If you are indeed my friend on Facebook, I probably like you. Or at least I used to like you. But I like you less with every passing day. You make me squirm, you cause me to clench my knuckles, my teeth, jesus I'm even butt clenching. I wanted to pass the time, have a chit chat, do some small talking. What do I get instead? A moaning, whiny fucker. Someone who just sneezed, had to blow their nose. A person who requires that they report every sodding banal, inane lb. of their latest attempt at weight loss. A person who apparently has never seen rain, wind or fucking snow before. You are a person who is so ridiculously co-dependent on your boy/girl friend you need to post bitstrip after bitstrip about it.
Are you really such an attention whore that you must report every single snot laced second of your recent cold? Must I really look at your carbohydrate starved, calorie controlled plate of tomatoes. If you insist upon producing another "couples in love" picture, can you first give a thought to the people who are alone, have lost a loved one, or are just plain sick of your grinning faces.
You live for the comments that follow your latest post about your pain, suffering and inconvenienced life.
These people don't see the real you. Just a persona.
I'm here to correspond, communicate, laugh and learn. Not to carry the burden of your failed whimsicle dietry habits and failure to retain a lasting relationship with another person.
I really don't give a flying fuck about your seasonal ailment, or the fact that you have stomach pain and indigestion.
The weather changes daily, here there and everywhere and if I need to see a forecast; there's an app for that.
Please, pause before you post. You are invading my space, messing with my mood.
If you fuck with my day again I'm deleting your gripy ass.
This blog was brought to you by chronic pain and nasal congestion.
KG 2014
Monday, January 20, 2014
Monday, October 21, 2013
To those it may concern....POLLS
Premier Alison Redford is the top politician in Alberta.
It says so on her Facebook page.
Earlier today I visited that page, only to find that The Premier of Alberta is wishing well the electoral nominees to Council today, probably just to make herself look good and not because she cares a toss.
Why is it necessary though, when a comment is made by the top dog, for all manner of schmoozing, vile, brown nosing nobodies to agree with her every goddam post on there and for them to then dis and badmouth anyone who disagrees.
I didn't vote for Alison and I never will. I don't agree with her politics, morals (or lack thereof) and constant side shifting. BUT, I don't go onto the page of the politician I did vote for and wish them an "uninterrupted Thanksgiving" or try and smokescreen something someone else has said, by listing the daily movements of an adversary.
It's a passing comment you fucking moron. I don't care what Danielle Smith husband is doing, it's TOTALLY irrelevant to this thread. NO, I won't google it and nor should you. You should stay current and reply to these posted comments in a way that enhances the conversation or offers a real opinion.
Alison Redford is the Premier of Alberta. She makes sure you know that at every given turn. But she is not Premier because of my vote. She is likely there because thousands of ignorant bastards choose not to set foot out the door and put a cross in the box. This unfortunately aids to vote in wealthy, conniving members of an old boys network, that are in it for the networking, bonuses and expense accounts. It sees them make their own rules and break the laws of the land. It is shameful and sickening, but really, you think it is necessary to kneel down to these arrogant bullshitters online to make yourself feel important?
Alison Redford has NEVER even been near that FB page, let alone replied to your comment.
Get a grip you prick and go back to the fucking golf club.
VOTE TODAY Alberta!
It says so on her Facebook page.
Earlier today I visited that page, only to find that The Premier of Alberta is wishing well the electoral nominees to Council today, probably just to make herself look good and not because she cares a toss.
Why is it necessary though, when a comment is made by the top dog, for all manner of schmoozing, vile, brown nosing nobodies to agree with her every goddam post on there and for them to then dis and badmouth anyone who disagrees.
I didn't vote for Alison and I never will. I don't agree with her politics, morals (or lack thereof) and constant side shifting. BUT, I don't go onto the page of the politician I did vote for and wish them an "uninterrupted Thanksgiving" or try and smokescreen something someone else has said, by listing the daily movements of an adversary.
It's a passing comment you fucking moron. I don't care what Danielle Smith husband is doing, it's TOTALLY irrelevant to this thread. NO, I won't google it and nor should you. You should stay current and reply to these posted comments in a way that enhances the conversation or offers a real opinion.
