Long Day, Remembering Jerry Springer Episodes (NOT G RATED)

I was sitting down earlier today and thinking about old Jerry Springer episodes. Yeah, long day scrubbing and cramping, cleaning and bloating, folding and cranking. Yup, it's that time again. Anyway, I was sitting her folding some clothes and started thinking about hookers. Don't ask, there was a song on about "ho's" on I think. My giggle at hookers moved onto old hookers and eventually to the Million Dollar Blow Job.

There was an episode of Jerry, probably five to ten years ago where there was an older lady who was also a prostitute. She was the purveyor of the Million Dollar Blow Job. It entailed simply of this: she took her teeth out. Yup, toothless blow jobs. I wouldn't know anything about them, mostly because I have teeth, but according to her they're worth a million bucks! The problem this poor woman was having was that she left her teeth on the dashboard of one of her johns. Now, she had to tell her hubby. That's when the fighting ensued. Her john was there, they got her teeth back but not after a scuffle or two with her husband.

Ahhh, Jerry, how I miss your entertainment. Your freakshow that you call daytime television was a savior to me during my imprisonment at St. Margaret's Hall; saving me from countless horrid lectures on philosophy. Who needs Plato when you have Jerry? It has also saved me from doing housework, homework and countless other tasks. It has been a wonderful break in my day. An hour to allow my brain to go numb and delve into the depths of depravity and take a break from reality.

I love Jerry Springer.

Now, I have to decide whether or not to lose my teeth.....

...no, I paid to much for my braces.....

This is what she thinks of you....

Intense and she can't explain it. You seem to be the elusive blend; nice guy tempered with perfect hint of tough guy, just enough to make her feel safe again. You don't play on her, use her, toy with her but know how to act with her; react to her. You make her trust without realizing it. Give her hope without really offering it. You appreciate what she does and who she is, with you and for you. You're genuine, honest and explicit. You held the door, you asked permission, you have an infectious smile.


You are, in no uncertain terms, very much a gentleman. Take this blogger's word when I say that you really took this girl by surprise, opened her eyes. She thanks you for being her friend but is scared to tell you the rest. So, as a favour, I helped her and hopfully, you'll realize just how close she holds you and the impact you have. You are held in high regard.

Take this post as whatever you wish. I'm not revealing anything, don't ask.

A List of Disgusting Questions Peppered with Random Thought...

Looks like my Hallowe'en costume isn't going to make it and that really sucks. Ahhh well, that's what I get for ordering it so friggin' late I guess. I'll save it for next year or maybe, I'll save it for around the house, lol. I could wear it around the house I guess, I'd be pretty popular though...hahaha. Mental pictures of me answering the door in a black corset and skirt with knee boots and a riding crop. My oh my. I'd either have a lot of visitors or a lot of people runnng away. Whichever happened, it would be very amusing to say the least.

Ever try to pick your nose but your nails are too long and you hurt yourself? No? Me either.

Do you look at the toilet paper after you wipe? No? Why not? Don't you want to make sure you're clean ya freak?!

Do you sneak down the aisle in Wal-Mart to fart or do you fart wherever you are? I hide and blame the baby if it stinks.

Say your bum gets itchy when your walking, how do you scratch it? Honestly, answer this one because I had one hell of an itch walking to the bus the other day. All I wanted to do was drop my pants and scratch my ass on the concrete. You know how dogs drap their ass on the carpet.? Yeah, it was that bad.

Do you wonder how people who don't poop in public or at work can hold it all day? I do. My stomach would be in fits. I want to buy these people some Poopsie-Daisie or Just-A-Drop and some toilet sanitizer and tell them to have at it, their guts will thank them.

Does a guy really believe a girl when she says she doesn't toot? Come on people, that's like finding a guy who doesn't masturbate. Here's a secret: ALL WOMEN FART!

Finally, here are some of my answers to stupid questions I've been asked:

Did your tattoo hurt? No, felt like butterflies gently flying over my arm.

Did that piercing hurt (insert whatever one here)? Again, butterflies did it for me and rainbows came down from Heaven to take the pain away and the needle turned into a fucking magic wand that sent out a puff of glittery smoke and it was over.

Are they all yours (in reference to my kids)? Nope, I collect them randomly at the grocery store.

Do you work here (while sitting at the reception desk at work)? Nope. I walk into random offices and sit at their reception desks to screw with people's minds.

Is that your dog? Do you know she's going to be big? Didn't know she was mine. I found this really nice leash by a bush and wanted to take it home, turns out the dog was attached. Didn't know she was going to be big, thought she a miniature breed, guess I should get my money back. Bastards lied to me, damn puppy mills.

