The Sum of All Me.

I was inspired to write this post thanks to Strawberry Freckles. It's been a fantastic year of meeting other bloggers and really coming into my own with my writing. I thank you sincerely for those who have read anything I've posted. Thank you!! Will be wrapping up this year with my 100th post - whatta way to finish this year - stay tuned!

I’m going to be 33 at the end of January – but I often still feel like a kid. I often look at my children, husband, house and all the responsibilities that come with them and think, “Holy Shit, when did THAT happen?”

I live in Ontario and most of my family is here, so it’s where I will always call home, but I have left big pieces of my heart in Melbourne, AUS and Edinburgh, UK.

I love the Collingwood Magpies; and they finally won the AFL premiership this year, so all you haters can suck it!

My mother is my hero.

My father passed away 6 weeks before I was born - and I was born on his birthday.

I am a Creative Director; mainly I design websites and online marketing strategies. I have a Fine Art degree and was a high school art & design/photography teacher for a few years – turns out I hate other people’s children – especially adolescences. I wish I had more time to paint, but writing seems to be the more convenient outlet for my lifestyle at this present time.

I have 2 incredible boys – twins – born January 2009. They are exhausting but every time they smile and call me Mommy, my heart melts.

I have mild O.C.D; I prefer things in even numbers – 4, if possible. If not, 2 will suffice.

I'm known to quote movies in mid-conversation, like: 'No one at Westerberg is going to let you play their reindeer games.' (Heather Chandler, Heathers, 1989) I can remember a ridiculous amount of useless information but forget the important stuff.

My favorite band of all time will always be Pearl Jam, although I admit I don't listen to them a lot anymore.

My husband’s sex drive is about 1/10 of mine, but he knew what he was getting in to before he married me. He chooses not to read my blog, and I’m thankful for that. I did let him read the girl-on-girl post though – he thoroughly enjoyed that. I think that it briefly raised his sex drive up to about 4/10 of mine.

We have 2 dogs; a Boston Terrier x Pug (Bugg) who is completely insane; and a Pug x Pekingese (Puginese) that snorts and snores. They are both royal pains in my ass, but I love them so much!

I am very, very competitive; I like to win. I played rep basketball and softball all though elementary and high school. I played basketball in University as well, but I had bigger fish to fry by that point. I coached boys' basketball when I was teaching - I enjoyed that a lot - girls' basketball is so bitchy!

I love television; I watch way too much.

I’m a curvy size 18/20 and it drives me insane that the clothes that are available to me never truly reflect who I am on the inside. (My avatar on this site is how I feel on the inside:) My weight goes up and down constantly, but I do have a large frame and a size 16 is the smallest I’ve ever been at the height of fitness and health – so to me, size is always relative. I’m not one of those women that could get a gastric band and melt down to a size 4 – it’s not physically possible in my case.

I fall in love easily – I have a big heart and love being sentimental. In the past, many people have misconstrued this for going ‘over-board’ or being too ‘full-on’ but it’s just who I am. I usually end up getting hurt in the end, one way or another, but it’s not like I can learn from it – this is me.

I have a sweet tooth. As much as I'm a horny bitch, it's highly possible that I would chose a chocolate chip cookie dough blizzard over sex, given the option.

I started doing naughty things with boys when I was 5, and even naughtier when I was 12 - but miraculously didn't lose my virginity until I was 16.

I love dragonflies and turtles. I have a turtle collection from places around the world; I have at least 40 and counting but I have contained them to 1 curio cabinet – for the sake of my husband’s sanity; I met my husband online!

I miss my grandpa.

I have 2 tattoos and am currently planning a third that is a kickass version of my wedding bouquet; every flower represents someone or something. 

I met all the members of Powderfinger and had drinks with them; they all signed my copy of Internationalist. One of my other most prized possessions is a Dogma poster signed by Kevin Smith. I finally got to see him speak in person just this year. I've been working on a screen play for 4 years now; I could use his help :)

Oh yeah... and I’ve written 4 children’s books and have a little empire of fictional characters – 137 and counting. :)

Christmas Dummies

These are the top 5 dummest Christmas questions I got when I worked on the switchboard at Walmart (and the answers I wished I could give)

Happy Holidays! Thank you for calling your local Walmart; how may I direct your call?

1. I know all of Canada is sold out of them, but I was wondering if you had any stored in the back?
A: Actually, I have 2 stored up my ass; want one of those?

2. What do you have that would be good for a 9 year old girl?
A: I’m not your personal shopper, this is fucking Walmart. Get off your lazy ass and come in to the god damn store and look for yourself.

