Headdress Heaven!

This site will now be (mostly) dedicated to my head dresses that I make. Soon to come: pictures, ordering details, ... other stuff...

If you don't like that, we'll fight it out on the streets.

Don't judge me... judging is my job!

So... shameful admission... Iwent to see the new Twilight movie.

I know. You don't have to tell me. I've already been making fun of myself for a good week.

But here's my excuse; I went as the chaperone to a 10 year old child. Therefore, I am not as pathetic as the 40 year old woman who sat beside me. And nowhere NEAR as pathetic as her attending husband, whom, it would seems, lost his testicles and had them replaced with tween girl parts.

The movie was bad. Like, real bad. How that stupid bitch got two guys to fall in love with her while she drones along in her monotone voice and single stupid facial expression... I just don't know.

The woman beside me seemed to enjoy herself, however. Every time one of the (teenaged) boys would take off their shirts, she'd loudly exclaim "WELL NOW!... oh... WELL NOW!!", excitedly shaking her husband's arm while he tried to hide his emergent boner.

Really, old woman? Really? That kid is like 17. Even I felt like a perv watching him run half naked in the rain. Also, that main guy (who was only cool in the Harry Potter movies because Harry Potter is fucking awesome) is a creepy creeper. He took his shirt off at one point (there was a lot of taking off of shirts) and I threw up a little in my mouth. And no, it wasn't due to all of the junk food I had consumed. It was because Robert Pattinson looks like a neanderthal strung the fuck out on heroin.

Tweens have no taste.

Neither, it appears, do middle aged women. One lady at work was telling everyone how GREAT the movie was, how much she JUST LOVED it. I decided to tell her the story of "WELL NOW" woman, only to get cut off half way through as she exclaimed "Oh I KNOW! I was totally the SAME WAY! That man is so CUTE!"

I refrained from telling her that to be a "man" you had to actually have COMPLETED puberty. But hey, who am I to judge (besides a super awesome person that knows everything better than everyone).

But this I vow:

1. I shall never be a creepy cougar, getting hot and bothered over teenaged heart throbs
2. When my future children hit the age of 12 (ie the most annoying age ever) I am shipping them off to a boarding school and they can't come back until they have developed better taste in movies, men, music, books... until, basically, they can recognize that Twilight is the biggest piece of shit movie ever. Period.

More idiots. Big idiots.

I'm not going to catch up on what I've been doing. If you know me, you know. If you don't, it's not important.
But here's what is important....
I find myself once again the only sparkling gem in a sea of inanity.
Perhaps you think me harsh. But here are some written instructions I was just given to pass on to a patient. If you can make any sense of it, feel free to enlighten me...
"Pls let patient aware of more moisture will contacts + more visitint. Fees is over and under are fine." Visitint isn't even a word! What does that even mean?! Fuck.
I said to the patient "Here are your contact lenses... um.. they go in your eyes... you know, as usual."
So.
Not my fault if her eyes fall out.
Not my fault at all.

Home Again Home Again Jiggedy Jig!

Yesterday Jonathan and I packed up the moving van and drove off into the sunrise... then onto a ferry... then north to Courtenay.

Happy as I am to be home, I felt sadder than I thought I would on Friday night. Many of our friends came over to help us move, then stayed to have drinks and say goodbye.

At one point we were out on the porch when Kenny G walked past... or at least, I think it was Kenny G... I yelled "KENNY G" at him, to which he replied "HEY! That's not very nice." Which was a weird thing for Kenny G to say, but who really knows with those quasi-famous types. They say a lot of weird shit.

Later, we noticed a man in the house across the street seemed to be receiving some sort of ... ahem... "oral" expression of love from his girlfriend. We could see her blonde head moving up and down on his lap. Not wanting to be accused of being un-encouraging, we all stared yelling all sorts of inspirational remarks, such as "SUCK IT, BITCH!" and "BLOW JOB, YEAH!". Only after about 5 minutes of this sort of behavior did we realize that his "girlfriend" was actually a dog.

Like, a real dog, not just an ugly lady.

