Snow, of course.

What's the one thing that can make even the ugliest of backyards look beautiful? 

Snow, of course.

Seriously, I love snow. And yes, that's a picture of my actual backyard. Well, only a portion of it. I don't care enough about it, obviously. But I care about snow. 


There isn't enough I can say about how much I love snow. I even love the bite of cold air when you know in less than 5 minutes any uncovered skin will be getting frost bite. The way your nostrils seem to stick together due to the sheer coldness of the air literally freezing your boogers. I love that feeling. 


The only thing I don't like about snow and what brings it, winter, is the wetness. When the snow melts in your front hall and, because you walk around without socks, you step in a puddle. Gah, hate that. But everything else is perfectly fine. 


Any of you reading this that have only rarely experienced snow, I'm sorry. Your life is truly missing out on one of the greatest things. That thing is the wonder of frozen flakes of water. 


For those of you that don't care to read about my love affair with snow, well then we're going to have some issues. You see, I love snow and I live in Canada. Born and raised, which means that I was born for this season. So prepare yourselves, because I'm about to start having blogs all with one common denominator; snow!






P.S, Love Like Winter by AFI is pretty much my anthem this time of year.

Burt Reynolds

It's a little disturbing to realize that there is in fact a celebrity out there whose appearance epitomizes your taste in men. It's even more disturbing when you realize that he kind of looks like your father. 

Apparently, I do not have a single photo of my
father that would show you what I'm talking about. 

I'm curious if other people have had this epiphany yet, and if so who their celebrity "type" is.


Mine? Mine is Burt Reynolds.

I'm not even kidding. This is the sexiest photo in the world. 

Jigsaw MANIA!

I am almost a pro jigsaw puzzler. It's almost an addiction.

I don't know if I can consider my self a master at it until I've actually finished a "real" jigsaw puzzle. I only do them online right now. Focusing so hard on tiny pieces of a picture against a bright white screen makes my brain hurt.

For my birthday, I think people should buy me puzzles. With pieces in the thousands. That would be pretty much the most awesome thing ever.

Breakfast for Dinner!

It's not a new fangled innovation to the world, but ever since I was little mom would randomly surprise us with "breakfast for dinner". I was totally craving pancakes, so I decided I'd introduce my son to the wonders of this "tradition". 

I make the coolest pancakes ever. 

Seriously. The coolest.

I'm feeling all kinds of self satisfaction for making the worlds coolest pancakes for my son. He just freaking loves them. It's like his world was blown the moment I showed him that pancakes can be colourful!




PS: To those of you who underestimate the excitement my son had at such great and colourful pancakes, behold!

My New Best Friend

I'm pretty sure, at this very moment in time, that there is nothing more awesome in my life than this blanket. 

I was going to post a picture

of the blanket, but I am too

lazy to take a picture of it, 

also I couldn't find one of it

online. So all you get is this 

awkward paragraph that is 

trying so very hard to be the

same general shape of what

would be a picture of my new

best friend, my giant blanket.

Okay, so it's not a giant blanket, but shush. It is, however, a Spongebob Squarepants blanket. In fact, there are only two blankets in my entire house that are not Spongebob Squarepants themed. This isn't my fault though.

Well it kinda is. 

My stepmother is terrible at actually knowing people. I say this because of every Christmas I've ever had to spend with her. I remember the first year, she bought me a metric ton of candy. I'm "borderline diabetic", which means that if I get too fat, or my diet starts to mimic that of a 5 year old child unsupervised and with an unlimited supply of sugar, I will very easily become a full blown diabetic. 

My stepmother is a diabetic so you would think she'd be a little more sympathetic to the reason why I FUCKING HATED THAT CHRISTMAS. It was like the ultimate "I don't care enough to actually get to know you" slap to the face. Every year after has been equally awful. One year I got a television and dvd player for Christmas. You're probably thinking "that's F-ing sweet, man!" Except that the part I'm leaving out is that they were both coloured to LOOK LIKE SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS. Seriously. I'm not really complaining about that, but I was quiet literally 14 or 15 at the time. Basic normal TV and DvD player would have been fine since they were getting me one anyways. Just saying.

Along with that I got an entire bed spread, sheets and pillow cases, blankets and pillows, that were all Spongebob themed. This is why I have 3 Spongebob blankets. One is basically just a tiny chunk of fabric probably meant to keep small dogs, or children, warm. One is a quilt, and the last is my new best friend. 

It's normally WAY too heavy for me, someone who is normally over heating even in the winter, but today it's perfection. I've been having cold chills all day and this blanket has maintained me and my perfect temperature as long as I've had it wrapped around me. 

I have made a huge mistake.

Sometimes our lives are full of little mistakes that seem like a bad idea at the time, sometimes we make genuinely terrible mistakes that are life altering, and sometimes there are little mistakes that feel like they're life altering mistakes. 


Today I made the last one.




What did I possible do? I over spiced my rice/chicken concoction. 


Like hardcore.


I don't know what I was thinking when I was spicing it up, but after one bite, my whole world is on fire.


Now, to put things in perspective, I love spicy food. Indian food is like multiple orgasms in my mouth. I would probably murder someone for a mediocre vindaloo. Seriously. Man-freaking-slaughter.


So when I tell you that this food is too spicy, I'm not exaggerating. And yet I'm so dirt poor right now that I'm eating it anyways. Shoveling it down and quickly dosing with copious amounts of water. 