3. Is this Walmart? Do you sell toys?
A: Didn’t I just say ‘Thank you for calling Walmart?' And, have you been living in a fucking bubble for the past 20 years? It’s Walmart, of course we have toys.

4. Do you have extended holiday hours today?
A: Extended more than the usual 24hours? Yes, we actually create a vortex through time and space and stay open for an extra 2 hours. What the hell do you think?

5. Do you sell Christmas presents?
A: Unless you’re looking for a pony or a car, I would assume a big fat yes. It’s WALMART – toys, clothes, electronics, jewellery, perfume, small appliances, sporting goods... 

W-A-L-M-A-R-T!

Merry Christmas everyone! Thanks for reading :) xoxo

A very awkward Christmas

The most, ummm... interesting Christmas that I'd rather forget was the one I had when I was away from my family, when I was overseas for grade 11. It was an odd feeling; an empty feeling. I thought I would feel sad and homesick, but surprisingly, I didn’t feel either. I guess it didn’t help (or did help, depending on one’s perspective) that I was living with a family I completely despised (McFucks) – so it wasn’t like I was surrounded by references and reminders of love and gooey family togetherness. It was also bizarre that it was 32degrees outside and we were having a BBQ, so it didn't really 'feel' like Christmas either.

I did my duty and remained at their house for as long as was required of me. Astonishingly, this family actually had some friends and they came over. I had to remain for that visit to ‘keep up appearances’ or some bullshit logic like that. So yes, they got to show off their little pet project with uncomfortable small talk and boring conversation; I had to do a lot of fake smiling and lying – I would have hoped that they at least appreciated my acting abilities, but I doubt it.

Once their painfully dull friends left, I asked if I could be excused to go to my friend’s Christmas party. They were done with me, so the father gave me a grunt, which I understood as a reluctant ‘yes’. Friggin’ finally!

I got to the party a lot later than I originally thought, but they were all happy to see me – at last I was with some friendly faces; it was a relief. My boyfriend came in from the back porch and gave me a big groping hug and sloppy kiss that stunk of beer, but I really didn’t mind… that time.

After I had a chance to mingle and get a few drinks into me I was feeling much better and was getting more into a Christmas-y mood. Further into the night, the drinks kept coming and both myself and my boyfriend were getting ‘in the mood’.

We loaned his friend’s sister’s bedroom for the night, as the rest of his family were away at the beach for Christmas eve. My boyfriend brought in a couple bows to try and stick to my nipples, but it didn't work that great. He had suggested trying the 69 position earlier that evening, as he had done on numerous occasions before, but I wasn’t too sure. We did like trying new things together, but I don’t know – something about a guy’s chode in my face didn’t do much for me, nor if I was on top, I didn’t see how my ass in his face would be a particularly sexy angle for me – I didn’t have many of those to begin with, gimmie a break! Perhaps it was the generosity of the Christmas spirit flowing through me, but that night I finally said, “What the hell; let’s try it.”

I could tell straight away that he was super excited. After some initial fooling around he gave me a little whistle of approval and swung his leg over my head and started going down on me, upside down. OK, so that was feeling great, of course… but yep, there it was – his big harry chode (the area between nuts and asshole – watch Jackass and you’ll learn all about the chode), ass crack and all other bits waving in my face. It totally wasn’t sexy at all and I was so relieved it wasn’t me on top. It was really hard for me not to laugh… really, really hard. My previous thoughts on this position were bang on.

There was a definite tug-of-war with my thought processes and senses whilst in this position – I was surely enjoying the pleasure, but then I would have to snap out of it and perform head on him… upside down and in the reverse angle, so as not to bend it backwards and break the damn thing. I could see how having me on top would be a lot easier for me to perform my end of the deal, for sure. Upside down & backwards blow jobs are not an easy feat!

This sums up my first 69 in a nutshell:
Oh, pleasure. Ugh, annoying. Oh, pleasure. Ugh, annoying… and so on and so forth.

Finally, he had turned around, put a condom on and we finished the ‘traditional’ way. While we were lying on the bed afterwards, he looked over at me and proclaimed, “You know, I really love you.” That was the first time he said that, and continued by saying that being with me made it his best Christmas ever. Uh, ok… and I really like you a lot… too. Yikes! That was the best I could give him that night, or any other night after that. He was one of the VERY few that I actually DIDN’T fall in love with – just my luck! At least I can say Christmas that year was abundant in awkward moments… and positions.

David or Pierre? That is the question.

