I don't do comedy, as a rule. I am one of those people that will sit and watch a comedy with a straight face. One, who in an audience at a comedy club, rarely cracks a smile and is immediately called attention to by the comedian in question as they try and coax even the slightest emotion out of. It isn't because I do not have a sense of humor, which I do. Just ask me, I'll tell you. Am also funny as hell. And humble.
I recall once, as a teenager, being informed by my best friend's current beau that I may have better luck in the relationship department if I smiled more. That I looked too serious all the time and always looked like a bitch. Unapproachable. I, being the dinosaur of snark, recall thinking to myself 'Yeah? And you might have better luck with your voice lowering if you didn't wear your acid wash jeans so tight that I can make out the year of the quarter in your pocket, you fag.' Hey, I never said I wasn't a bitch, but be it not for he to tell me I looked like one!
I digress! That all brings me to a point, honest. Over the course of the summer re-runs I have discovered the series The Office. Which? As funny as ANYTHING I have ever seen. It is so politically incorrect and true to life that it has me laughing out loud every time I see it. So much so that I went out and bought both the first and second seasons on DVD and have Tivo'd this season. Comically funny!
One particular episode which comes to mind is 'Diversity Day', a clip of which is seen here:
Which? Funny stuff. As seen on NBC and in context. Not so much when, while sitting with my little old lady friend at lunch last week at a Chinese food restaurant she announces at FAR too high a volume:
Little Old Lady: "Well! Would you look at that!" Me: "Whats that M?" Little Old Lady: "I have never in all my 96 years seen a colored man who ate Chinese food!" Me: *Thud* as I drop dead of mortification and then try and climb under the table.
What IS it with the elderly that they think they can say anything and everything that comes to mind, I ask you? Like the time we were in the grocery store checkout line and she announced to the overweight lady purchasing the bakery cake in front of us that she didn't need it and should just refrain from purchasing it? Or the younger woman exiting the store the same day that the little old lady asked if she painted her pants on as they were so tight? I cringe at times, wondering what she will say next. I understand that her mind is starting to fail her in light of recent medical events. Also, that she has lived a very long time and sometimes when people age they revert to times past in their own minds. It still doesn't make it any easier to field stares/shock/remarks from the general public when she blurts this craziness out! The old bat! Dang good thing I adore her and am able to reason with people. Oy!
Also? This? This is love, people:
These are the object of my adoration and lusting today, my brand new box of perfect breast-cancer-research-supporting-pink-long-distance-pinnacles! The very same pinnacles that will remain boxed up the entire weekend as THE LEESTER is gone away to a golf tournament with 'The guys' where HE gets to play with his brand new golf balls. While mine sit all lonely and pleading with me! The bastage! Perhaps next time I should try and find green ones, to better match my envy?
You guys have a great weekend. I'll be busy pouting. Actually, I wont be. I have a hot date with a certain thirteen year old who still likes to hang out with the parental unit on occasion. So I will seize the opportunity and take him out to dinner and to see a movie.
Semi-charmed kind of life, I tell you!
Peace!
*edited to add: The Leester just called me to inform me that they are staying at The Hooters hotel. Yes, he was serious. Yes, THAT Hooters.*
Well, I did it. I sucked it up and grew some cajones and went to the hair appointment. It is an event, really! If you have ever spent any time growing your hair or have an extra X chromosome then you will immediately understand. If you have let your hair grow any length of time or experienced a bad haircut you will immediately comprehend my trepidation and worry and also? Why I booked the appointment a month ago, after considering it since February and lamenting the possible demise of the hair. The dream of the bad mullet? Well, okay, maybe I obsess a little too much?And if you cannot understand? Oh well, I have an unnatural emotional attachment to the dead stuff that grows out of my scalp like a bad weed, okay? It is definitely a vanity thing. It might be for you as well, if you did some soul searching and ADMITTED IT!
At any rate, there you have it. I went. I actually gave Larry-the-straight-stylist permission to whack off a full six inches. The same Larry, who three months ago upon meeting him and asking him if we had met previously informed me that he was the owner of the salon next door and could-it-have-possibly-been-there-turn-around-and-let-me-see-your-hair-oh-obviously-not-but-honey-you-should-come-see-me-Larry. When I called him a cocksucker for that comment he laughed and informed me that he defied that stereotype and was one of the few straight salon owners and we parted ways. Why, oh why would I let him touch my hair after that you ask? Well, you see, here is the thing. After about three days or righteous indignation and 'Can you believe the gall? the audacity? the nerve?', I realized that maybe he was onto something and kind of admired the fact that he was ballsy enough to call me out on it. So? I marched my happy ass into his salon and told him that he was now responsible for making it right. And there ya have it.