Alison Redford is the Premier of Alberta. She makes sure you know that at every given turn. But she is not Premier because of my vote. She is likely there because thousands of ignorant bastards choose not to set foot out the door and put a cross in the box. This unfortunately aids to vote in wealthy, conniving members of an old boys network, that are in it for the networking, bonuses and expense accounts. It sees them make their own rules and break the laws of the land. It is shameful and sickening, but really, you think it is necessary to kneel down to these arrogant bullshitters online to make yourself feel important?
Alison Redford has NEVER even been near that FB page, let alone replied to your comment.
Get a grip you prick and go back to the fucking golf club.
VOTE TODAY Alberta!
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Swimming in a depleted gene pool.
WOW. I have not set foot, nor finger here in a very, very long time. Not because there is a lack of topics for me to rant on about, but because I have not been able to concentrate sufficiently to put down my thoughts.
However, I am feeling a little better in the brain and so I shall share with you the happenings of my visit to the pool today.
Due to my illness (I have finally been diagnosed Hypothyroid from Hashimotos Thyroiditis) I have been finding it hard to concentrate. I also tollerate stupid much, much less. So todays trip to a leisure centre packed full of ignorant and downright idiotic people turned a Sunday relax, into a sodding rant.
When I visit the swimming pool I want to try to relax, at least I want a modicum of peace and quiet. Todays outing was far, far away from that.
Lets start this with ignorant bitches that cannot read. It clearly states on the Female change room door that "Ladies with small male children must use the family change room." Yup, it does, I read it evey time I go in there, which is three times a week on average.
Bitch one; If you are shouting at your child, Roger, to stop doing that because he will fall off and bang his head. My qualified guess is your kid is male, which makes you 1: ignorant 2: stupid 3: arrogant
Also, if you need to keep repeating the name "Roger", followed by a sentence of what he should not be doing, you might need to rethink your parenting strategy, or take Roger the fuck home and let me have some peace and quiet.
I noticed a little while later, in the hot tub, that Rogers father was present. Surely the male child would have been better served with him, in a male change room, would he not?
Also while in the hot tub, which appeared to be full of children around the age of two or three, an age where febrile convultions are rife, due to an inability by these children to control their body temperatures, it appeared that not just one parent present at the pool today couldn't fucking read..
"Children aged eight and under must be accompanied by someone fourteen and over".. It states this right next to the hot tub. Translated, it would appear that it says, dump your kids wherever the fuck you please and go off to do your thing. I know this because there were at least three kids under the age of eight abandoned at the hot tub.
So from there to the steam. Stupid hits a whole new level when you are dripping in sweat you know! I don't care how svelte you are in your Harley Davidson bathing costume. It sure as hell doesn't make you smart. Really, bitch number two, you are so selfish that you are gonna bring your two year old in here and make him sit, while he is asking to leave, just because you need a steam? You are seriously fucked up. This is dangerous as hell and you are 1: selfish 2: beyond stupid 3: narcissicistic
Let's stay in the steam room and address Dad with absolutely no fucking clue, who brings his six year old girl in and blurts, "OK, if you don't like it in here we can leave," while pushing her away from the door into the room. "I wanna leave," she cries, but no. "This is a great place to towel off," insists Dad. Adding "We need to stay for 10, 9".....as he counts down. I'm now livid and steam makes you wet, not dry, you twat.
OK, this is bullshit. I used to bring my small child to the pool. If she cried, I comforted her. If she was tired, I took her home. She was always by my side and she certainly didn't need to steam!
Nor was she allowed to run around the female change rooms like, oh hold on, another male child, age seven or so, was doing as I showered and changed after my relax.
Mom and Grandma oblivious and having a natter, while the equally ignorant child ran riot.
As a young family we, both parents and child used the family change room. When my well behaved, because I spoke with her and didn't screech at her, child, was older we used the female change room because, well, we were both female.
Please, ignorant bastards. Get over yourselves. If you need r n r, hire a sitter or use the on site chreche. If you want to spend the day with your kids at the pool, do that. Focus on your children, not yourself. You gave up that right when you got knocked up.
OK, I'm going home for a nap, to relax and eleviate my pounding head.
