Scarred! Scarred For Life!

Oh those crazy Canadians, eh?
I miss those Kids in the Hall.

Snow Day

There's no better reason to do only the bare minimum than a snowy day.
The horses certainly enjoyed the fresh snow.

The leaning tower of morgan.

Meanwhile, Morgan spent a good part of the day practicing to be the next Duff Goldman.

A little Cake Boss on the TV for proper motivation.

People You Meet in Hell

OK, not really in Hell, but people you come across that make you feel like you're in Hell.

I'm currently at my son's gymnastics. He's off flipping and bouncing while I try to ignore the world around me and enjoy the pure bliss of not having the shit bugged out of me watch him proudly. Unfortunately, there's a group of parents standing 10 feet from me who are droning on and on about how their parenting skills are far superior than everyone else. Since I rather perform my own dental work than join in their hen house banter, the sound of their self-righteous voices tests my control to not yell out "shut the hell up, you windbag dolts!".
Right now, they're discussing how one of their fellow chatty-cathys, who happens to be absent today, allows their kids to watch too much TV, too much violence, too much sweets...blah, blah, blah. They've collectively decided they must all limit their children's contact with this parent's children. I hope they're also making mental note to never miss a class and therefore leaving themselves open to be the recipient of the others' disapproval and gossip.

Oh good, they've moved on to their incredibly high home values. Fabulous. Bunch of a-holes.

I don't know if I'm just pms'ing there's a cosmic malfunction, but I seem to be encountering all sorts of jerks/weirdos/annoying people lately.

The gym seems to be a mecca for dimwits. And I'm not even talking about the blockheads that spend their entire workout grunting and sweating on stuff. No, there's a woman there that bugs the hell out of me to the point that I sorta feel guilty about it. She's not disruptive in any way, but nonetheless makes me want to put a stick through the spokes of her exercise bike. She's there every.single.time I'm at the gym. She's there before I arrive, she's still there when I leave 10 minutes later. She rides the bike or the elliptical like Tiger after a slutty cocktail waitress. I mean, sparks flying off the thing... for hours on end. But the thing is, she's a skeleton. Seriously, I always shield the kids eyes while walking past her in fear that they'll have nightmares of skeletor on the treadmill. I know I do.

I guess I should feel sorry for her or something, but I don't. Seriously, stop already. Go eat a Big Mac, and supersize it! I actually have things I need to get done daily and therefore can't literally run my ass off at the gym six hours a day. I know I'm going straight to hell probably wrong for saying this, but beyond it probably being unhealthy, her efforts are wasted; she'd riding the hein-train... toot! toot! You just can't outrun ugly.

Oh, I am evil. Still love me?

And then there's the guy at the pool. Again, I swear he lives there. No matter what time we go to the pool - mornings, evenings, weekends - he's there. We call him Milton. And yes, he looks like this:

Now picture him in a bathing suit.

And stop gagging.

Milton is always by himself, spending his pool time blatantly staring at all the bathers through his 1 1/2 inch thick glasses. After watching a couple endure a good twenty minutes of his company in the hot tub, where he sat uncomfortably within their personal space, staring without a word, I've made it policy to skip all hot tub time in the presence of Milton. One of these days I'm going to risk certain death to my camera phone and try to bring it into the pool and sneak a picture of him. The things I'd do for you, my peeps.

So how you doin'?

I'm Taking It Personally, Steven!

I've been a long time fan of Aerosmith. What can I say, I dig 'em.
Growing up just two towns from their Sunapee homes, you'd think I would have eventually run into them. Nope.
In middle school, one of my classmates was BFF with Mia Tyler and she'd often spend time at the Tyler's lakeside home. So I lived vicariously through her tales of romping around the rocker's compound, which included an incident of spotting a naked Steven coming out of the shower while playing in the master bedroom. Yeah, I made her tell me that story over and over again. What?
Fast forward a few years when I was living in Florida, working as a pro-audio rep. We got an emergency call that Aerosmith was playing in the central Florida and needed an amp pronto! I was more than eager to volunteer to make the delivery (and I'd bring the amp! OH!). Calls were made, arrangements arranged and I cleverly hid finished the rest of my work so I could race off to be the Bad Boys from Boston's knight in shining vinyl make my employer proud and deliver to one of our clients in a professional manner. Unfortunately, just before I peeled out of the parking lot like a fugitive departed for the 3 hour drive, word came that one of our dealers, local to the venue, had delivered the amp. Bastards!
A few weeks later I had wasted an entire day shopping at the local mega mall. On the drive home the DJ announced the Steven Tyler had just been spotted shopping for shoes at the very same mall. FAIL AGAIN! WTH!