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I think I'm losing my mind. There are so many things that come to mind in the run of a day that I really do wonder about it's rediculous. Then, when I mention them to anyone, they look at me like I'm insane. Wonder why.

Hannah -- (sorry guys, this one is graphic)

It's catching up to me now. I didn't want it to because my sitter will be here in about twenty minutes so I can go for a job interview. I don't want to think right now. The laundry helped, the sweeping helped, Little Man Meatball entertaining me helped, Little Miss kept me on my toes but the day is going to start winding down soon and that interview isn't going to last forever. The kids will go to bed and I'll have to think about the bad news, the horrible decisions, the physical pain, the doctor telling me it was over.

====

Hours later now and I was right about the day winding down. Always in the back of my mind was her, Hannah, my little girl. She's four today, as of 6:15 AM on this day in 2004, she was born at the IWK in Halifax. Big Cranky was with me at the end, Miami was with me at the beginning of labour. I was induced on the 27th in the afternoon and labour started. Normal regular contractions, normal regular labour. Sometime through the night I asked for pain medication, Big Cranky rubbed my back through the whole thing, the nurse was holding my hand while the other was putting in an IV and giving me that blessed button to push for more demerol. My water broke a few hours later and labour progressed. The never checked my dilation or effacement, they didn't have to. Hannah was too tiny at six months gestation, so tiny I didn't need to be fully dialated, just trust my own body to know when it was time to push. I never wanted to get to that point, I could have stayed in pain forever because I didn't want to let her go but it happened and I did it and there she was. Tiny, perfect and still.



We never heard her cry, it was too late for that. I wish I could have because when I heard Chloe and Everett, I wondered if they sounded like their big sister or maybe she sounded like Lily. We'll never know. I never got to see her eyes, I wanted to see them so badly but they never opened, they couldn't, she was gone. I wonder now if they were a piercing blue like her father's, would they have stayed that way or would they have faded to an ocean grey like mine and Lily's. They brought her to me wrapped in a receiving blanket and I couldn't understand, she couldn't get cold, she couldn't hurt anymore. I pulled it apart and looked at my beautiful baby girl. She looked like her father, the spitting image only softer, gentler features with amazing full lips. She fit so perfectly in my hand, like a little doll and we marvelled at just how tiny this angel was. I wanted to keep her forever, I wanted to hold her forever and I felt like if I just wished and hoped and prayed hard enough that she would take just one breath for me, just one. I begged God for a flicker of hope that she was really in a better place but I couldn't think of anywhere a child should be but in their parent's arms.



I never wanted to let her go but I did. I let the nurse take her and she was blessed, to go in peace and love. I was given a box of cards and pictures, a teddy bear, her hospital outfit and hat, the blanket they wrapped her in -- to go in grief and pain. Everything but my daughter in that box. Not a week before I was pregnant and excited, now I was hollow and devastated. I picked up her ashes the next day and made the five hour drive home with a tea-cup sized urn on my lap.


Four years later and I still remember every emotion, every thought, every twinge and ache. I still see her, I can still feel how tiny she was, picture her fitting almost perfectly in my hand. It's funny how time steals the pain away. It hurts so bad and then one day you realize you didn't cry that day and then you have more days like that, the ones you don't cry but you always think. I always wonder if there were better choices, more options, something else. I know in my heart there really wasn't anything else we could do for her but I want every single day to have her back and part of my little family with Lily, Chloe and Everett.

Please, if you read this, hug your babies and know just how lucky you are to have them. Know just how beautiful every day is with them no matter how much they make you angry. Tell them you love them because it can taken away. That is something I know all too well.


Happy Birthday Hannah, Mommy will ALWAYS love you.....

***For more information on what caused Hannah's stillbirth, please visit: http://hannahslegacy.tripod.com/ and please support IWK Genetic Research.***

Parental Embarrassment & Cabana vs.Canadian Boys

So, my first official post as an actual writer. Interesting to say the least. Miss Lily is in her room watching a movie because I guess a walk for a cup of tea to Tim's is enough Mommy time for her, lol. Little bugger is six and already starting to be embarrassed by mom! I'm going to have to play with this one...hehe. I am going to sit down and make my plans for embarrassing my children. I think, as a parent, we have an innate, devine right to make out kids roll their eyes and groan while exclaiming the longest whiniest "MOOOOooooooooommmmmmm stooooop ittttt". It's our parental privilage and their right of passage. Hey, they have to learn how to embarrass their own kids through us so it's also a learning experience. I just never thought it would start at six!