Don't be here when I come back because I'm fucking pissed and I will call you out next time.
However, I am feeling a little better in the brain and so I shall share with you the happenings of my visit to the pool today.
Due to my illness (I have finally been diagnosed Hypothyroid from Hashimotos Thyroiditis) I have been finding it hard to concentrate. I also tollerate stupid much, much less. So todays trip to a leisure centre packed full of ignorant and downright idiotic people turned a Sunday relax, into a sodding rant.
When I visit the swimming pool I want to try to relax, at least I want a modicum of peace and quiet. Todays outing was far, far away from that.
Lets start this with ignorant bitches that cannot read. It clearly states on the Female change room door that "Ladies with small male children must use the family change room." Yup, it does, I read it evey time I go in there, which is three times a week on average.
Bitch one; If you are shouting at your child, Roger, to stop doing that because he will fall off and bang his head. My qualified guess is your kid is male, which makes you 1: ignorant 2: stupid 3: arrogant
Also, if you need to keep repeating the name "Roger", followed by a sentence of what he should not be doing, you might need to rethink your parenting strategy, or take Roger the fuck home and let me have some peace and quiet.
I noticed a little while later, in the hot tub, that Rogers father was present. Surely the male child would have been better served with him, in a male change room, would he not?
Also while in the hot tub, which appeared to be full of children around the age of two or three, an age where febrile convultions are rife, due to an inability by these children to control their body temperatures, it appeared that not just one parent present at the pool today couldn't fucking read..
"Children aged eight and under must be accompanied by someone fourteen and over".. It states this right next to the hot tub. Translated, it would appear that it says, dump your kids wherever the fuck you please and go off to do your thing. I know this because there were at least three kids under the age of eight abandoned at the hot tub.
So from there to the steam. Stupid hits a whole new level when you are dripping in sweat you know! I don't care how svelte you are in your Harley Davidson bathing costume. It sure as hell doesn't make you smart. Really, bitch number two, you are so selfish that you are gonna bring your two year old in here and make him sit, while he is asking to leave, just because you need a steam? You are seriously fucked up. This is dangerous as hell and you are 1: selfish 2: beyond stupid 3: narcissicistic
Let's stay in the steam room and address Dad with absolutely no fucking clue, who brings his six year old girl in and blurts, "OK, if you don't like it in here we can leave," while pushing her away from the door into the room. "I wanna leave," she cries, but no. "This is a great place to towel off," insists Dad. Adding "We need to stay for 10, 9".....as he counts down. I'm now livid and steam makes you wet, not dry, you twat.
OK, this is bullshit. I used to bring my small child to the pool. If she cried, I comforted her. If she was tired, I took her home. She was always by my side and she certainly didn't need to steam!
Nor was she allowed to run around the female change rooms like, oh hold on, another male child, age seven or so, was doing as I showered and changed after my relax.
Mom and Grandma oblivious and having a natter, while the equally ignorant child ran riot.
As a young family we, both parents and child used the family change room. When my well behaved, because I spoke with her and didn't screech at her, child, was older we used the female change room because, well, we were both female.
Please, ignorant bastards. Get over yourselves. If you need r n r, hire a sitter or use the on site chreche. If you want to spend the day with your kids at the pool, do that. Focus on your children, not yourself. You gave up that right when you got knocked up.
OK, I'm going home for a nap, to relax and eleviate my pounding head.
Don't be here when I come back because I'm fucking pissed and I will call you out next time.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Shit show
Wow, I cannot believe how long it has been since I dropped in here. I have had a lot going on. Not all good things, some great, some very harrowing. But still I am managing to find the funny in some occurrences, in the long run.
I have been quite sick for the last year and throughout I have been poked and prodded by this Dr and that Quack. It's uncomfortable and very unglamorous, but needs must.
On a recent visit to the University of Alberta Hospital I was required to have a CT scan. Preparation for this included NO food for at least 8 hours prior and then on arrival an IV was hooked up. Great, but I appear to have 0 accessible veins. Eventually, after being wrapped in hot towels and more slapping than a second rate porn flick, a vein was finally located half way up my arm. Hematomas are us!