There weren’t many guys in Art School that were, how do I put it? "Of the dating sort". We were a fairly small group that became smaller and smaller as the years went on. By the time our 4th year came around, there were only 6 of us left. Now, upon saying that – there were 2 guys that I had taken a shining to, which both also lasted until the end with me, which therefore sky-rocketed my ‘hot Art school guy ratio’ from about 1 in 20 to 1 in 3. I would have liked to have thought that my chances would have dramatically improved with those odds, although here is how this story rolled out.

First there was Pierre; he was a couple years older than the rest of us. He has long wavy brown hair, chiselled features and a wonderfully loud personality. He sat beside me the first day of lectures and we were close ever since that day. He was a very unique soul and like a fine wine, he got better the older our friendship had become. He was a little misunderstood by many, but so was I - so our relationship was great.

Then there was David; I remember the moment he walked through the door to our workshop/classroom. He had blonde spiky hair that he had tried to dye the tips blue – and failed, but it was frickin’ adorable. He was very attractive in the more traditional ‘cute teddy bear’ way, but was still wonderfully approachable and entertaining. It was pretty much love at first sight – he practically had a golden glow around his face when he walked through those doors and I think I heard the angels signing ‘Hallelujah!” but then they stopped abruptly and the needle screeched across the record as I zoomed in on the signal most devastating thing I could have ever seen... a wedding ring. What the hell? We’re only 20 – what the frickity frack is MY future husband doing married already... to someone that’s obviously not me? He was way too young! It was gut-wrenchingly unfair.

About a semester later, the 3 of us had become as close as a bloody circus troop, and I had successfully managed to suppress my initial feelings for David to the deepest depths of my heart. Instead, I focused my affections towards Pierre and after a while, it had come to a volcanic head and one night while the two of us were working late together in the studio, I tearfully confessed my feelings. Of course, I got the “friendship” speech thrown back at me – how or why I expected anything less was beyond me. After a couple tough weeks and awkward moments, I got over it and things between us were OK again. In fact, during our last year, I had moved in with him.

Something else had happened during the summer before we began that final year – David and his wife had split up (big surprise) and when I heard the news, 3 years of buried feelings flooded back in a single moment. My heart was racing; I felt nauseous and light headed and above all else... ridiculously excited. I’d never been so happy to hear about a divorce in my life – and I don’t care how badly it sounded.

Now, how long do I wait before I make my move?
How soon is too soon?
Do I have to wait until he dates someone else first?
I don’t want to be the “rebound girl”.
Crap! Oh, the plethora of possible scenarios! I was making myself dizzy.

I went to sit outside on the porch to have my usual coffee avec la cigarette while I was processing all this juicy information; Pierre came out to join me. He could tell I was day-dreaming about something – like I had just won the lottery or something. Part of what made Pierre so appealing was the same reason why some actually thought he was possibly gay, which was that he was extraordinarily in tune with women and our thought processes – and had no qualms about sharing his wise insights with those around him.

We didn’t speak for a couple minutes and then he looked over at me like he had x-ray vision straight into my soul. After he exhaled a puff of smoke, he spoke to me very sincerely as he revealed his latest epiphany: “It has always been David, hasn’t it? All these years, it was never really me. It was always him.”

Even though I knew of Pierre’s gift of insight, it still took me by surprise that he said that straight up, and as I looked away my eyes welled. I closed my eyes to let the tears fall down my face and as I turned to look back at Pierre I gave him a nod to confirm his hypothesis. We both smiled and started to laugh at the insanity of it all.

Coincidental Fate

It was 5pm and I was insanely early for dinner with some old Rotary people, so I thought I would take the opportunity to drive around my old neighbourhood in Mitcham. It had been more like 13 years since I had been down those back streets; even when I lived there for Uni, I lived on the other side of Melbourne and never really had a reason to go there, nor did I have the use of a car back then.

My old school has long since been torn down (Snif, snif) and is now a block of houses. Nevertheless, it was still nice to drive around those streets. I vaguely remembered some of the turns and curves, including the one where I would have branched off to go 'home' when I lived with the McFucks. Surprisingly, I didn't turn to go see their house, especially since I didn't have a dozen eggs to hurl at their windows... oh ya, I guess I'm a grown woman now and not suppose to think like that... oops! What can I say; the thought of that festering family brings out the best in me.

So then I approached the street where Jason use to live. Yes, we had a catastrophic falling out and I hadn't spoken to him in 12 years, but at one point in my life I actually did believe that I was going to marry him. I flipped on my signal and turned down nostalgia lane; I remembered the house that he lived in with his parents... 15 years ago, anyway.

As I drove slowly there was a man walking down the street on the right side of the road. He was wearing a cricket hat and his face was not visible, but my stomach turned 3 times over. No way! It couldn't be! I rolled down my window quickly and yelled out, "Jason!"

