My husband is a lucky bastard, I tell you. I mean, who else can put up with an ailing, broken, bald, bat-shit crazy woman like me?? He does.
Even if hearing me belt out “BOOBIES!” in a crowded party store is actually pretty par for the course.
Even when watching a woman high-tail it in the opposite direction upon viewing my outstretched, pointy-fingered exclamation at the oddly shaped, plastic mams.
I’d simply seen some plastic, Halloween boobies. Not entirely sure what kind of costume one would wear to require said plastic mammies, but…not my place to judge.
The POINT is…I laughed. Maybe a little too maniacally, but I sure as shit dug deep into my gut and laughed. Felt feckin’ FRABJOUS. The silliness…the #nofilter that can also apply to the realms of real-life going’s of the on…
Been a hard couple of weeks. I’ve been sick. *Really* sick. Had early morning daycare dropoffs last week (5:30 a.m.) and work late this week (9:40 p.m.). I’m pushing through it like a boss, really.
Spent Saturday in a germ-infested walk-in clinic. Have stones in my tonsils. Because, awesome. Doctor said I could, if I wanted, take a Q-Tip and pop them out.
Spent until over the midnight hour the other night at CHEO (local children’s hospital) for boy #2 for bearing witness to a toilet bowl full of blood from the “downstairs.”
Because, even more awesome.
Planning for a small Halloween party for the younglings and daycare girls. Why do I even??? Made these awesome little shape-cakes from a Halloween silicone mold this morn’…forgot to spray the feckin’ mold. *shifty eyes*
I may or may not have had cake for breakfast.
Currently in the throes of making a Jello brain. In a mold. That I did *not* have to spray. *evil stabby glare*
Still reeling over last week’s shooting in my beautiful city of Ottawa. No, I’m not afraid to go out. Heck, I’m going to be downtown the next, next weekend and will even go to the Cenotaph. What I *am* afraid of…is dying. I’m not sure why my brain correlates that horrendous event with “Me.”…but it does. Somehow. I’m triggered.
Speaking of triggers…there’s this shit on the interwebs with a previous CBC employee. People bashing men. People bashing women. People bashing alternative lifestyles. No one’s business, yet everyone’s opinion. Violence, or the potential for, against women is clearly a sensitive issue for me because of “The Night.” And, YAY! for still being alive. And, now we circle back to the dying issue and last week’s event.
So, yelling “BOOBIES!” rather emphatically in a party store was fucking FRABJOUS! \m/ Oh, the release!
The release from this relentless, gods-awful pain-of-the-everywhere.
The release from the heart-hurt of not having my hair. No, I don’t define myself by my hair….but I sure as shit am sad and pissed off simply because I don’t have any furckin’ hair…and I want it!
*note to self: I really like my new word: “Furckin'”
Hate it. LOATHE it. (not the new word…the “not having hair”)
SO much so…I went to be all badass and go outside for the first time EVER SINCE without a headwrap or toque.
Y’know…in all my stubborn defiance of the Cosmos (the asshat one).
It was 5C degrees and so windy I had to put my hood up. Bald-ish heads are not awesome in cold weather. o.O Feels weird…like cold water running over it. Makes me even more pissed off…
So, beside yelling “BOOBIES!” and making a lady change directions…I’ve been immersing myself in Not Social Media to the extent that my newsfeed are only posts from the lists of things I like. I’ve also stopped watching the news. I’ve been playing feverishly in Minecraft and might…just…have…fortitude to switch it to “Easy” from “Peaceful”…but by the gods I’ve crafted a furckin’ enchanting table! \m/ Obsidian is my obsession.
My next endeavour will be to learn more Magic the Gathering. I love it, but I suck ass at playing it. True story. I’m the one you want to face off with during a tourney. Just sayin’.
Well, I’m off to continue to make brains. It’s going to be a two-level, multi-dimensional “red.”
Because, I can.