Now you may be wondering why I don't just buy a ticket to a show. Oh, but I have. At least 4 times, and each the show has been CANCELLED! One of my friend's scoffed at the thought that the band has cancelled every show I've had tickets for, "they've never cancelled any show I've gone to". So together we bought tickets... and they cancelled. Hate to tell you I told you so, but...
She insisted it was a fluke. So a year later we bought tickets...again. And then Steven got laryngitis. Cancelled AGAIN! My friend then vowed she would never let me know when they toured again in fear that my very knowledge of Aerosmith performing would cause Steven to, oh I don't know, take a header off the stage. Oh.

But then a few months ago I found out Steven was coming to town to do a small, intimate benefit show at a local theater. He'd play a few songs, tell a few stories, share some video clips of the band over the years and field some Q&As. I wasted no time telling my friend, who was psyched that I was willing to get up early and beat down the theater door to get tickets. and I wasn't totally offended when she asked me to consider camping out for the tickets but refrain from actually planning on attending the show.
So I got to the theater 2 hours before the doors opened and tickets went on sale. Once at the ticket window I slipped the teller an extra $50 and landed us third row seats! Sweet! $650 later I had hopes that this time I'd actually see Steven Tyler. After all, I'd been trying for over 20 years and it would be nice to see him live before he turns to dust, which, by looking at some pictures, won't be too long.

By now, you know where this is going.

Yup. It was announced the other day that the show has been cancelled. This is my shocked face. Something about rehab, blah, blah, blah. Seriously, does he need to be sober for this gig? I don't think so!

I'm officially never ever buying tickets to anything Areosmith ever, ever again.

Guess it's back to Lake Sunapee if I want a chance to catch a glimpse of Steven Tyler.


or maybe not.

Ma Vie En Jam-Jams

Happy 2010!

I officially dub this year, "The Year of the Slack" and thus far, I have been ROCKING it!

Yeah, yeah, I know we're only on day 3 or 4 ( <---- see! SLACKER! Sure, I could hunt down a calendar, but that would require getting up. Pshhhhh!), but so far I've spent most of it cozy and warm in my PJs! But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Let me rewind, back to a time in which I was showered AND dressed.

The good times started a day or so (it's a blur now) before New Years when I took Morgan to go get her hair did for the big night. She decided to have her hair dyed hot pink. And since we have no dance recitals, weddings, graduations or funerals planned in the next few months I figured 'what the heck'. She's totally rocking the pink! And if I hadn't taken a vow of slackerhood, I'd have a picture of the finished product. So you'll have to take my word that it's super cute.

Next, it was my turn in the stylist's chair. But by then, sadly, my attention span had split with my motivation and I gave the new hair dresser carte blanc to do whatever she wanted. Yeah, you know that was a mistake. The good news is she didn't go hot pink, the bad news is I should have said something like, "give me a soccer mom haircut and I'll cut a bitch."
Lesson learned.

The following day, Morgan and I met the Bev for lunch and a visit to the nail salon. How embarrassed was Bev when she didn't get my text that it was "National Dress Like a Terrorist Day"?! Unfortunately it was so cold in the nail salon that I couldn't bare to take off my jacket and show off the package of brats I had strapped to my chest to complete the look. Shame.

Sadly, the only one who took notice of all the electric wires attached to me we're the poor abused gold(???) fish. One of them played dead (French Gold Fish?) while the other seemed elated that his life in the nasty algae-ridden tank would soon come to an end.

Bev came up with the brilliant idea to make her annual New Year's soiree a pajama party. Genius! Bev and I have partied in the new year every year together for at least a decade. And as always, good times were plentiful. Here's a few pictures I may or may not remember taking.

Then we went home and remained in our PJs for the next 2 days.
And it was awesome.