She's a great kids, I'm one hell of a lucky mom. She's a great kid. I'm also writing early today to avoid doing my dishes. I hate doing dishes, they're horrible contraptions of evil. If I had room, I'd buy a dishwasher OR I would just hire someone to do them for me. Sounds like a good plan to me. Now I just need a really high paying job and I'll be able to hire nanny's and housekeepers and cabana boys.

What does a cabana boy do exactly??

Could you even get one in Canada??

I'm sure I could find one but he'd be outifitted in a Dickies sweater and some wool socks, fancy ass long johns and Northern warmth regalia. Yeah, nevermind, that's a typical Canadian boy. I bet Canadian boys would blow a heating fan on you instead of fanning you with a palm leaf. They would bring you Labatt Blue instead of Corona; Rock Lobsters instead of Marguaritas. You know, picking between a Cabana Boy and a Canadian Boy is a little difficult, seems they both have their perks.

Alright...losing my mind now. Those dishes are calling and since I have company on the way, maybe I should get my house cleaned up.

Full-time blogger??

Apparently I'm amusing for some reason or other and have been asked to blog as much as possible, making this thing a full-time gig. HHMmmmm...let's think about this for a minute. I'm utilizing a free site that is fed only through to Facebook and my pay would literally only be the 10 cents per click on the actualy site itself. Doesn't sound like that good of a deal to me but dammit, I get to blog as much as I want. I'm sure it's either going to lead somewhere or lead me nowhere but filling up server space with random nonsense. Actually, random nonsense is the point of this blog.

Here's the deal. I need help. I need topic since I need to be "topic focused". My rants about specific things are, according to the powers that be, what attracts people to read my blog. I'm too flakey to think of any one specific thing night after night but I'm sure as hell going to try. In the meantime, send me some ideas. I can be reached at slymentra69@hotmail.com.

Chat soon people...wish me luck on the new endevour...

Men are simple.

Alright, I know. I sound like a jilted lover, rejected lovelorn girl who is bitter and angry. I'm not and actually I'm far from it. I have just come to the conclusion that men are basic and simple creatures and the only reason women find them complicated is because we complicate them.

I have found that men live simply, basically and function to complete only the most basic of human needs/tasks. A man's life consists of simply moving between four simple repetitive tasks. There are others that they do require to live, such as hygiene and urination but these are the BIG FOUR. The four things that a man lives for: eat - fuck - shit - sleep. Put those four things on repeat and the rest of it just seems to fall into place for them. Explanation is as follows:

• They work to eat and not really much else, the rest of the money for shelter and amenities is just something that happens. Seriously, have you ever seen a man with a barbeque or listen to conversations about steak? It's a very painstaking and intense conversation and usually consists of grunts, barbeque sauce painting demonstrations and timing/heating/texture university lectures.

• They fuck because they think with their crotch and get a little insane without sex. Even on a health level, a man has a need to ejaculate to prevent them from getting "backed up" or, in medical terms, "vasocongestion" (please google Blue Balls for further information).

• Let's face it, men enjoy a good shit and tend to pride themselves on size, smell and composition (relate the size comparison back to the fuck part, you can put two and two together) plus, they tend to be picky about their choice of lavatory entertainment (sometimes porn, go back to fuck).

• Sleep. Pristine and beautiful sleep. The thing that recharges them for eating, fucking and shitting. Sleep is THE most important element and men tend to be able to sleep almost anywhere, in almost any position whilst simaltaneously snoring and drooling. This is actually the one time a man is capable of multi-tasking.

So, back to my original point of the fact that women complicate men. You see, when a man says something like: "She needs a man" in a casual conversation with a female friend about a girl they both know, he usually means exactly what he says. In actual male-to-female translation, he is simply saying: "she would probably benefit from a companion or company". However, a woman would question the validity of the statement with the following questions: why would he say that? Does he think she's lonely? Does he see her as incapable of being single and fulfilled? Does he mean that he wants to be her man or does he mean that she should look elsewhere for a man and not in his direction? What does he mean by that?

See my point. Basically, that statement is as simple as "I have to shit" in that there is nothing else to read into it and the man would merely need to fulfill of his basic, carnal needs to deficate. If he says, "She needs a man" he is simply saying that she needs a male companion and nothing else. There would be no undertones to the statement, nothing broad and nothing complicated. This goes for pretty much any statement a man would make.