Never one to let circumstances get me down, I continued to yell "DOG JOB!!" until the canine in question stared me down and I was forced to retreat back inside.

It was a most excellent evening, and a wonderful sendoff from some people I will miss very much.

Fortunately, I don't have to miss them for too long, because I am getting married in 27 days! HOLY DOG JOB!

Have blog, must be nerd.

Oh no... I am enough of a nerd that I find this video hilar.

I'm "lol"!

I'm "rotfl"!

I'm not really doing any of those things!

But if you don't think this video is funny, you are gay... yeah, I said it! PWNED!

GTG!

TTYL!

Ground Rules

If you pronounce "reconciled" like this:

re-KHAN-siled... (re as in re-do, Khan as in Wrath Of, siled as in.. um... siled)

...then I don't have to feel bad about saying "your teeth are rotten and make me spew" on my blog.

Ditto with "Orientated" and "E-mails".

It's oriented and e-mail. Mail is already plural you Fool-ass-motherfucker.

Alright? Alright.

Reminder

8 "International Delights" creamers in one coffee = caffeine/sugar high = afternoon bowel explosion.

On The Phone

"I'm sure the cat will adjust fine. I'm more worried about Jonathan."

"Why? He's excited."

"What if I offend him somehow? What if I say something crude, what will he say?"

"Yesterday I stuck my whole tounge in his ear, pinned him down, and bit his nipple. Then I called him my little bitch. I think this will be a refreshing change of pace for him."

"Oh, alright then."

Please?

If anyone wanted to make me really really happy, THIS would probably do it.

I need it to live. It's no different than if I asked you for a kidney, and I hope you'd give me that, too.

This post gets personal... prepare yourself.

There are a lot of things I feel guilty for putting my mother through when I was growing up, things I can't imagine having to go through with my own child one day.

I could never accept any advice she gave me, always having to try things on my own, which never worked out for me. I don't think it gave her any pleasure to have me slink home with my tail between my legs (didn't know about the tail, did you?) muttering a sullen "you were right". I'm sure she wished I had just listened to her in the first place.

I have many memories I like to keep shut up in a box in my brain labelled "Too Embarassing To Think of EVER AGAIN". It's a pretty big box. And I don't mean embarassing like getting your skirt tucked in your panties or farting during silent reading time. I LIKE to remember those things.

No. I mean embarssing like letting life turn you into someone you never wanted to be. I moved away from home for the first time at 17. I was all on my own, in a strange town, and turned to a man for company, a man who ended up raping me. I didn't tell anyone for over a year because I was sure it was my fault... sure I'd led him on somehow. After that, I had such a skewed view of men that that I wasted two years of my life on a manic-depressive, physically abusive jerk. I totally lost myself in that relationship; lost my mental health, my ability to find the good in any situation, lost the core of who I was and what was important to me. I became a very sad shell of a person, and when he eventually broke up with me (that's right, HE broke up with ME) I went even crazier, turning into this drunken, promiscuous... thing.

I don't like to remember some of the things I did, but I did them and will never be able to take them back. The worst part of it all is that my mum, my beautiful, wonderful mother, had to watch it all go down with much crying and hand wringing and wondering why she couldn't help me, why I couldn't help myself.

It was a rough few years (to say the least) and if I could go back and do it all differently... well... I'm actually not sure I would. Which sounds crazy, right? Absolutely batshit-fucking-nuts, I know. I would definitely try to shield my family and friends from all the absurdity, all the pain and worry that I know I caused. But I think I needed those hard times. I needed to know how absolutely shit life can get, how heart-breakingly terrible the world can be, and just how badly people can treat you. I needed to sink that low so that when I reached this place, this wonderful place I am now, I would know how very lucky I am.

Maybe I would have known it anyway, even if nothing bad had ever happened to me, but I don't know that I could have appreciated it as I do now. I wanted to write about this, to write about my past and all those bad years because maybe someone out there is going through the same thing. And I want them to know that it can, it does, it will get better. You can take what has happened to you and let it keep you down, or you can look at it, learn from it, and grow. My life now is so different from what I let it become.