Then came a half gallon of water, polluted by vile tasting dye designed to make my innards pretty for the camera. I was already at bladder burst point at this point and being made to wait another half an hour, whilst coughing like a 40 a day old boy with Emphysema was not helping.
The scan went off no hitch, but soon after I realized why no food was on the menu and I ran to the nearest bog. As I sat, I noticed blood all over the floor. Jeez, I thought, someone bled out. Then I glanced down at my left hand. It too was blood covered. Seems it was me. So not only did I now have the screaming shits, I was pissing out blood all over the wash room
Gingerly I leant forward off the loo and pressed the emergency button. Soon after there was a knocking on the door.
The person on the other side asked me to unlock. I did so hoping that I didn't add to the mess I had already made. A second later three more people were in the wash room with me and the door was swinging on it's hinges.
After some frantic scuffling, my Mount St Helens spurting arm was stopped and there was me and one nurse left. "Shall I clean up the blood now?" she asked me. I was still sitting on the loo, stunned by anyones standards and still needing to finish my business. ""You know, I think I'll just give you a shout when I'm done?" I semi-questioned.
Fortunately, the scan showed little more than a prior case of Pancreatitis and some Pancreatic nucleus cyst, nothing major or life threatening. I am still undergoing tests....... but at least I survived that shit show!
I have been quite sick for the last year and throughout I have been poked and prodded by this Dr and that Quack. It's uncomfortable and very unglamorous, but needs must.
On a recent visit to the University of Alberta Hospital I was required to have a CT scan. Preparation for this included NO food for at least 8 hours prior and then on arrival an IV was hooked up. Great, but I appear to have 0 accessible veins. Eventually, after being wrapped in hot towels and more slapping than a second rate porn flick, a vein was finally located half way up my arm. Hematomas are us!
Then came a half gallon of water, polluted by vile tasting dye designed to make my innards pretty for the camera. I was already at bladder burst point at this point and being made to wait another half an hour, whilst coughing like a 40 a day old boy with Emphysema was not helping.
The scan went off no hitch, but soon after I realized why no food was on the menu and I ran to the nearest bog. As I sat, I noticed blood all over the floor. Jeez, I thought, someone bled out. Then I glanced down at my left hand. It too was blood covered. Seems it was me. So not only did I now have the screaming shits, I was pissing out blood all over the wash room
Gingerly I leant forward off the loo and pressed the emergency button. Soon after there was a knocking on the door.
The person on the other side asked me to unlock. I did so hoping that I didn't add to the mess I had already made. A second later three more people were in the wash room with me and the door was swinging on it's hinges.
After some frantic scuffling, my Mount St Helens spurting arm was stopped and there was me and one nurse left. "Shall I clean up the blood now?" she asked me. I was still sitting on the loo, stunned by anyones standards and still needing to finish my business. ""You know, I think I'll just give you a shout when I'm done?" I semi-questioned.
Fortunately, the scan showed little more than a prior case of Pancreatitis and some Pancreatic nucleus cyst, nothing major or life threatening. I am still undergoing tests....... but at least I survived that shit show!
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Eddie Vedders boner
That is correct.
You are not reading it wrong.
(Although I was not sure whether "boner" warranted a Capital B!?)
The title is a reference to Pearl Jam's front mans knob...Erect to boot!
Recently my gorgeous daughter has made it her goal in life to collect and catalogue any photographic and video evidence of Mr Vedders appendage. So far he has had his tadger covered. My relief is not apparent in my writing, but trust me, it is there!
While I find it mildy odd that my child finds this necessary, there are worse hobbies she could be indulging in and so I choose to leave well alone.
My problem arises (Pun absolutely intended) when said stauner shows it's ugly head at the breakfast table and during AC360.
Ipods have a lot to answer for!
Please. Keep your erection detection to yourself!
You are not reading it wrong.
(Although I was not sure whether "boner" warranted a Capital B!?)
The title is a reference to Pearl Jam's front mans knob...Erect to boot!
Recently my gorgeous daughter has made it her goal in life to collect and catalogue any photographic and video evidence of Mr Vedders appendage. So far he has had his tadger covered. My relief is not apparent in my writing, but trust me, it is there!