We women put far too much of our complicated brain function into trying to understand something that is very easy to comprehend. I think I had an AH-HA moment in discovering that men are incapable of any complicated thought in that they are scientifically proven to be able to process thought through linear thinking only and base their lives around the Big Four. I don't want anyone to get me wrong here, I love men...a lot (no, I'm not a slut either). I think they are lucky that they don't over-analyze everything the way us women tend to to do. They are able to say what they mean and mean it with no other hidden thought or agenda. I'm not saying they can't play headgames or be deceitful because they certainly can be and when you look into any reason why they did that, it will usually relate back to obtaining one of the Big Four.

I think we should admire their thought process and uncomplicate our own lives by turning down the drama dial in our brain and take a spoken word for what it is. If I say I have to shit, I have to shit and if I say he needs a good woman, I mean he needs a companion or some company and nothing more....nothing less. Make sense?

Now...I'm off to use the bathroom, grab some food, make a phone call and go to sleep.

For all you gossip-hungry asshats -- This should satisfy your need...

I have been asked a few times now what exactly, is it that I want. That's one hell of a vague question. I want a pony, an ice cream machine, an original vinyl copy of The Wall and many other things. Then I realize that people mean what do I want from life, either at this moment or in the future. Blah, I hate that question. Things are so left up to chance and fate with a few reams of shithouse luck thrown in that I tell them that whatever way the wind decides to blow, that's where I'll end up and if it's not what I want, I'll just stand in the breeze again.

I attribute people's curiousity with my life to this huge change I just made. Yes, I just moved back to my hometown after five years of living away. Yes, I just ended a six year relationship with the father of two of my three children and no, I don't want to tell you why. Yes, I'm planning on staying a fully employed single mother of three and no, I don't want to get into why about that one either. Holy nosy people I have around me. I'm pretty open and give me about ten minutes, I'll probably start spilling out some bullshit for you to satisfy your gossip-hungry asses. Happy now?

Anyway, here are some answers to some of the questions I have been asked of late and, unable to answer, only responded with a huff and an eyeroll:

No, I don't really like my job. I'm basically working to gain experience until I find something else because the travel sucks and so does the pay. No, I don't really like my boss, I'm just really damn good at pretending. She's alright I guess, she's a good person on some levels but I wish someone would teach her how to either accept responsibilty or place blame tactfully. There, that's answered.

No, I certainly do not want a boyfriend/husband. Forget it. A relationship is the last damn thing on my mind right now. Sure, company is fantastic but something serious? C'mon people, I have three kids that need their mother more than ever right now, I'm certainly not taking myself away from them to build a relationship with someone who is most likely going to break my heart anyway. Besides, would it really be fair for me to ask a man with no children of his own to give up their hopes of having kids to be with me? Is it really fair that I'm hesitant to see a man with kids of his own because I worry about our families being able to get along? Is it fair to ask a man who doesn't want any children to accept mine?

Yes, being a single mother sucks. Why do you even ask if I enjoy it? Sure, I enjoy paying all the bills myself, tackling naps and bedtimes and babysitter drama all alone. I enjoy being the only one helping with homework and hair bows and screaming tantrums. I love it that I'm the only one who gets to see nice notes from the teachers at school, pictures left for me on the fridge, the kisses, the hugs, the walking and talking and all the firsts. It's great having no one to share that with...sure...fuck. I'm cranky and sarcastic.

And finally, yes. The answer to whether or not I'm happy is a big, yellow, high-lighted, outlined, 72 font YES. I'm sure there will come a time where I will change jobs or get a promotion and the job thing will look up. I'm sure I'm not going to be single forever, although it's going to take one hell of a man to make me change my mind and I really do love being a mom, single or otherwise.

I guess what I'm saying is this: Leave me alone, I'm happy and content and just as goofy as ever. I know this is one post that's a little more on the serious side and trust me, I'm hating that it's like this since I prefer to blog about things that are completely mundane and rediculous but I just couldn't help it tonight. I really needed to get that off my chest. So, there you go Asshats, all the gossip fodder you need for awhile....chew on that but remember that I hope you choke.

Here I go again on my own....

Where to start? Nowhere really. It has been one hell of an insane week. There have been so many crazy things and crazy people that I don't know exactly how I can begin. The characters in this new chapter of my story are colourful and wonderful and beautiful. Even the insane ones are making things so interesting, so amusing, that I can't help but like them on some entertaining, foolish level.

I had the movers come early on Saturday morning. I was just as I previously wrote, frazzled and looking at those poor men with my "please help me" look. The only difference was that the three hurricanes were quite calm and I was sitting on the couch, not under the table. I wanted to be under the table, I wanted the day to be all said and done but it wasn't. It took about three hours for everything to get here, including me and my brood. I was never so thankful for anything to be over in all my life. Well, labour would be one exception, I was always thankful that was over.