Yesterday evening at 5:30 I went to see Larry. Initially, as I walked in (the proverbial gunfight theme music playing in my head as we eyed each other and circled) I was nervous. He looked at me and grinned and threw down the gauntlet. "Okay, now lets see if I know what I am talking about, shall we?" So I did. I told him I would prefer the end result to be about bra-strap length and he smiled. And I let him do his thing. He cut, deep-conditioned and glazed the curls as we chatted and he was entertaining. Upon listening to him I realized that he was very obviously a new Yorker and therefore could let go of my still slightly wounded psyche due to his insulting me, after all, hello...New York! Everybody knows they just say whatever comes to mind. It is part of their charm! Also? It was said at the grand opening of the neighborhood cigar lounge and he had admittedly imbibed in a few cocktails.
An hour and a half and about three pounds of hair later I looked in the mirror and proclaimed that it was pretty short. He cocked an eyebrow and shot back with "Yes, Rapunzel, it is short. your husband can no longer climb up your hair to the second story." I conceded that round to Larry and admitted that it does look better.
The Leester then met me and upon grabbing my hair and rifling his fingers through it (which, by the way, I HATE when people touch my hair! And he KNOWS this and does it to bug me)asked "Deep conditioned, huh? Glazed, huh? Cut, huh?" I gave him 'the look' (for touching my hair, duh) and replied "Yes, what do you think?" He shrugged and informed me that he couldn't tell the difference. Gee thanks hon.
The ass.
I don't know how it is that he cant see the difference, I sure can. There is the proof. Granted, I have slept on it and am still in my pyjamas, but six inches is six inches. And not like the six inches that men are always lying about, either. So there.
You know, generally I do not consider myself an overly emotional person, but sometimes? Sometimes the floodgates open and one has trouble staunching the flow of tears, no matter how hard one tries. (Total misuse of the third person here but it separates me from the e.mo.tion. and makes me less like a dorky girl, alright? Besides, it's my blog, so shut it.) At any rate, you could kind of define me as emotional lately, really. Unless you were The Leester, who would probably describe me as bitchy. Unless of course he values his life.
Which sometimes? Questionable.
Like on Friday night just as I was about to drift off to sleep after a long day and had totally entered the realm of complete relaxation, just before falling asleep. You know the place to which I refer, right? Well, my ever adorable husband put his hand on my arm and gently caressed it, lulling me into a false sense of trust and then stuck his fingers right under my nose and announced that he had butt finger, in a sing-songy voice. DUDE! I *get* that men are savages. I *get* that far too much of your time is spent intimately with the happenings down your drawers, some of which time is spent scratching your arsehole. When are *YOU* going to get that I don't need to be made aware of it? That a fart is not always trophy talk and should be saved for when it is just 'the guys'?? Oy vey!! So, Stinky McStinkerson, keep it to yourself! Puh-lease!
Justifiable homicide, yes? Just sayin..
Wow, talk about off on a tangent. But, for real, you wonder why I have been a cry-baby lately! Most chicks would be reduced to tears at that! Nah, not me. Although a lot of what the stinky boys that live with me do is an assault to my senses, they mostly make me laugh. Nothing like potty humor to keep a girl in stitches!
Anywho! What HAS had me all emotional is missing my family and friends and maybe, just maybe, the whacked out idea that perhaps we have been in Florida long enough now and I would like to move back to Southern Alberta where I can be closer to the people I love and to family events and things. Things like the changing of the season that escorts in Autumn; my favorite. Clean smells, bright changing colors of leaves and celebrations such as Thanksgiving (of the Canadian variety, which happens in October *for the sake of my American friends), Halloween and the hustle and bustle that accompanies the arrival of the Christmas season. Sunday dinners spent together with my extended family. Shopping trips with my Sisters and my Mom and the twice yearly tradition that was dinner and a movie to celebrate our birthdays. Things that a small part of me mourns every time a year passes and I hear of them rather than am a part of them. Things that I mostly don't put words to and instead sweep under the rug that is the tiny bit of doubt that we as the Family G. have taken on too much with this move to Florida, some thousands of miles away from my comfort zone. Yes, it is a place that I will most often refuse even to acknowledge for to do so makes me sad. So, there you have it. The Dee has been busy being sad for the past few weeks and feeling quite sorry for herself. Part of it is due to the fact that I have been feeling craptastic and still don't know what is going on but instead have to have yet more tests in hopes of finding out. Okay, so probably most of it has to do with that, really. Well, enough. I called my Mom on Friday and had a good cry about it all and after doing so, I feel quite a bit better about it.