While I find it mildy odd that my child finds this necessary, there are worse hobbies she could be indulging in and so I choose to leave well alone.
My problem arises (Pun absolutely intended) when said stauner shows it's ugly head at the breakfast table and during AC360.
Ipods have a lot to answer for!
Please. Keep your erection detection to yourself!
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Coughing up a lung, not a smoke in sight!
I have been sick for three weeks.
It has been the most boring, annoying, frustrating three weeks that I have had in a very long time.
You see, I am a 'doer'. I cannot even sit through a movie in it's entirity withough getting up and 'doing' something totally irrelevant.
When I first became sick (I had influenza A, according to my Dr), I had no choice. I was laid up in bed for five days.
The dog and my daughter moved into my bedroom and we all hung out. I was brought food and tea and I watched mindless daytime tv in between lapsing in and out of consciousness.
It sucked and I smelled bad!
Since then I have progressed to what was originally diagnosed as Pneumonia and has more recently become 'chest/lung/bronchial infection with origins/cause unknown, possibly COPD?'.
I have been given antibiotics (they failed to have any effect), a steroid inhaler, which gives me a very dry throat and makes me cough (go figure) and yesterday I was put on some type of electrical steam making machine which contained a cocktail of Ventolin and other breathing type drugs. This made me shake like a south of the tracks, cheap rental property and increased my heart rate to beyond multiple orgasm speed.
I slept for three hours after this. Go figure. I don't even have a Penis!
I am no longer confined to my bed, however I remain unable to 'do' and even climbing the stairs is a pretty exhausting task.
On attempting a grocery shop at the weekend I was nearing collapse by the time we reached the checkout and was asleep for four hours shortly after getting home.
All of this would be a lot more believable had I not quit smoking almost three months ago! Not exactly a healthy add for giving up the nicotine sticks.
To quote my Mum, from days gone by "it's not the cough that carries you off, it's the coffin they carry you off in"
Mum, I have to agree. There are a few occassions in the recent weeks that I have to say I have seriously considered what it would be like inside a coffin, brought on by all this coughing!
I am feeling like the light at the end of the tunnel may soon appear, but I am presently sitting still and I just had another coughing fit!
I am getting better at guiding the Wii control to use Netflix and I now know which neighbours illegally park in vistor parking and on the street during the day.
I still absolutely think that quitting the cigarettes was the best thing I have EVER done and I would gladly suffer all this again to be smoke free.
However, I am so fucking bored I may start knitting again.
It has been the most boring, annoying, frustrating three weeks that I have had in a very long time.
You see, I am a 'doer'. I cannot even sit through a movie in it's entirity withough getting up and 'doing' something totally irrelevant.
When I first became sick (I had influenza A, according to my Dr), I had no choice. I was laid up in bed for five days.
The dog and my daughter moved into my bedroom and we all hung out. I was brought food and tea and I watched mindless daytime tv in between lapsing in and out of consciousness.
It sucked and I smelled bad!
Since then I have progressed to what was originally diagnosed as Pneumonia and has more recently become 'chest/lung/bronchial infection with origins/cause unknown, possibly COPD?'.
I have been given antibiotics (they failed to have any effect), a steroid inhaler, which gives me a very dry throat and makes me cough (go figure) and yesterday I was put on some type of electrical steam making machine which contained a cocktail of Ventolin and other breathing type drugs. This made me shake like a south of the tracks, cheap rental property and increased my heart rate to beyond multiple orgasm speed.
I slept for three hours after this. Go figure. I don't even have a Penis!
I am no longer confined to my bed, however I remain unable to 'do' and even climbing the stairs is a pretty exhausting task.
On attempting a grocery shop at the weekend I was nearing collapse by the time we reached the checkout and was asleep for four hours shortly after getting home.
All of this would be a lot more believable had I not quit smoking almost three months ago! Not exactly a healthy add for giving up the nicotine sticks.
To quote my Mum, from days gone by "it's not the cough that carries you off, it's the coffin they carry you off in"
Mum, I have to agree. There are a few occassions in the recent weeks that I have to say I have seriously considered what it would be like inside a coffin, brought on by all this coughing!
I am feeling like the light at the end of the tunnel may soon appear, but I am presently sitting still and I just had another coughing fit!
