the foundation of this blog is - wine and my thoughts, mostly rants. Remember, I don't like many people, so this is not intended to make me look like Mary Sunshine.  

I need a reminder at times to check myself and that it could be much worse. Honestly, if my biggest complaint in life is the assholes that don't know how to walk in the mall....I have it pretty damn good. 

To the serial complainers: Your life may not be so shit stained if you look at it from a different perspective.  Or, unfortunately, you just might be a really miserable awful person, and in that case, I am going to unfriend you.

Working Girl

Going back to work after 2+ weeks off should be illegal.  It is no good for anyone.

It was a spectacular vacation, filled with lots of relaxation, food, drinking, friends, family, and sweatpants.  Christmas was wonderful, as was New Years.  Yesterday, I was feeling very productive and optimistic about the new year.  The Christmas tree and decorations came down, I made pancakes for breakfast, dusted, washed and swept floors, all before noon. I was feeling good and ready to go back to work.

Then the cold harsh reality of  it all set in this morning.

One of my "hopes" for the New Year (I don't do resolutions. I know myself all too well. That's why I call them hopes) was to go to bed earlier during the week.  Usually, this hag stays up until midnight or 1 am on work nights. I then hate myself and my life the next morning. So, promptly at 10pm last night, I scampered off to bed like a good girl.  At 10:30 pm I was still laying there, wide awake, completely annoyed by my boyfriend's  existence and his audacity to breathe.  I got up, ate a bag of cheezies and spent a few hours wasting my life away on Pinterest.  Goddammit, I love Pinterest.

I awakened one hour later than I planned on this morning, in quite a beast-like fashion. I laid there and went through a good half dozen scenarios as to why I couldn't go to work. I moaned, groaned and even sobbed a little, screaming at my adorable dog that this was somehow all her fault. She licked my face in return, and made it clear she needed to be let outside.  So, I ponied up, let the little brat out, took a shower (fingers crossed that I used soap. I don't even remember) and dragged myself into the office.

The most useless dumdum on Earth sits at my desk today.  I don't remember how to spell. What's grammar? I am referring to everything as "it" or "things".  Vacation vocabulary and work vocabulary differ greatly for me it seems. I am a cavewoman.  I find myself just staring off at nothing. My mouth may be partially open too. I fear now that if I am to ever quit working, I will start wearing a fanny pack, visor and shower sandals out in public to trade coupons.

Let's not even discuss my appearance today. Let's just say I only put mascara on one eye and this shit show of an outfit rivals that of Sophia from the Golden Girls. And smooth brushed hair is SO last year.

In conclusion, I am a big, dumb bag of disgusting today. It can only get better from here, right?

Grinch This

There will be no haggery during Christmas. I love Christmas! I love the feeling of closeness and happiness that comes with this holiday.  Family togetherness is one of the best things in this world. (After we are all together, I usually have a couple of rants, but that comes after)


Christmas is a time of beauty, from the inside out.  There is something about this holiday that is truly magical.  In one way or another, we all see the underlined spiritual side of this holiday. That may be religious beliefs, peace within yourself, or more willingness to understand and tolerance for others that we don't have all year round. 


This is a time to forget that you may have a control freak mother who thinks your turkey will never taste as good as hers and when are you finally going to settle down and stop living in sin?  Let your alcoholic father have those 5 extra drinks of holiday cheer.  Who cares if Uncle George takes his teeth out at the table and leaves them on the side of his plate?   Your hellion nephew who just shaved your cat is adorable today.  And when your sister in law makes an underhanded comment about the cleanliness of your house, just give her a hug and a smile.  She'll still be a bag tomorrow.


I would like to wish all of you a wonderful holiday, filled with laughter, peace, smiles, warmth and family. Merry Christmas!


PS. On Boxing day, I will likely be back to bitch about all the wrapping paper I had to clean up and the 64 loads of dishes I had to do.

Christmas with a Crank

Before I rant, I realize that those of you that subscribe only get notifications 24 hours after I blog. I don't know how to fix that. You will just have to check regularly I guess. And comment for crying out loud. I see I have 236 readers - 4 from Russia! Comment or I'll cut you.

If any of you go to a shopping mall, I guess it is only fair of me to tell you that I hate you. Seriously, it seems that everyone's manners and knowledge of how to walk in a mall is lost on them the second that they step foot in the building.  Is it the bright lights and shiny things?  Get the fucking fuck out of my way. Stop shuffling and dillydallying.  Move to the side. Pick up your feet!  I came dangerously close to punching someone in the back of the head today.  Instead, I just purposely stepped on the back of their shoes.  It felt good.
I won't single out the elderly and shoppers that are over the age of 100. They need to shop too, and have paid their dues. They had to tolerate these assholes when they were young shoppers back in 1897.

And what is up with those that are walking in the opposite direction as you, heading right toward you?  I am always the one to move to the side.  Enough of that shit.  I refuse to move anymore and am willing to play a game of head-on-collision chicken with you, bitch.

Then you have the assholes that think it's cute to let their 1 year old learn how to walk on his own in the middle of the mall.  Guess what? Your kid annoys me now and is no longer cute.  And you, jackass parents, do you not realize you are just baiting kidnappers and pedophiles?

I would be willing to fund mall cops that direct people.  Just like the ones that wave you through when stop lights are broken.  Clearly this needs to happen as we are just barely evolved zoo animals. It's either that or an IQ test followed by an agility obstacle course in order to enter a shopping mall. So we will have mall traffic cops and I will seek anger management counselling in return. Done and done!