Also, there is nothing that reminds me of how much I love my life here in Florida than a game of golf with my stinky husband on a Saturday, just the two of us, laughing and having fun, the warmth of the sunshine on my back as I make my way down the fairway and onto the next hole. Or the day spent Sunday with Mr. Stinky and Boy-stinky as we run around like kids and ride rides at the theme park and act like a bunch of big kids, laughing and playing and enjoying life. The theme parks that most people are lucky to get to a handful of times in their lifespan that constitutes our back yard. Or a short jaunt to the beach in late September when the thermostat still reads in the mid-eighties and I talk to family in Canada on the phone who are hauling out their winter gear while I contemplate the sound of the waves lapping upon the white sand squishing between my toes.
Florida? Good. Alberta? Good for some, but not so much for the family G.
So then...I refrained from posting yesterday after having the endoscopy as I was afraid it would equate to emailing a friend while under the influence of a bottle of Merlot. Just plain old NOT a good idea at any time! Heh.
The endoscopy went. I, unfortunately, am all of a sudden capable of remembering things while sedated, so that is not fun. I also have broken blood vessels around my eyes from the horrid retching involved. Too much info, I know. Just be thankful I am only telling you about it and you did not have to experience it. Yuck. I am not aware of the results per say, but was told to avoid all NSAID's from now on. Also, to call them in a week for the results of the biopsies. So again, I hurry up and wait. in the meantime, I hope they were able to find something definitive. I do not know if the NSAID's are a cause or a result, but I do know that I have a hernia, for one, and diffuse ulcerations of the stomach, duodenum and esophagus. Not fun. Would clearly explain away at least some of the pain I have been in though, right? So that is something!
Also, the doggie, he seems to be markedly better than he was. For this I am a very thankful Dee G! Yaaay! I was extremely worried about the little bugger so that is great news. He is certainly more like his former self today although he does seem to still be favoring his bits and bits. Which every man out there will say "Uhm yeah, of COURSE he is, fool!" to. So heh. It kind of strikes me as funny that even just talking about having my dog neutered makes a grown man cringe in pain.
Kinda makes us girls want to make this topic a normal part of our conversations, doesn't it?
Random person named Jane: "So, Sally, castrate any dogs lately?" *watch all men in proximity cringe and groan.*
Random person named Sally: "Why as a matter of fact, Jane, my uncles cousins daughter had her Sharpei neutered...." *watch all men in the vicinity cringe and groan*
(Note maniacal and vastly amused chuckling of any women within hearing distance)
Over the course of the weekends here at The Family G, we are fairly predictable in our routines. One of the favorite parts of my weekend, which speaks volumes about my maturity level (or complete lack thereof, yeah yeah), is the Saturday/Sunday morning coffee/breakfast in bed. (Yes, I agree! The husband, he is spoiled COMPLETELY and UTTERLY rotten!) If there is nothing on the golf channel worth watching (I know, right? *yawn*), The Leester and I will catch up on our cartoons. Yes, you heard me right! You would be surprised how enjoyable a few episodes of Sponge Bob or Jimmy Neutron can be!
Well, Jimmy Neutron has a teacher by the name of Miss Fowl, whose mannerisms are very chickenesque (In case you haven't watched him, which, dudes, you are missing out!). In the middle of her speech she will suddenly raise her arms in chicken-wing fashion and let out an astute bawking noise and then slide right back into her regular speech. I, being extremely talented and as previously mentioned, very mature, have mastered the sound of her voice and chickenisms! Something to be proud of, right?
While on our way to our golf game on Sunday, the Leester said something and I answered him in the voice of Miss Fowl with the requisite chicken noise, thereby amusing myself greatly. Am very funny and entertaining, just ask me! Lee laughed and I observed that it was kind of scary how closely I could sound like the cartoon lady. Lee looked at me and completely deadpan, informed me that to him that is what I always sound like so he saw no difference!