No room at the inn. Nothing fits, nothing works the way I want it to. I moved a three bedroom, three level duplex into a small two bedroom apartment. You know, even though I've had to give my couch away, my washer and dryer are in my kitchen and you really have to suck it in to move around, I couldn't be happier. My kids are happy because they can out to play. My dog is happy because she can roam out of her crate around the apartment. My cats, well, they're cats and that's enough of an explanation.

I'm happy because it seems like there is a huge weight off of my shoulders. Mind you, there are new weights there now but they aren't the same as before, they are minor, trivial. I wish so bad I could just write every worry that's gone, write about all the heartbreak that looks like it has moved itself into the past tense and all the hurt that seems to be fading, but I can't. One, it's a little too personal to me and others involved and two, the past is better left as the past. Sure, there will always be ties but sometimes it's better to walk away, to move on, to live again without worry and disappointment and lonliness than to sit in it hoping it will simply remedy itself. It never will.

I have to apologize for the people that this move hurt. I know there are some that are upset by my choices but I had stopped living for myself and placed myself into someone else's shawdow, losing who I was and forgetting what it was like to be Allie. I became something I wasn't and that wasn't good for me or for them. So, here I am...back and bad and bitchy as ever before.

Wheeeee......

Thanks Tara, you mean the world to me girlie. I couldn't be more indebted to you for finding this place for me and my little family. Anything you need, even the body dump, let me know. Living in the Pier has taught me well, hahaha. Cheers to you, lovey, for being a rock, for being a sistaaa, for being the best. Ahhh...MUSH!!

For The Great White Way upstairs...thanks for making the move interesting with your Tweedle-Dee attitude, inability to take responsibility for yourself or your children, your bunt and waddle. Oh my, what the fuck is up with you? You make me shake my head and wonder about the human race. I only ask one thing: please move that damn white chair so I don't have to kick it again. And please, don't stop being an asshat, you make life that much more interesting for us silly, bored single mothers who watch you stumble through life thinking criminals and whores are the salt of the earth...good job, great example.

Since I making my great acceptance speech here, I can't forget the people who win over angry two-year-olds, push freezers, break down boxes, hang mailboxes, encourage walking, jack cable, watch cartoons, do dishes, sweep floors, babysit, talk, teach and make me crazy. It's good to know there is kindness in strangers and I know unequivocally, 100% and without doubt that the kindness isn't a front but something that makes up who you really are. Look at that, only a week and these people got me gushing like an idiot.

Gushing or not I'm still going to be guarded. I know that. I know that my trust is going to be hard to win now no matter who it is that I'm getting to know -- friend or foe. I know that I'm burned, I'm broken and I'm healing. I'm just as vulnerable as I am strong. Just as hardcore as I am a softie. Oh crap. I'm fucked in the head and can't tell which end is up. Tits up and looking at the sky maybe, saying a little prayer and giggling at my nerves and freedom. I'm scared shitless and I'm so damn excited about it.

Hooray for new adventures!!

I packed my sanity in a cardboard box.

I give up. No, seriously, I do. I damn well packed my sanity in a box and I'm pretty sure it's wrapped in old newspapers because my mental health is a very fragile thing. I just hope I wrote that on the box. I packed my tea on the bottom of my kitchen box but I guess it might be karma for my mistreatment of those cardboard bastards. I think I spend way too much time alone. I did find some Irish Breakfast floating around in my drawers and it's not too bad although I'm not exactly sure how old it is or where it came from. Hey man, don't judge, I need a fix.

I have come to the conclusion that I am only stressing myself out and wearing myself down by thinking I can ever be organized. I never really have been, more or less gave the illusion of it but never was. So, I don't know why I'm freaking out trying to organize myself now for this move and have decided to throw caution to the wind and pack the rest of my shit in garbage bags...the Cape Breton Way. I can sort it out when I get there, no big deal. The only thing I think about is the laugh the mover's are going to get when they walk in to see a stressed out, frizzy haired, pajama wearing girl surrounded by three small hurricanes and looking at them with that "please help me" face. I'm just handing them the key and saying "good luck, if you have it done in under four hours I'll give a tip or buy you some weed"...whatever...

As long as I get there I guess. I'm taking my headache and running away. I'm going to turn my lights off for now and crash on my couch and get a decent sleep so I'm not freaking out tomorrow. Think I might call in sick so I can have two whole days to finish up. The are a lot of things to go into garbage bags and I'm not looking forward to the shoving. The boxes should be happy that I'm finally finished with them though but I don't think they realize what's coming next: the unpacking, the breaking down the...gasp... RECYCLING!!