I hope this doesn't kill me. It's so hot, I feel like it could in fact murder me. 

Asthma

I have had asthma for as long as I can remember, and then some. When I was still an infant I had some breathing issues, in that I would stop doing it. I actually died twice because of it. Luckily my mother is a superhero. She heard the lack of sound, from when I stopped breathing, with her super powered "mom ears" and rushed me to the hospital. After they got me back to life and breathing again, I decided to make them try once more and stopped breathing again. 

Ever since then my asthma has been a constant companion for me. From when I joined the "running team" in elementary, to when we had to do "track and field" in gym class. It was always there and was always humiliating me. 

I'm a bit of a larger girl right now, and have never been "normal" or even "skinny" sized. So I was essentially the stereotype of "fat people". Because of my asthma, anytime I did anything overexerting to my respiratory system, I ended up a mass of wheezing and coughing and at the worst of times; panicking. 

The ability to breathe properly is something a lot of people take for granted. 

Ass Backwards

So, in case it's not obvious from my blog title, I live in the Land of Can's, also known as Canadia, or to you "normal" folk simply Canada. 


This weekend was our ass-backwards Thanksgiving weekend. At least that's how my beloved American friends refer to it. So normally we spend time with family, but for undisclosed reasons my mother "could not afford to do it this year". Luckily I had already planned a "Second Thanksgiving" with friends. 


It was a super good idea, up until it came time to cook it. There were 10 adults, and my son, that ended up eating dinner. It was explained before hand to anyone coming that we expected them to help pay for it since we (myself and the friend whose house we hosted it at) couldn't afford to throw money away on a dinner for such a large group of people. One person was fantastic, helped by buying something we forgot. But other's were less awesome. Some didn't bring anything, 3 split the cost of 2 pies (when we already had enough pie). It was frustrating. 


But it got worse when the end of the night came and everyone was leaving and saying goodbye. Why would that make it worse? Well we have to go back a little first.


Our dinner consisted of;
Turkey
Ham
Stuffing with ground pork in it
Potatoes
Gravy
Cranberry sauce


The guy whose house we were at cooked the Turkey. The friend who was fantastic and bought things we forgot (which was stuffing and something for people to snack on while cooked) made the stuffing. The ham was pre-cooked and just needed heating. The potatoes were the most work. 


I make special fantastic potatoes. And because I love you more than the friends who have tried it and asked me how to make it, because YOU read my blog, I shall give you the recipe.


Potatoes, cut into chunks
Onions, diced
Garlic, minced
Margarine
"Italian" seasoning


Throw it all into a roasting pan, mix it up and throw it in the oven at 350 F. Every 10 minutes take it out and stir it, adding more margarine to keep it moist. Cook for 50 minutes, then mash. 


So while I made the potatoes, I also made the gravy. We "slow cooked" the gravy, which is fancy talk for "the entire time I cooked the potatoes, the gravy was on the stove needing to be whisked every 4-5 minutes." 


Before it was even time to eat, the arches in my feet had fallen. By the end of the night, my ankles were so bad I couldn't sleep until I tossed back a bunch of pain killers.  


So now we skip forward again, to when everyone was leaving. They all kept saying goodbye and thanks to my friend for "everything". Literally. The common phrase was "Hey, I had a great night, thanks [friends name here] for everything, man. It was delicious." ANNNND then they walked out the door. 


I didn't expect them to assume I paid for over half of everything, which I did. But I expected them to appreciate all the time I spent in the kitchen making food. THAT they could at least see ALL night. I'm a little upset at my friend for not saying something like "hey, it wasn't all me" or giving me at least SOME freaking credit. But no. 


I think next time I'll just stay home alone with my kid and not even bother. 

Screw you too, Uterus.

You know, I really don't deserve this. What did I ever do to you to piss you off so bad? Is it my fault that every month you primp and fuss getting yourself ready to nurture into this world a child, and when one doesn't come along you throw a tantrum and toss all your hard work out the door? No. If I could talk to you and tell you "there will be no baby this month", you wouldn't have to do all that work. And then you wouldn't throw such a painful tantrum when you discover that I wasn't lying. 


I'm not normally a very productive member of society, but when you throw these fits I become even less productive. 


You know, I have things to do. I can't stay curled up in a ball in my recliner while dealing with your childish temper tantrum's all week. Grow up and get over yourself. 

Kites. Just Kites.

Today was one of the windiest day's I can remember. Which isn't really saying much since I can't even remember when my period was, and that's on a typical 28 day cycle. (Sorry to anyone grossed out by the natural actions of the female body.) 

So I may or may not have mentioned, I am a mother. And the only person that loves my son as much as I do is my mother. However, my son is fickle. The only person he loves MORE than me, is my mother. They are seen below snuggling at a Boston Pizza.

See that look he's giving me? 

That's the look of a child saying "yeah, I love her more. What of it?"

So today my mother stops by after work with a surprise for my darling 2 and a half year old son. 

A kite. 

We spent a good 2 hours out in a field watching this kite soar into the sky, only to nose dive seconds later. I, of course, was on "kite retrieval duty". So it was my job to run around this field looking elegant and fantastic chasing after a child's kite. 

My ever evil child felt that this was not humiliation enough for mommy. No, no. I needed to look more silly. So he, with the help of my mother, started trying to get the kite to nosedive on purpose and attack me. 

Yup. I got attacked by a kite today. 

What did you do?