Total Physical Exhaustion.

I bought new shoes today.  And 2 new tops, one of which I've had my eye on for weeks and was lucky to snag at the Vintage boutique that I love.  That was today.  Carter came alone and we spent the afternoon together.  Strangers made him cry, the wind made his boogers crusty and his Tombly Boo fell in the mud.  But he had a really good time, and I'm glad we spent the day together!
Now, I have started a new job at a bar in Stoney Creek.  This was my second week there, and I am making peanuts.  No money at all.  It's pitiful.  But I love my boss and the people that come into the bar all the time and I get to wear whatever I want! (I am a really big fan of not having to wear what employers tell me to wear.  Big fan.)  Anyway.  Yesterday I worked for 13 hours straight and got dicked around by drunken assholes who didn't want to pay me, and I had an anxiety attack in front of my boss, her boyfriend, and the seedy clientele who, very shortly after, left abruptly and without tipping me.  Yesterday was a horrible, horrible day.  So I know I haven't been around much the last little while, but I need to relax right now.  Just for a while.  And then I will be back.

Bonjour, Tristesse.

The weird stuff I do when no one is home to see it:

• Drink a lot of wine while staring into a mirror.
• Make cookies. 
• Light candles and sit in the dark.
• Play French songs and sing along to them, even though I don't speak French.
• Google everyone I know.
• Eat Prosciutto with cantaloupe.
• Dance around singing "Valerie"
• Get out a poetry anthology, highlight the shit out of it, and invent new poem (Yeats + Plath = Pleats)
• Feel sorry for myself because I have no one to sit here and be weird with.
• Fight with Mike over text.
• Miss my baby
• Plan parties that will never happen
• Cut up Vogue magazines
• Apply lotion
• See how long I can go without blinking
• Worry that I am not savouring this time alone as I should be
• Eat all afore-mentioned cookies.
• Read.  Get sick of reading.  Drink more.
• Take a lot of webcam pictures

I'm a snooty little bitch... don't bother me.

Normally, I love the bus rides to work every day.
I'm listening to my ipod, smoking a cogarette (in secret, because Mikehates it and thinks that I smoke all the time, which i don't - I only smoke on my way to work), knowing I look adorable in my adorable coat and shoes and hats and all that - perpetually posing non-chalantly, like oh me?  I'm just waiting for the bus.  Oh I don't take it because I have to - no, I genuinely care about the environment.  I have a Corvette at home.
HA!
I am pathetic.  I really am.  But it's the only time I get out of the house by myself and it only lasts a half hour or so, and I treasure it beyond measure.  It's my me time.
Until this fat bitch at the bus stop decided to befriend me.
I shouldn't call her a fat bitch.  She's actually not bitchy at all.

No matter how hard I try to ignore her, or look busy, or try to avoid eye contact, this woman cannot take a hint and she insists on whining in my ear for 5 whole minutes out of my me time.  MY me time.  She never has anything pleasant to say.  She always, always complains about the bus being a minute too late and now she's going to miss her connection.  I laugh and nod like Oh, I hear ya sister but inside I am scathing.  Why doesn't she leave a little earlier so as not to miss her connection and save me from her awkward conversation?  She has been sent her to irritate me.  Sent here from the returns and exchanges line at wal-mart.

I don't hate fat women.  But I do hate women who never wear make up or even bother to try looking halfway decent when they walk out the door.  I think it signifies a lack of self-respect and I don't respect people who don't respect themselves.  Argue that point with me all you like.  Whatever.  I'm not changing my opinion.  Why can't she see that I have nothing to say?  Why does she stand there and STARE INTO MY SOUL until my eyes brush past her? And she has to start with the whining about the connection and all that shit?  I do not care.  I do not.  I don't give a shit.  Someone get this woman a Blogger membership so she can blog about what ails her and leave me the fuck alone while I enjoy the only half hour of my day in which I'm not chasing around a child?

But otherwise my little journey to work is wonderful.  :D

venus and mars in bed

Men and women are so different.
Mike and I are super close.  Closer than most couples.  When I pooped my pants I told him all about it and we shared a good laugh.  Yeah.  Too close, maybe but who asked you?
Anyway!  Our relationship proves to me every day how very different men are from women.
Some of the things that make Mike happy include beer, hockey, superhero movies, and the couch.  As long as Mike is fed and gets laid every so often, he's just peachy.  He can't ask for anything more.
Me?  I'm slightly higher maintenance.  My happiness is a very precise cocktail of 2 antidepressants, a couple of glasses of wine every evening, at least one trip to the mall every month, a weekly trip to Chapters, tons of reassurance that I'm still pretty even though I'm balding and take-out food.  any deviation in my happiness regimen results in hours of weeping and self-pity.  I can't help it.  Honestly.

Tonight, Mike is off to see The Expendables with his friend, Tom (another simple man just trying to make it through his day-to-day life with his wife and children.  Poor men).  I would never choose to spend good money on going to see that film.  I am instead blogging (hi guys!) and listening to "I'll Stand By You" on Itunes.  Drinking, of course, wine.  The baby is sleeping and I am looking forward to going to bed for the very first time with my 800 thread count 100% egyptian cotton bed sheets.  Yes.  Now, those of you out there who appreciate egyptian cotton are really, really jealous of me right now because I got these 150 dollar sheets for 60 bucks.  HA HA!  It's a real score, and I'm proud of myself.  I've always wanted sheets that made me feel like a glamourpuss.  And now I have them.  You can't hear me laughing  right now, but take my word for it - it is pretty diabolical.
Mike won't say it, but he totally thinks these sheets were a waste of money.  But he knows better than to fuck with me when it comes to the frivolous crap that I absolutely must have.  He's a very good man in that way.  I love him to bits.
If I told him I got those sheets for $20, he would have crawled in between them and probably cried with pure, unadulterated joy.  Because they are luxury.
But $60 for bed sheets is a purchase that the male brain will never be able to fully comprehend.  Even if you got them for over 50% off.
That right there, ladies and gentlemen, is the best example of the vast differences between men and women.  Bed sheets.  After all, I could have bought a lot of beer for that.

me time

I've been really trying to get some time to myself lately.  And Mike has been great about it!  He's been letting me sleep in and he doesn't mind when I read or sit in front of my laptop.  He's wonderful.  The baby hasn't been quite so understanding.  But I try anyway.
Yesterday, in an effort to enjoy some me time, Mike and Carter went to Mike's mom's for dinner and a visit.  I would have gone, but I am desperate for some solitude.  Everyone said I would miss being bored by myself.  But I didn't listen.  Silly me.
So they were gone.  I felt great.  I sat on Tumblr for about an hour.  I watched So You Think You Can Dance, I read a little bit of vogue.  And I got hungry.  So I made macaroni and cheese.  And ate that.  And then I ate one of those delicious German chocolate bars they sell at Lococo's.  Then I remembered the creme brulee in the fridge.  And so I went to make that.
I don't have a torch, so I used to oven to burn the sugar on the top.  It was taking forever and I kept opening the oven to check it out.  God knows where our oven mits went.  I think they were grungey and I may have just thrown them out without first replacing them.  Stupid.
Anyway, taking the beautiful creme brulee out of the oven I burnt the shit out of my finger.  The smoke alarm went off!  Like Jesus!  A layer of skin had curled up and turned the colour of burnt porkchops... There would be no blistering.  We had gone past blistering.  It fucking hurt.

But I ate the creme brulee and it was worth the burn.  It was.
But I am not going near that oven without oven mits ever again.

I spent the rest of my alone time dressing my wound and feeling sorry for myself.