It is amazing, overwhelmingly wonderful to wake up every morning with someone who respects you, loves you, and wants nothing more than to see you smile.

It lights my heart knowing what I have to go home to.

And every bad day, every hard experience is lightened because of that person holding my hand, helping me through it. I am a better person today because of what I've been through and what I've found. And if all of those bad things needed to happen to bring me here today, then I would have endured twice as much, three times as much, any amount more.

So I guess, what I'm trying to say is thank you, Jonathan, for helping me turn my life around. You'll never realise how thoroughly you saved me, but trust me, my mother is eternally grateful... and so am I.

The Weekend

Saturday night we hosted a goodbye party for ourselves as we are soon to leave town.

In preparation for this evening, I decided to go to the salon and get my hair straightened. I would do this on my own but since my hair is currently the length and texture of a horse's tail, I thought I would spare myself the trouble.

The salon apprentice led me to sink where she washed my hair and massaged my head with a vigorous sensuality that left me both enjoyably relaxed and confusingly aroused. Having whipped me into such a state, she then abandoned me to the care of a more senior stylist.

"Straighten this bitch out" I demanded (or words to that effect) and she got to it, pausing now and then to let me know everything that was wrong with my hair and my life in general.

Your hair is very dry... like straw. Do you use conditioner AT ALL?

I noticed your hair style when you came in. You're doing that wrong. If you did it like THIS you wouldn't look so... cheap.

This colour makes you look washed out. Did you do this yourself... yeah, I thought so... too bad.

You're leaving your hair DOWN for your wedding? How... eighties.

Etc. Etc.

Since when did hairdressers become life coaches? Just straighten my motherfucking hair, bitch! If I need anything else, I'll ask for it.

The whole ordeal left me a little morose which is probably why I ended up drinking enough vodka that night to poison a small army. Consequently I remember very little of the evening, and more than likely made a fool of myself. If you must make a fool of yourself in front of a number of people, however, these were the people to do it in front of; people who can discuss, for over an hour, which movie titles sound most like descriptions of vaginas (A Thin Red Line and Fern Gully being my contributions).

The tools of my downfall.
My friend Jamie V. and I. I have drunk eyes, but he has no excuse for making that face.


The next morning was particularly unpleasant, and my hangover lasted well into dinner with Jonathan's parents. Father's Day dinner, where my contributions to the conversation were "uhhhhhh" and "urrrgh".

Better that than what I was thinking, mainly "fuuuuuuuuck" and "don't hurl... do NOT hurl!"

Friday Night

Friday night we went to see the play Les Miserables with Jonathan's parents.

I am aware that Les Mis is said to be one of the most moving plays ever written. I myself performed in a rendition of it in my younger days. I played anonymous whore #3.

And I was moved... to laughter! HA! I haven't been to a play in some years and forgot how stupidly hilarious they are. I mean, they sing EVERYTHING. Not just when they are in love, or happy (and who doesn't feel like bursting into song from time to time?) but even when overcome with despair do these people sing.

"Sweet Jesus, my best friends have all been killed in a bloody massacre... Hi diddle de dee!"

It's off-putting to me.

At one point a small child took 6 bullets, and still this kid had a song in his heart. I was stifling my laughter in an exagerated fit of throat clearing.

When the lights came up at the end of the play, I looked around trying to catch the eye of anyone else who found the whole play as gut-bustingly hilarious as I did, but was confronted with only teary-eyed enthusiasts, my fiancee included.

When discussing the play in bed later that evening, I commented that it was perhaps a tad unrealistic for people to fall in love after locking eyes for 15 seconds on a crowded street. And maybe, just maybe, that one guy is a little obsessed with asking "who am I", then yelling "I'm JEAN VAL JEAN!" We get it; you have identity issues.

These opinions were met with a brief silence, then, out of the darkness beside me a small voice started singing "There is a castle on a cloud... I like to go there in my sleep" and I knew I was barking up the wrong tree on this one.

I just like to talk about poo... what's the problem?