The man, he is truly a funny guy. Just disregard his black eye, will you?
In other news, because I know you still have yet to tire of the stories I regale you with of my darling Divot, I bring you the latest! Oh dear people, we have a Jack Russell crisis, I tell you! The vet, he broke my dog, I am convinced of it!
Divot, in the hard, hard life of a pet less loved; went to the vet on Friday to do what every little boy dog dreads having done. Yes, he is now an it-dog. While there he also had all his vaccinations and heart worm testing, yada yada. After a couple hours, I called the vet to see how my little guy was doing and the vet informed me that while under the anesthetic, my doggie stopped breathing for a full minute! While they tell me this will not have an adverse affect on my boy, he has yet to snap out of the groggy, lethargic mess that he was post-surgery!
I am serious! He lays there whimpering and trembling, sleeps all day and wont eat. I tried giving him some plain white rice today, I stood him in front of his food (yes, I had to physically stand him in front of it) and he stood there staring at it. Like he didn't know what to do at his dog bowl. What dog forgets how to eat??
I called the vet and while they tell me this can be a very normal thing, I am concerned! I said I would observe him for the rest of the day and bring him back tomorrow if he has not improved. But! BUT! What if he broke my dog? What if the very smart Divot is now a brain-damaged version of his former self? How will I rectify this???
Let me just tell you this: My dog? He had better NOT be broken or there will be hell to pay. You will read all about it in the headlines, because I will go ballistic.
You know, I figured I would return here after a long day spent gnashing my teeth at the DMV full of bloggy-goodness to share with you all. Well, guess what? I was wrong. I went down there fully expecting to fight my way towards a license renewal (which is not at all straight forward for non-citizens, as a rule) and instead found myself in and out in a matter of fifteen minutes at the most. Isn't it amazing what mundane little things can renew ones faith in humanity?? The lady I dealt with was pleasant, good-natured and polite. I was amazed. And quite speechless. Which does not happen to me often, I assure you.
I did, however, lose a really nice pair of Serengeti sunglasses in the process, due wholly to the fact that I was so flustered after being called to the service counter within five minutes of my arrival. Balancing my inch thick manila folder of immigration documentation, my coffee, my purse, car keys and ticket stub, I left my sunglasses sitting on the chair beside me. By the time I went after them, they were long gone. I am certain they adorn the face of some thieving jerk as we speak.
So, the renewed faith in humanity lasted all of about twenty-three minutes. Not bad for a Thursday, right?
Speaking of Thursday, this one in particular is the season premiere of Survivor. Whee! This pleases me greatly as I am a total Survivor junkie. Woot! I am not sure yet how I feel about the whole racial segregation aspect of it this time around but I will be sure and let you know as my opinion is formed. Gay: The fact that i can take a survivor challenge based on questions from each series and get 100% right. This should NOT be my claim to fame.
Speaking of fame, let me tell you something about my dog. (Surprise Gargamel, this is me talking about my dog instead of my kid again.) The Leester and I recently went to our favorite little local pub, The Cigar Lounge, for ladies night. (No, TL doesn't have the required DNA but I wasn't going to go without him) I brought my beloved camera so I could take a bunch of pictures of the occasion for the owner, who is a friend of ours, to put up on their website. Wow, this is all over the place, bear with me. On ladies night they have some local radio personalities there as promotion, along with a salon doing a bunch of girlie stuff etc. Well, I showed the radio girl, JanaBanana, pictures of my beloved dog Divot and she mentioned him in the radio show the next day! The Divot, he is famous! The Leester probably could have earned some fame as well, except I was too busy chuckling over the fact that I made the girl wax his eyebrows to get pictures as proof!
The Leester: Not so much a manly-man this week. Hah! I love it! His eyebrows look good though! Maybe next time I can make him get his back waxed?? Nah, I didn't think so!
Well kids, I have nothing else for you. Sorry! I hope you all have a splendid night. Tune in tomorrow for something witty...maybe.
Because I am the Queen of putting off until tomorrow what I should have done today, I now have no choice but to spend the day at the Florida DMV having my license renewed. After today, it will no longer be valid. Yuck. I hate the DMV. Wish me luck?
I will post an update when I get back. Now you four go play nice, got it?
