Tuesday, March 25, 2008

I have been pondering my recent downslide into who the fuck knows what - self pity? Self doubt? Inability to be successful? Rejection of human happiness? Gah. Put me in a black Victorian dress and I can kick Helena Bonham Carters ass in Sweeney Todd. I'll make you a meat pie, mother fucker.

I am going to call my psychiatrists office and make an appointment. I am wondering if my med dose is too low and I am experienceing a mild depression. Of course the endless fucking winter in Montreal isn't exactly helping things.

Did I mention my vow today to use fuck and it's derivitive as much as humanly fucking possible?

Or my new obsession with the Savage love podcast? If you aren't listening to him, then you should be. Not just for his creative and unique way of finding new and fucking amazing descriptors for sexual acts and fluids - my personal fave? "Tabula fucking semen Rasa" but his amazing common sense and simple straightforwardness. Seriously. Sometimes, between TWC and DSS pictures, I can't take humanity anymore.

Makes me want to grip my head and scream "AHAHHAHAHAHHHH YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!!!!", and then run up and down the classrooms I inhabit, and call people out for their bullshit.

And have I mentioned how fucking much I love you people out there in bloggy land. Because I do, even as I hide under my quilt eating carbs and yelling "Stop looking at me!" and your sensible voices remind me that I am loveable and maybe even fucking funny - particularly when I don't FEEL very fucking Funny.

Plus, the school term is coming to it's inevitable fucking end and not even near fucking soon enough. Seriously - I do not know who I ass fucked in a previous life to have this kind of semester, but I was clearly some kind of sadistic son of a bitch to get saddled with some of this huge stinking heaps of cat shit.

And speaking of shit - some animal decided to shit on my porch and I had to pick it up. Can I tell you how fucking gross it is to have to pick up unknown animal shit on your fire escape? This was after being woken by my husband and told that I had to go and clean this animal shit up, since that is my "department".

Department? I didn't see that in the wife job description. No one ever announced to me that I was the official "unknown shit picker upper". Fuck. It was cold and slimy and disgusting. Then he asked me to identify the shit - like I am getting a degree in shit identification. I am the new animal shit CSI unit, apparently. Give me a call if you need shit idenitified. Fuck the education degree - I am the shit whisperer.

And finally, since I am on an unholy fucking rant. I would like to call out Scotia Banque. Yeah Scotia Banque scrot teller who - after looking at me for a full fucking YEAR - decided last week that he was unsure of my identity and that he would have to enforce a bank policy to hold my paycheck for 5 fucking days.

Furthermore, Soctia Banque Scrot - when you asked me if any of the other tellers "knew me" and I pointed at each and said things like "Yeah - he's the guy who makes a lot of jokes that I don't particularly find funny", and "he's the guy the elderly dude was screaming at last week"....You totally know that I am not taking your bullshit answer for granted - right? You know that I plan on marching up to your window tomorrow and presenting myself and my check to you? I wonder if you'll fucking remember me then? I know you have customer fucking service calling me every day since I threatened to pull my account from your fucking bank. I can't wait to see you again. How pleasant for all of us.

And now? Now I have to go and fucking film a fucking puppet show.

No, I am not fucking kidding.

Look at ME! I'm Hideous!!

Friday, March 21, 2008

It is done.

I am exhausted.

I didn't sleep last night. Not because I am camera shy - quite the opposite. I can put on a decent front and smile, doing my song and dance. That is, however, the effect of years of concentrated effort. Masking the introvert with the Extrovert. The simultaneous demand that you LOOK AT ME and PAY ATTENTION coupled with the intense need to be left the fuck alone.

Holy Mixed Messages, Batman.

While I survived it, I am still conflicted about why I feel this way and why I even care why I feel this way. (cue sappy music) Some of it feels eerily similar to my retreat at BlogHer last summer. The one where I hid in my room for nearly a day plus?

Maybe it's because I am still not sure WHAT I want to be when I grow up as a Blogger. I don't want to have obligations to readers or feelings of guilt when I don't get time to read other peoples blogs. Or even when I notice that my "Bloglines" thingy went down ages ago and that is why the little doodad in the corner of my computer screen hasn't popped up in, oh, lets just say two months.....

I have never come to terms with my fierce need to both belong and my complete resistance to the perceived expectations of others.

Talk about two counterproductive urges.

My mother has frequently told me that I was a child who refused to do anything easily. If there was pain and suffering to be wrung from any experience...I seemed hell bent on wringing the bejesus out of it. Maybe this is the same. Maybe you do like me and I am trying to find a reason why you Don't or shouldn't like me.

It might be easier if I just wrote you a note with a:

"Do you like me?

Yes ( )
No ( )

and slipped it into your locker.

And now? I am mixing myself a drink.
Cause alcohol sometimes is the right answer.

Wierded Out

This may be the best way to describe my feelings about being interviewed.

We Bloggers tend to be odd, solitary creatures - rarely identified in the Open ocean of society. Our funny, sarcastic conversations take place mainly in our heads.

I hope I can seem like I have my shit vaguely together. Oh, and that my unmanageable hair behaves. Just a little. I am a girl after all.

I'll fill you in on my surreal journey later.

(P.S. Fox Business News - today between 11 and Noon. I'll be in a red dress. You know, so the bulls will see me)

She HAS been looking at me strangley

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Waking last night from my cough riddled sleep, I stumbled out of my bedroom towards the bathroom.