I fear this blog is becoming a sounding board for all my most childish thoughts and revelations. But then, what is a blog for if you can't be yourself, and I am nothing if not childish.

So today I will talk a little bit about poop.

My poop.

But feel free to tell me about your poop. Fair is fair, after all.

For the past week, Jonathan has made me salads for lunch. Prior to this, I had been quite backed up, a problem I have which occaisonally lasts for multiple days in a row.
So, taking matters into his own hands, Jonathan decreed that I should have roughage, and he roughaged me to within an inch of my life; salad for lunch, broccoli and brown rice for dinner... all sorts of foods to facilitate bowel evacuation.

And it worked.

Too well.

All day I have been pooping totally un-digested salad, vegetables, and various other substances I don't remember consuming within the last week/month. Furthermore, the urge to excrete has been coming on suddenly, violently, and with no warning. It's all I can do to rush pell mell to the ladies room, pushing over the elderly and drop-kicking small children that get in my way. The ensuing noises will probably be giving my co-workers nightmares for weeks to come.

Oh yes, that's the best part; I'm at work. And we all know how much I love to stink up the bathroom at work.

If this continues I am going to start experimenting with the undigestion phenomenon... who wants to see me eat a pie whole... and who wants to see it come out the back end of me? I think I'll probably sell tickets for this.

10 secrets

Some of these aren't really secrets, because I'm not really the secret having type, but here it is.

1. I hate it when people call me "Chels". I don't like my name being abbreviated, but I never know how to tell people that without sounding like a bitch.

2. I lost my virginity in a room with no door, with someone's little sister in the next room and my mum coming to pick me up in 10 minutes. I only did it because a lot of my friends had done it and I felt left out.

3. The longest I have gone without pooping is 13 days. The after effects were not pretty.

4. The first 2 times I got my period I had no idea what was happening. I was like "oh shit, my butt is bleeding" even though we learned all that shit in school. I just somehow never figured it would happen to ME.

5. I once found a trap door in the book-closet of my old elementary school that led to tunnels winding beneath the whole school. A friend and I would sneak down there during recess and sit by the grates that led outside. Whenever kindergartners would pass, we would make horrible monster-like noises at them (Grrarrrwe-are-coming-to-eat-your-familywrrarrg). I think I'm responsible for a lot of child psycho-therapy.

6. One time my sister told me she thought I might be a lesbian and I should just come out already. I cried and ran away for a day. I was 10.

7. I'm actually pretty proud of my boobs. I think they're great.

8. There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold and she's buying a stairway to heaven.

9. I just farted... at work!

10. Now I'm going to poo... at work! Yessss!

Award? ME?

My friend Kristen (who's writing prowess puts me to shame) has given me a blog award! My first blog award! Wowza! It's appropriate that she bequeaths this honor upon me as it was Kristen who got me blogging in the first place. I'd never really got blog before reading hers (I mean, who wants to read someone's sappy diary... just 'cause it's online?!) but after reading "Kage", I thought, oh yes, that's for me!

So here is my award...

and I couldn't be any more proud of my little blog that no one reads.

Apparently I am supposed to post 10 embarssing truths about myself, but that will have to wait until next post because it's time for me to go home!

That Girl

I know this girl, who shall remain nameless, who likes to touch me, and hug me, and pretend we're friends, and talk about our boobs, and flirt with my (and everyone else's) boyfriend, and generally be an annoying bitch with a creepy face who takes way too many pictures.

All I am wondering is this; if she comes to my wedding, since it IS my special day and all, is it ok to punch her in the face THEN?

Please?!?

X rated

In the not quite 2 years that Jonathan and I have been together, we have completely broken 2 beds which, while inconvenient, I have to say I'm a little proud of.

Lemme know, for Pete's sake

Why don't people ever tell me when I have large green things stuck in my teeth?

Would you, should you ever have full leaves of lettuce stuck in your teeth, not want someone to let you know?

Do people think that if they say "psst, there is something green lodged prominently between your front carnassials" that I would yell "YOU MOTHERFUCKER! HOW DARE YOU!" and proceed to violent beatings of their tender flesh?