I am getting better at guiding the Wii control to use Netflix and I now know which neighbours illegally park in vistor parking and on the street during the day.
I still absolutely think that quitting the cigarettes was the best thing I have EVER done and I would gladly suffer all this again to be smoke free.
However, I am so fucking bored I may start knitting again.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Art critics
Something that has always pissed me off.
Opinions are like arse holes.
Everyone has one!
Why then, does that give these highly opinionated (and usually pretentious and boring) fuckers the right to have more valid, and important opinions than the rest of us?
I like art. In fact, I will go so far as to say, I love art. I love art in all forms. Music, paintings, photography, theatre, ballet, film, food..... I like it all. Does that give me the right to change my name to Micheal Winner, stand with a glass of really expensive champagne (someone else paid for that by the way!) and tell you that your gravy tastes like shit?
Jamie Oliver, I am talking about your gravy! Well, I am not really. But I am sure that Jamie Oliver would be really pissed off if I was serious. Who the fuck am I to have an opinion on it. It is after all just my opinion and yours is quite possibly very different.
Jamie Oliver, your gravy tastes great, this guy over here said so.
You see where I am going with this?
Even if I have a degree in Art History (No my name is not William Windsor!) does that suddenly give me the right to presume that Leonardo di Caprio (no wait, he was the bloke on Titanic, my bad) Da Vinci was thinking when he painted a particular painting or drew a quick sketch?
I fucking well think not. Not only have I no clue what he was thinking, I really don't care. I appreciate the art, in whatever it's current form purely because I like it and I wish to enjoy it.
HERE IS A MORE RECENT EXAMPLE. I do know, for a fact, that Jonny Hetherington, frontman for Art of Dying recently penned a song in his pyjamas while smoking a Cuban cigar. He was in his pyjamas because he had recently taken a soak in the tub (he had a cold beer at that particular time)
I know this how?
Because he Tweeted and Facebooked it to the world.
www.artofdyingmusic.com
Does that give me the right to have an opinion on what he did in his pyjama period? Absolutely not. Does that give me the right to (as an Art critic) try and analyse why Jonny the artist was in the tub and not taking a shower?
No, it fucking well does not.
Personally, I will eternally find it mildly amusing, that this particular frontman owns striped pyjamas, but that is my problem and not for your concern!
I will enjoy the result of this sequence of events when the song is on a cd. I will not analyse, nor will I question the artist.
We are all individuals.
We all have different taste.
Just because, Mr/Miss/Mrs/Dr/Major/ Rev (did I miss anyone?) Critique, your opinion is published does make it the correct opinion, nor does it mean it should be listened to.
My gravy tastes awesome and Art of Dying are kick ass....just in case you care!!
Opinions are like arse holes.
Everyone has one!
Why then, does that give these highly opinionated (and usually pretentious and boring) fuckers the right to have more valid, and important opinions than the rest of us?
I like art. In fact, I will go so far as to say, I love art. I love art in all forms. Music, paintings, photography, theatre, ballet, film, food..... I like it all. Does that give me the right to change my name to Micheal Winner, stand with a glass of really expensive champagne (someone else paid for that by the way!) and tell you that your gravy tastes like shit?
Jamie Oliver, I am talking about your gravy! Well, I am not really. But I am sure that Jamie Oliver would be really pissed off if I was serious. Who the fuck am I to have an opinion on it. It is after all just my opinion and yours is quite possibly very different.
Jamie Oliver, your gravy tastes great, this guy over here said so.
You see where I am going with this?
Even if I have a degree in Art History (No my name is not William Windsor!) does that suddenly give me the right to presume that Leonardo di Caprio (no wait, he was the bloke on Titanic, my bad) Da Vinci was thinking when he painted a particular painting or drew a quick sketch?
I fucking well think not. Not only have I no clue what he was thinking, I really don't care. I appreciate the art, in whatever it's current form purely because I like it and I wish to enjoy it.
HERE IS A MORE RECENT EXAMPLE. I do know, for a fact, that Jonny Hetherington, frontman for Art of Dying recently penned a song in his pyjamas while smoking a Cuban cigar. He was in his pyjamas because he had recently taken a soak in the tub (he had a cold beer at that particular time)
I know this how?