As I looked to my left, I see La Chatte staring, transfixed, at the television.

I pay this no mind as I am intent on getting to the bathroom to swig more cough syrup.

As I exit the bathroom, I stare at the cat - who is not even looking in my direction - so fixated is she on absorbing the images she views.

I croak: "Whatcha watching?" to Terrance.

"Grindhouse - and the cat hasn't moved since it came on."

I go back to bed, vaguely worried about La Chatte's unique interest in "Death Proof", as I suspect she really is planning to bump us off.

Other cats? Watch squirrels or birds. Mine? Grindhouse.


Monday, March 17, 2008

Someone might be interviewed on a National Television News Program this week talking about the business of blogging.

I wonder who it could be.....

Kafka had his bug, I got mine

Monday, March 10, 2008

I'd like to blame it on being tired...or being sick ( damn you ear infections!), or a bit stressed that my comp questions keep getting sent back by my adviser for me to revise again....or a million other things

but I can't.

Not ten minutes ago, I ran from my bedroom - where I had ripped my bed apart AND my bedside table, AND my dresser to the bathroom where I searched all around the sink and countertop, to the kitchen where I recreated my getting the bottle of water and looked all around the tables and counters....

until I stopped. In the middle of the kitchen.

And realized my glasses were on the top of my head.

I have become my mother.

My Type of MILF

Wednesday, March 05, 2008

I love Bobita. If you have met her, you know immediately what I mean. In fact, I suspect that if you did an DNA swab on both she and I you might find that we have a common ancestor.

She is close to finishing her PhD, one of the gang of bad ass blogging moms who do it all with grace and humor and who are SMART. Care to help her out?

Seriously, if I was a dude - she is my kind of MILF.

Are you a mom? Do you blog?

I am a mom trying to finish my PhD; and I need YOUR help!

I am conducting academic research FOR you and ABOUT you. I have a particular interest in studying those things that make the transition to motherhood easier, or at the very least, better understood. The growing number of “Mommy Bloggers” has piqued my interest and I am researching the experience of blogging for mothers of young children. Your help would be greatly appreciated and go a long way toward increasing the knowledge of the ways in which blogging can be meaningful for people like mothers.

Please complete my survey and let me know about your blogging experience.

Please click HERE to learn more, or simply click the web button that you see below.

I know your time is valuable, thank you so much for participating.

The Neverending Phone Call

Monday, March 03, 2008

Actual Conversation between Dawn and Terrance.

Dawn is in Montreal with Emily ( where yet another #$@t^q&%$ snowstorm is occurring) and Terrance is in New York City where he is staying at the Hudson - a fabulously gorgeous hotel.


Dawn: "Hi Hon."

Terrance: "Hey, hows everything there?"

Dawn: "Snowing. Same as always."

Terrance: "Whatcha doin'?"

Dawn: "Dishes and Laundry and feeding your child before she calls some higher power on me to report that she hasn't been served the gourmet meal she demands."

Terrance: "Oh. Ok. Anything you want me to pick up in the city?"

Dawn: "Yes. The lip balm. I want the Bigelow lip balm. Number 1129, no shine. I want at least four tubes of lip balm cause I am digging out the last of my tube with my fingernail and smearing it across my arid lips."

Terrance: "Ok Lip Balm. Got it. Talk to to you later."

Dawn: "K - love you - bye"

Four Minutes Later

Dawn: " Yes Hon, what is it?"

Terrance: "Hey I am looking at a display of Burts Bees stuff. Do you want THEIR lip balm?"

Dawn: "No. I want Bigelow lip balm. But you can get me the coconut foot cream from Burts bees if you'd like. I noticed you used the last of my tube."

Terrance: "Ok, and I'm going to get you one of their lip balms too."

Dawn: "OK, But I still want the Bigelow lip balm. Number 1129, no shine. In the black tube."

Terrance: "K- Bye"

Three point seven minutes later

Dawn: "Yes? What do you need?"

Terrance: "Hey, which DVD did Emily want again?"

Dawn: "The new one - The new Hannah Montana one."

Terrance: "Ok Bye"

Eight full minutes Pass


Dawn: "Yes?"

Terrance: "So I am looking at the DVD's - which one is the new one?"

Dawn: "One in a Million , I think. Just look at the cover and see which one has "DVD 2008" in the corner. THATS the new one."

Terrance: "I don't see a date on the corner."

Dawn: "Terrance - there is a block on the right hand corner that says DVD release and the Year. It's as clear as day. It stands off to the side. Or just ask which is the newest one."

Terrance: " I don't see it anywhere - I'm looking right at it and the cover doesn't have a date anywhere."

Dawn: "That's impossible - LOOK AT THE CORNER."

Terrance: "I'm Looking at the corner and there is not a date ANYWHERE on this box. There is NO Dat....Oh. There it is DVD release 2008."

Dawn: "Thats the newest one then - OK?"

Terrance: "All right then..."

Would you believe that he called me AGAIN from the Bigelow store to
1. Ask what kind of lip balm I wanted
2. Complain about how much the lip balm I wanted cost
3. Confirm that he had purchased not the requested 4 tubes, but only three because he felt that it was too much to pay for lip balm and besides, he had gotten me a Burts Bee lip balm, so I had 4 in total.

Is it any wonder that I take medication?
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