It has been five years and unlike millions of other people, I will not be speaking of 9/11 today except to say that I still remember. I do not believe anything else is needed.
The past weekend was enjoyable for the family G, for which I am thankful. We managed a quick jaunt to Universal where I bring you my favorite Leesterism of the week. TL is somewhat directionally challenged. Actually, he absolutely SUCKS at finding places, much to his chagrin and my amusement. So much so that he is no longer allowed to think for himself if we need to get somewhere. He is absolutely forbidden to make the call on his own and must consult with his co-pilot (read:Me), lest he die a slow and painful death.
Take, for example, the trip to Universal Studios and into the parking lot. Each and every time we go there, we discuss the merits of following the clearly laid out directions as to which lot they want us to park in and invariably, TL wants to go the other way, which I invariably talk him out of. Not so, yesterday. He bucked the system and turned instead of going straight. He did so because he wanted to get out of there with ease, but as I informed him would happen, the lot he wanted was blocked off and he was forced to turn around. Now, not being one to say "I told you so." (insert evil laugh here), I looked at him and asked him if he really thought he was ready to be a free thinker or would he maybe be better off just doing as he was told. I could quote, verbatim, what he said in response but I do try and keep this place somewhat PG in nature, so I will refrain.
Anyway, fast-forward to The Family G removing our belongings from one of the many lockers upon our exit from The Mummy. Well, TL couldn't recall which locker number he put them in and the lady behind him felt it necessary to instruct him in the art of opening a locker. I managed not to laugh aloud but as we were walking away I asked him if he really thought he was ready to handle the locker responsibilities. Again, his response was not of the most PG variety so I will let you use your imagination.
Fast forward once again to our exiting the park for the day. TL and The Wee were of one opinion about the whereabouts of our car and I was of another. Without saying anything, I went along with my boys and it turned out that they were in fact right. Well, The Leester took that as an opportunity to impress upon me the fact that perhaps I was not ready to handle the responsibility of the parking garage and maybe being a free-thinker was a little more than I could handle.
I smiled oh so sweetly at him and responded, "No honey, I do not have a penis, being wrong does not bother me."
The Leester turned to The Wee and said: "That's right Will, she has no penis and therefore is used to always being wrong."
*bah dun dun*
The Wee looked at me, high-fived his Dad and issued the requisite "Buuuurn, Mom."
I do believe they have forgotten who cooks their meals, don't you?
The Leester was in a golf tournament today with some friends of his, so while I was admittedly green with envy, it afforded me the opportunity to just chill out and relax. I woke this morning at six and did a bit of reading and then dozed my way through an early morning nap only to wake up at nine and find The Wee tidying the living room for me. Could there possibly be a nicer way to start the day, I ask you? Nope, didn't think so! Granted, I wondered exactly what he wanted, but still at this late hour he has not asked for anything. A banner day, I say!
The Leester and I generally meet at our little neighborhood pub on Friday's after he is done work for happy hour and yesterday was no different. Although, while there I received a phone call from the boy child that I found very amusing:
The Wee: "Mom? You are -never- going to guess what the old lady did!!" (The old lady being my neighbor friend downstairs.)
Me: "Whats that hon?"
TW: "She came up here looking for you (a feat in itself because it means she climbed the stairs on her own and at 96 she may as well have just climbed everest for crying out loud) because she crazy-glued her wedding rings to her finger!"
Me: "Oh man, what did you say to her Wee? Did she tell you what she had been doing??"
TW: Apparently trying to glue some statue together that she dropped. I dunno Mom, I tried gently helping her take them off her finger but she ended up just ripping them off. I tried rinsing them under water and then said I would have you call her when you got home."
Me: "Okay babes, thanks for the heads up. Dad and I will be there in about thirty minutes anyway so I will go and see her then."
At this point The Leester is all "Who the hell gave her crazy-glue?? Does her son not grasp the concept of the first word in the name?? Craaaaaaazy??" All the while making the universally known symbol for crazy with his index finger pointed at his temple.
Me: "Dude, I know. Unreal, right? Ah well, I'll take her and her rings to the jeweler and have it dealt with."
The Leester: "Great, next time we are going to get a call and find the old lady hanging from a steel truss by a hardhat crazy-glued to it."
When we got home I went to go and see her and she has managed to get an impossibly LARGE amount of crazy glue all over about 4 carats of diamonds. *cringe* Unbelievable, right?
Just another day in the life of me.