Because he Tweeted and Facebooked it to the world.
www.artofdyingmusic.com
Does that give me the right to have an opinion on what he did in his pyjama period? Absolutely not. Does that give me the right to (as an Art critic) try and analyse why Jonny the artist was in the tub and not taking a shower?
No, it fucking well does not.
Personally, I will eternally find it mildly amusing, that this particular frontman owns striped pyjamas, but that is my problem and not for your concern!
I will enjoy the result of this sequence of events when the song is on a cd. I will not analyse, nor will I question the artist.
We are all individuals.
We all have different taste.
Just because, Mr/Miss/Mrs/Dr/Major/ Rev (did I miss anyone?) Critique, your opinion is published does make it the correct opinion, nor does it mean it should be listened to.
My gravy tastes awesome and Art of Dying are kick ass....just in case you care!!
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Eternal Masturbation
I think I have previously explained that my (at this time 11 yearsold, but nearing teenage angst) child has not got the greatest filter.
So, of course the things that she blurts mostly have no effect on me. It is often what I would describe as selective Aspergers with a twist. She usually only says things once and always (damn it) has a pretty good explanation. Even if the explanation does only make sense to her.
I'm getting to the point here. We do have to take a step back of probably six months.
Grade Six. Sex Ed! Which at this time we shall name 'Human Sexuality Education' because the Teacher said so. The 'Teacher', being a woman who also wanted the class to use the word 'well' instead of 'nice' or 'good'.. I was always under the illusion that 'Teachers' taught. This year it would appear not, but that is not a tangent I want to go off on at this point in time.
So, at the start of G6 we get the letter sent home to notify us that Sex Ed is on the horizon. We sign the permission slip and send it back to school. Now, I really couldn't care less because by this time, Shakka has read quite a huge amount of Tortora and Grabowski's 'Anatomy and Physiology', several books in the series of 'It's not the Stork' and she has been telling jokes filthier than a Coal Miners tadger for years.
In addition, the word 'Penis' had been bandied around for weeks prior to class so that no one would become hysterical, were it mentioned by a Teacher.
Sex Ed day one. Shakka heads to school and doesn't bat an eyelid...
Of course Shakka is not your regular 'Sex Ed' student. Opinionated as ever, she had to bring to our attention at the end of day one that this was a huge farce.
"They separated the Boys and Girls" she raged as she returned home from school after the first day.
"Are they stupid?" pause for a deep breath and back to rage "DO THEY NOT THINK THAT WE ARE GOING TO DO IT TOGETHER?"
I could not recreate if I tried, my reaction, but lets just say I was close to requiring the aid of Depends from the lower region and I could have quite possibly produced a couple of dozen candles with the amount of snot I was discharging at the head end.
We survived that and it all went quiet on the 'Sex Ed' front... until last week when another permission slip appeared on the kitchen island.
It was signed, sealed and sent back. Not another peep did we hear, until I goaded a response on the School run home on Friday.
"so, did they split you up again for 'Sex Ed'?", I prompted. "you know they did" was the response.
"so, it looks like a life of eternal masturbation for you guys" I offered.
"what a great name for a band!" came the response. "Eternal Masturbation"
So, of course the things that she blurts mostly have no effect on me. It is often what I would describe as selective Aspergers with a twist. She usually only says things once and always (damn it) has a pretty good explanation. Even if the explanation does only make sense to her.
I'm getting to the point here. We do have to take a step back of probably six months.
Grade Six. Sex Ed! Which at this time we shall name 'Human Sexuality Education' because the Teacher said so. The 'Teacher', being a woman who also wanted the class to use the word 'well' instead of 'nice' or 'good'.. I was always under the illusion that 'Teachers' taught. This year it would appear not, but that is not a tangent I want to go off on at this point in time.
So, at the start of G6 we get the letter sent home to notify us that Sex Ed is on the horizon. We sign the permission slip and send it back to school. Now, I really couldn't care less because by this time, Shakka has read quite a huge amount of Tortora and Grabowski's 'Anatomy and Physiology', several books in the series of 'It's not the Stork' and she has been telling jokes filthier than a Coal Miners tadger for years.
