Monday, July 26, 2010

Don't ever try to camp with my parents.

Well, since this is my personal blog, I can write about anything I feel like. You can't stop me.
I promise to go back to the word definitions at some point in time. Today won't be it.

Today is the day I talk about camping with my middle aged parents. I love them. Don't get me wrong, they are wonderful people. But you put them in a stressful (read: anything outside the norm) situation, and both get progressively less sane. It's awesome to watch.

Started with just GETTING to the camp site. Grand Beach is an awesome beach, but the campground is situated slightly hidden. In fact, SO well hidden that my dad drove right past it. Almost twice. All I could do is follow along in my car, hoping they'd figure it out. It was getting late and they had my children with them, so I couldn't ditch them.

Then, getting set up. They don't remember very well what it was like to have a teenager around, and now they have 2 1/2 teens and a toddler. Somewhere along the lines, a mallet went missing, keys were lost, sunglasses were misplaced, and the littlest one started crying and whining. Awesome. This is why I don't usually go places with my parents. They lose EVERYTHING, and blame someone else.

(Oh, and my mom is obsessed with bears. To the point where every single thing we touch each day ends up packed back into the RV or car each night. That's not time consuming at all.)

Next, both of them started freakin' and peakin' over the amount of "stuff" each kid NEEDED to bring. Where could they possibly store all these things? Um? Tent perhaps. Let the boys deal with their own crap. The baby's stuff has to stay in the RV, but I only packed her a small bag, she can live out of that.

On, and on it went. Finally, they were set for the night and we all went to bed emotionally drained. Everyone was up bright eyed the next day, for a wonderful day at the beach. I stayed two more days, went through several mini crisis situations and tantrums- not the baby- my dad. This morning, I got into my car and just drove away. I'll go back later this week, but only for a day at a time. It's terrifying.

Friday, July 23, 2010

My favourite waste of time.

This right here is my favourite way to waste simply hours of my life (you know, all those extras hours I have that the kids aren't bugging me)....

A VERY close second is

Like I said, *when* I have extra time, this is how I spend it.

Thursday, July 22, 2010


So, last post, I gave a sample of some of the words I made.

Another is "LavaLife-r". Now, for those of you who don't have chronic insomnia, 'LavaLife' is one of those telephone lines that claims, "Call and talk to the SEXIEST women and men for free!!!!"

Now, again I tell you-I'm not like you. But I will tell you a story, and you decide if that's true.

About four years ago, when my husband was on nights, and I was unable to sleep, I decided to call "LavaLife", make up a stupid bimbo name for myself and talk to people.

I realize this sounds odd, but trust me, I thought it was fun. Being a 19 year old named "Cindy", I had JUST "posted" my name and some random sentences about liking chocolate, swimming and such, when I got my first "inbox" message.

Now, I had a hard time figuring out how to listen to that message, but in the end, I did it. I almost peed my pants when I did. Here's a NON-verbatim summary.

"Hey there Candy. I'm hot, horny and waiting for you. I know you want to tug it for me. Hit me back baby."

Then another one. Same general idea. This went on for quite some time. At first, I didn't answer anyone, because quite frankly, that's NOT my idea of awesomeness.

But I thought some were hilarious messages, filled to brimming with douche-iness. So I laughed, and listened.

Until I heard my first official "LavaLife-r". Now, the message was pretty unoriginal- lick yada yada hump yada yada- etc. He was whispering. Which immediately told me he's in the next room while his girlfriend is sleeping.

So I answered him. Called him out for whispering, told him cheating on his girlfriend was low. In subsequent messages back and forth, he insisted he was whispering because he thought it sounded sexy.

Okay buddy. Then he messaged to ask if I wanted to meet him.

I didn't, my kids were sleeping, and obviously can't be left at home alone. But I didn't tell him that.

Instead, I told him I'd need at least 45 minutes to get to the assigned meeting place, and could he wear all black, so I'd know it was him?

Yeah, I sent him on a wild goose chase. So what? He was trying to cheat on his girlfriend.

Then, I trolled LavaLife looking for the next doucher. Some of them were just lonely- I didn't mess with them. I only answered messages that specifically stated that they were looking for a quick bang. I also sent each of these douchebags to the same location as Lavalife-r "A".

At the same approximate time. All wearing black. That IS my idea of awesomeness.

All I know is that the people working in that Tim Horton's must have been SUPER freaked out.

So, that's a LavaLife-r. Someone who is a total dickface, and cruises dating sites, telephone meeting lines, etc, with the exclusive purpose of using/ banging someone.

I have other words to share, but no inclination to continue writing right now. OUT!

P. S. A.(or Just so you don't think YOU'RE crazy.)


Having never had a "blog" before, I don't know who will be reading this, who won't, who will "stumble" here, and who comes because I send them the link.

So, I'll tell you this straight off. I'm not like you. I don't think like you do. I don't see what you see. I don't hear what you hear.

To start with, my grip on reality is constantly in question with people who know me.

Bears don't wear hats and talk their way into suburban homes. Regardless of what the news says- it just doesn't happen. More on bears later. Or, maybe not.

I do not have Tourette's syndrome. I do have a very poor verbal filter. If I have thought about it, chances are good that I said it. You've maybe met someone similar to this over the course of your life- hopefully, this helps you decode my thought processes.

Context does not exist around me. I may skip a conversation completely for two hours, and come back to it later.

Friends and family, over the course of years have learned to "speak Sarah" as they call it.

Quick course. 1) Sometimes (read: frequently), I cannot remember the word I am trying to say. This ends two ways. With a physical object, I will often describe the surrounding area, or I will make gestures. It's been called crazy charades. The second way loss of words ends, is that I will simply substitute another, completely random word for my missing word.

Ex. I need to go to, um, you know that place that sells stuff for babies, but also sells cream and makeup. And lotto tickets. And hair spray. I need to buy those things for the whatdyacomepippies. The thingermabobbers have to be in the place so they get to mom.

If this makes sense to you, you either A) know me or B) or you belong in a psych ward someplace.

If it did NOT make sense, try reading this. I need to go to the drugstore for stamps. Mom's letter needs to be in the mail today.

Frequently, I will simply make a new word up. They are exactly what I'm trying to say, albeit they probably don't show up in Oxfords' English Dictionary.

"Slowlier"- eg.  The guy in the car in front of me was traveling slowlier than I was- so I passed him.

"Destick-ify" If you have kids, you know.

As a young adult, I made a conscious effort to limit these types of insanity in myself. Since having children, there is no good reason to try to be normal anymore. They would simply make me crazy again.

I will pick up with this later. Most likely. Or this will be my only post, and I will appear crazy forever.