I mean, I guess I can see how you might think that of me, but honestly, I'd just like to know. I'm more likely to beat your tender flesh (oooh DIRTY!) if I find out you've let me wander around like a fool all day, scaring the living shit out of small children every time I smile.

So let me know, Goddamnit, or suffer my wrath!

Another Story

For Toblerusse, because I think you have kids, and you liked the last one :)

This is the story of old Mr. Mees
The greatest grower of tasty veggies
His carrots were sweetest
His beets were the beetest
And they sold at the lowest of fees.

In the town where Mr. Mees resides
(and where, consequently, his farm abides)
The people were harmonious
But rather parsimonious
Making money their greatest of prides

So Mr. Mees sold his veggies for less
And was rather poor, I must confess
But as long as his buddies
Enjoyed his potuddies
He was fine with his modest success.

You’re probably asking “why’d his veggies taste better?”
The sun wasn’t warmer, the ground wasn’t wetter
Well I’ll tell you all why
With no word of a lie
And it has nothing to do with the weather.

When Mr. Mees plants his tomato,
His pea pod, his pepper, and his potato
He’ll sing them this song
“Grow up big and strong
Hi diddle dee datty hi dayto!”

And when the sun begins to set
He’ll cover them up with a warm blanket
Then read them a story
Of vegetable glory
And that’s why they’re better, I bet!

One morning when Mees was out on his farm
A rumbling roar caused him some alarm
He looked ‘cross the field
In which he had kneeled
To inspect some vegetable harm.

The acreage across from his own
(Which had recently been overgrown)
Was full of machines
Planting yams, peas, and beans
Much more than he could grow alone.

Turns out a new farm had moved in
With a crashing of steel against tin
They were planting so quick
Mr. Mees felt quite sick
And went in to escape from the din

Mr. Mees was a little bit worried
For his gardening style was unhurried
“If this farm’s a success
and they quickly progress
All my profits will likely be buried!”

Sure enough, the machines kept on going
And the townspeople could be heard crowing
“this farm’s a keeper
It’s prices are cheaper!”
And Mr. Mees veggies stopped growing

Mr. Mees had no choice but to quit
And his veggies were all left to sit
His friends had been swayed by
The cheaper potati
Though they tasted worse by a bit

But children, you must be aware
A fair deal has become rather rare
The new farm was seedy
It’s owners were greedy
And they filled all their veggies with air!!

When the townspeople tasted their peas
Or chomped down on their fresh broccolis
There was nothing to swallow
The inside was hollow!
And oh! How they missed Mr. Mees!

Their futures appeared to be black;
Though they begged Mr. Mees to come back
He was moving away
on the very next day
And had already started to pack.

“I’m afraid there’s no way to compete
With a farm so fast and so fleet.
Though my veggies are nicest
They have the best prices
And more workers to harvest each beet.”

So Mr. Mees went back indoors
To pack all the clothes in his drawers
Then he sat down to grieve
For the farm he must leave
‘till his sniffles had turned into snores.

He awoke to a sound in the night
Drifting up through the moonlight
He opened his door
To investigate more
And saw the most wonderful sight

For standing out there on his farm
The townspeople stood arm in arm
They held a great quilt
That the ladies had built
To keep all the vegetables warm.

As they covered up every potato
And kissed each tiny tomato
They sang out a song
“grow up big and strong
High diddle dee datty hi dayto!”

The townspeople came every day
And so Mr. Mees chose to stay
They helped with the growing
The planting and sowing
And the other farm soon went away

So if things get so bad you can’t cope
Or you’ve reached the end of your rope
Remember old Mees
And all his friendies
And don’t you dare give up hope!

blove the blog

Alright, I've opened this blog back up to the genereal public.

I promise not to write mean things (or anything) about work because work is pretty cool (as far as work places go, at least).

For a general apology concerning work shizzle and my failure to be a mature and functioning adult, please see this post.

For an entertaining read about mothers and carpet munching, please look elsewhere, we don't deal in that sort of filth.