I hope you all have a splendid weekend for what remains of it. We are just hangin out and enjoying life. And it is good, I tell you. Good!
Okay then! Not the gallbladder. So, the next step is an upper GI scope. I have that done on the 19th and maybe that will shed some light on things? In the meantime I have been given some antispasmodic (sorry people, just works on the insides, I am going to be as much of a spaz as I ever was. Which, how eighties. Am I old, or am I old??)medicine which will hopefully alleviate some of the discomfort. So there ya have it. At this point I am fairly confident that they are doing all that can be done in search of a diagnosis and really, what more can I ask for?
I am okay with this, just so long as we are still searching for the problem. Also, the GI is hot, so that helps.
My Mom suggested perhaps stress as I seemed out-of-character quick to anger when she was here. I immediately started yelling at her and asked her what the hell she was talking about, what did she know anyways?? Of course, I was kidding and we laughed. She is right, I was quick to anger but I attribute it to the pain and the fact that I had just recently quit smoking and was what one might call bit-chay. Bitchier than normal, even. That and the fact that the men in my life know just how to piss me off when they have Grandma and Auntie in dah house to back them up and cater to whims. For which I apologize, Lizzy-bits. And already did right after you left even! Now cope, I did it in the most public manner possible, alright? Geeeeze, Louise! Some people! (I tease you Mommy, you know I love you. I'm sorry I was cranky with you guys. *bats lashes*)
I am feeling better than I was yesterday about the kiddo's thing as well, everyone will be just fine. I'm really glad I am in the habit of preparing mostly healthy food to begin with and as I have learned some great tricks and grew up in the house of a dietitian, I know all sorts of ways to make the kid some great tasting treat type foods he can still enjoy.
So set thine minds at ease, the world has regained it's axis and you can all move along now!
So, what did you have for dinner? This was ours. The salad that love built. Heh. I have been craving cobb salad and it was yummers. It covers a bed of mixed greens and was delish.
I had intended to faithfully update this week and here it is already Wednesday and thus far I showed you a picture of a salad that took all of two minutes to make. It's yummy and everything but puh-lease, right? How lame is that?? I'll tell you. It is LAME-O!
I am feeling rather blah right now, between whatever the H-E-double-hockey-sticks has been ailing me and also with The resident Teenager's health issues. So, in regards to all of that, know that I see the specialist again in the morning, hopefully for a concrete diagnosis and a course of action to do what needs to be done so that I am free of this pain, which oft times is quite debilitating. I mean come on, I am unable to play a game of golf. That, my friends, is simply unacceptable. Give up food? Okay, I can. No issue, there, at least for a little while. Just shave some reserves off my ass and I will be fine. Perhaps my hips while you are at it? It's all good. But the pain is really starting to piss me off.
What has me rather blue today though, after taking The Wee to a follow-up appointment with the pediatric endocrinologist is to find out that all is not exactly well in the world of my boy-child. What I had assumed and had been led to believe regarding the boy wonder, until the tests proved otherwise, was that he was hypoglycemic. Nope, we were wrong. As it turns out he is producing far too much insulin and (as he is genetically predisposed and was one of my very real and biggest fears) he is leaning heavily towards a diagnosis of type II diabetes. His levels were at 123.1 at one stage of the test when anything above higher than 125 is actual diabetes. As his Mommy, this scares me. It worries me when I think of what the future may hold for him and it saddens me that he cant just be like any other kid but instead will be destined to lifelong restrictions as far as diet and exercise. So, that is that. Logically, I know that he could be far worse off and that there are a great number of people that are, anyone with chillun's understands that we just want them not to have to deal with anything unpleasant. So I am sad for him.
So blah. I have a black cloud above my head and I don't feel much like being talked out of it today, thankyouverymuch. Today I just get to be grumpy and bummed out for The Wee.
In other news, The Leester has joined in on an office weight loss challenge from now until Thanksgiving a'la The biggest Loser style, consisting of two teams. (Don't worry honey, you will always be the biggest loser in my books. *snicker*) And as seems to be common with men, he decided to do this and took two steps forward and left behind 4lbs of tubbo. Now that just pisses me off. Why is it that men decide to shed a few pounds and it seems to be as simple as the decision?? Bastard!