In addition, the word 'Penis' had been bandied around for weeks prior to class so that no one would become hysterical, were it mentioned by a Teacher.
Sex Ed day one. Shakka heads to school and doesn't bat an eyelid...
Of course Shakka is not your regular 'Sex Ed' student. Opinionated as ever, she had to bring to our attention at the end of day one that this was a huge farce.
"They separated the Boys and Girls" she raged as she returned home from school after the first day.
"Are they stupid?" pause for a deep breath and back to rage "DO THEY NOT THINK THAT WE ARE GOING TO DO IT TOGETHER?"
I could not recreate if I tried, my reaction, but lets just say I was close to requiring the aid of Depends from the lower region and I could have quite possibly produced a couple of dozen candles with the amount of snot I was discharging at the head end.
We survived that and it all went quiet on the 'Sex Ed' front... until last week when another permission slip appeared on the kitchen island.
It was signed, sealed and sent back. Not another peep did we hear, until I goaded a response on the School run home on Friday.
"so, did they split you up again for 'Sex Ed'?", I prompted. "you know they did" was the response.
"so, it looks like a life of eternal masturbation for you guys" I offered.
"what a great name for a band!" came the response. "Eternal Masturbation"
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Good morning Majestany Institiute!!!!
I have a new job....
I am on reception (part time) at The Majestany Institute, Moncton campus. A little job to quash my 'bored housewife syndrome', get me back into the world of Aesthetics and earn some pocket money..... a job that this week, successfully delivered the most amazing, unusual/hilarious/weird phonecall I think I shall ever receive!!
Whilst at my desk on Thursday the phone rang (nothing unusual about that, it does it all the time!)
I answered, quickly and politiely.
The voice on the other end said "Mrs Graham?", "yes" I replied........"can you do me a favor?"
Not 100% sure which student this was, but totally confident that it was a student (Majestany Institute is a Hair and Aesthetic school) I told the voice that I would help if I could......
Then it just got WAY weird.....the voice (which was completely serious and totally deadpan throughout the whole conversation) said "I'm stuck in the flush (toilet) and there is no paper, can you bring me some?......"
To say I roared with laughter would be an understatement, but I did so as I got up from my chair and headed to the washroom. Still howling hysterically I passed toilet paper to Amanda (I had realized who it was by now).
Upon leaving another student appeared, also close to hysterics and announced that Amanda had also texted at least two other students to inform them of her plight and ask for help, of course they were so busy laughing about it and sharing the text that poor Amanda had been left sitting on the throne for a little longer than perhaps she had liked.....
Still a source of great amusement the following day, I found out that my laughter was SO loud that Amanda had heard me not only on her cell phone but also in the building through 2 closed doors.....
Awesome!!!
I am on reception (part time) at The Majestany Institute, Moncton campus. A little job to quash my 'bored housewife syndrome', get me back into the world of Aesthetics and earn some pocket money..... a job that this week, successfully delivered the most amazing, unusual/hilarious/weird phonecall I think I shall ever receive!!
Whilst at my desk on Thursday the phone rang (nothing unusual about that, it does it all the time!)
I answered, quickly and politiely.
The voice on the other end said "Mrs Graham?", "yes" I replied........"can you do me a favor?"
Not 100% sure which student this was, but totally confident that it was a student (Majestany Institute is a Hair and Aesthetic school) I told the voice that I would help if I could......
Then it just got WAY weird.....the voice (which was completely serious and totally deadpan throughout the whole conversation) said "I'm stuck in the flush (toilet) and there is no paper, can you bring me some?......"
To say I roared with laughter would be an understatement, but I did so as I got up from my chair and headed to the washroom. Still howling hysterically I passed toilet paper to Amanda (I had realized who it was by now).
Upon leaving another student appeared, also close to hysterics and announced that Amanda had also texted at least two other students to inform them of her plight and ask for help, of course they were so busy laughing about it and sharing the text that poor Amanda had been left sitting on the throne for a little longer than perhaps she had liked.....
Still a source of great amusement the following day, I found out that my laughter was SO loud that Amanda had heard me not only on her cell phone but also in the building through 2 closed doors.....
Awesome!!!
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