I jest, I am proud of him for taking the challenge on and he has been very faithfully hitting the treadmill and such after work and has me controlling his portions for him. Which, why should it be me doing that, you may ask? Well, you see, The Leester is much like a puppy. If it sits before him, he has to eat it. He has no concept. Also, I am the good wifey and it is a labor of love to watch what goes into his cute little face for him. Am loving, like that.
So, there you have it. My world in a nutshell today. Fun, hm?
p.s. My dog has figured out that he can pace back and forth along the kitchen windowsill and thinks he is REALLY the smartest critter to ever walk on four paws. Because he is. Also? The cutest. EVER. See his post if you need proof.
WooHoo! I love Fridays! I love them and I dont even have to work, so I feel for y'all who do.(Yes, have lived in the South long enough now that the speech rolls off the tongue and we point and laugh at the use of 'eh'. It was to be expected.) Thankfully, this is not only Friday but a long weekend as well, yaaay! Even The Leester will be off on Monday so it is a joyous occasion. Wheee!
We are celebrating The Wee's birthday this weekend as he chooses which, oddly enough, is a trip to the mall to go shopping, dinner out and a movie. Teenagedom strikes. TL, open your wallet, his hand is out and he is asking you for cash. The boy child also would like to spend a day riding coasters at Universal studios which is par for the course with us (notice the golf idiom?)so that takes care of Saturday. We also intend to play a round of golf (FL weather permitting)(Yay, golf. Golf is love. Golf is vital to my happiness in life. MUST golf.)
So, in closing, I leave you with these FUNNIES that were forwarded on to me by my dear friend Gerald. Enjoy!
I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend!
----
A man and his wife had been married many years. They played golf often. One day, on the 2nd tee of the course, the husband stopped, looked at his wife, and said suddenly, "Twenty years ago I had a brief affair, it meant nothing. I hope you can forgive me."
His wife was shocked, hurt even, but said, "Dearest, those days are long gone. What we have now is far more valuable. I forgive you." They embraced and kissed. The husband relaxed, relived of his secret. They played on, as they had for many years.
On the 17th tee, the husband was starting his back swing when the wife suddenly blurted out, "I'm sorry darling, I've been so conscience-stricken since you told me of your affair. As we're being honest with each other, I have something to tell you also. Thirty-two years ago I had a sex change operation, I was a man before I met you. I hope you can forgive me." She stared at him.
The husband froze at the top of his back swing, and then threw a fit. He slammed the driver into the ground, kicked the ball into the woods, stormed off the tee, pushed the golf cart over on its side, broke the rest of his clubs one by one, then started on hers. He screamed and ranted, "You liar! You cheat! You despicable deceiver! How could you? I trusted you with all my heart and soul...and all these years you've been playing off the ladies' tees!"
*wacka wacka wacka*
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A man was at the country club for his weekly round of golf. He began his round with an eagle on the first hole and a birdie the second. On the third hole he had just scored his first ever hole in one when his cell phone rang. It was a doctor notifying him that his wife had just been in a terrible accident and was in critical condition and in the ICU. The man told the doctor to inform his wife where he was and that the he'd be there as soon as possible. As he hung up he realized he was leaving what was shaping up to be his best ever round of golf. He decided to get in a couple of more holes before heading to the hospital. He ended up finishing all eighteen. He finished his round shooting a personal best 61 shattering the club record by five strokes and beating his previous best game by more than 10. He was jubilant, then he remembered his wife. Feeling guilty he dashed to the hospital. He saw the doctor in the corridor and asked about his wife's condition. The doctor glared at him and shouted, "You went ahead and finished your round of golf didn't you! I hope you're proud of yourself! While you were out for the past four hours enjoying yourself at the country club your wife has been languishing in the ICU! Its just as well you went ahead and finished that round because it will be more than likely your last! For the rest of her life she will require 'round the clock care. And you'll be her care giver!" The man was feeling so guilty he broke down and sobbed. The doctor started to snicker and said, "Just kidding! She died more than two hours ago. What'd you shoot?
Hi! I am Dee G. Pleased to meet ya! I am a 38 year old (yes, I admitted to being 38...) happily married (to The Leester) mother of one son (whom is known around here as The Prodigy). We are a Canadian family who, for various reasons, decided to uproot and relocate what sometimes seems like a lifetime away from all we know and those we love. Here you will find updates about the goings on of the Family G. and our lives, such as they are, as we spend them exiled somewhere in Central Florida. Not that we are complaining, mind you!