He turned around instantly.

Holy shit. Mutha Fukka. Jesus Christ. My heart was racing, my hands were shaking and I seriously thought I was going to vomit. I turned the car around, drove past him again and pulled over; he was waiting in bewilderment. I was also the LAST person on the planet, literally, that he would ever have thought to be driving down his street! We were both suffering from shock... and I started with a very creative, "Hello there!"

He was polite and I even got a couple smiles out of him. I didn't get out of the car, but we spoke for about 10 minutes. Turns out, he moved 4 doors down from his parents and he was going from their house to his when I drove past. It was getting close to dinner, and he then had to leave. I gave him my card, although I won't be holding my breath for an email any day soon.

My hands were still shaking while I drove away.

Despite our falling out, it was sincerely nice to see him again. I don't know if I would call it closure, exactly, since I'm sure our 'closure' was quite clear 12 years ago when he got SOMEONE ELSE PREGNANT, but it was definitely something. Perhaps just to see for myself, in person, that he was doing well. He would have only been walking down that street for about 45 seconds and that is precisely when I drove past... and I'd like to think that there was some kind of cosmic reason why fate granted me one last visit with him; I am thankful for that.

I'm also thankful for Tide with bleach; because I'm sure he probably had a few skid marks to clean from his shorts after our encounter.

Semi-Charmed Life

Where ever I am; whatever I'm doing, when this song comes on the radio, I feel better. It's one of the cheekiest songs I know because it became SO mainstream but if you listen to the lyrics, it's all about sex and doing crystal meth - it's fantastically warped, I can't help but be amused by it.

It's also only 1 of 2 songs I've EVER performed at karaoke (the other being 'Let's Talk about Sex' by Salt-N-Pepa) - I have a singing voice like a dying cat, but everyone cheered because I did this entire song without missing a single word... and not once did I need to follow the prompter. I know... I'm a fuckin' dork.

All right, I want something else,
To get me through this,
Semi-charmed kind of life,
I want something else,
I'm not listening when you say,
good-bye.

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This post is for Wicked Wednesday: What's your theme song?

A Promise to Keep

A young couple lay in bed together one night; nothing special about this night, just a regular week night; it’s Wednesday. The wife is 33 weeks pregnant and tired. She has to get up early for work in the morning. Her husband is resting his head on her round belly and talking to his unborn child. His wife wishes he would stop so she could go to sleep, but is equally touched by this tender moment, so she lets him continue.

He keeps his hands on her belly and looks up at her. “I know we think it’s going to be a boy, but just in case it’s a girl, promise me you’ll name her Stephanie.”

“It’s a boy.”

“But still, seriously, I mean it; promise me!”

“What is up with you? We can make these decisions together, so don’t stress!”

“I’ve always thought that Stephanie is a pretty name, so if it’s a girl, that’s what I want her name to be, OK?”

“OK! But it IS a boy.”

“Buuuuuuut, if it’s not?”

“Right, OK, geeze! Stephanie it is. I promise, cross my heart.”

“See! Was that so hard? Thank you!”

She smiled as he kissed her once on the lips and again on her belly and then they went to sleep.

In the middle of the night, he awoke and went into the kitchen. He was usually a sound sleeper so when he left, it woke up his wife. She rolled out of bed and found him in the kitchen making a giant sized sandwich.
“What are you doing up? It’s 2am!”

“I have no idea! I woke up absolutely starving. I feel like I’m going on a long journey and I need to stock up.”

“A journey? What the hell does that mean?”

“Again, I have no idea. All I know is that I wanna eat this wicked 'wich, and then I’ll come back to bed; don’t wait up.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” 
And she went back to bed.

The alarm clock screamed in their ears for the fifth time on snooze rotation; they had over-slept. They frantically got ready in their tiny apartment, trying to make up time and constantly fumbled around each other. As usual, she was ready first and dashed out the front door to catch her bus. She had hobbled half way down the hallway of their apartment building when her goofy husband burst out their door and into the middle of the hallway wearing nothing but his underwear and his toothbrush hanging from his mouth. He took it out and waved it in the air like a wand while proclaiming, “Baby! Have a good day! I love ya, sweet cheeks!”

She rolled her eyes and laughed in both admiration and embarrassment, “Love you too... now for God’s sake, go put some clothes on!” She turned back to leave and get into the elevator; she could still hear her husband’s pathetic singing voice muffled off in the distance, “Llllooveeeee yoouuu!”

She was able to catch the bus and even got a bit of sleep on the 1/2 hour commute. When she got off at her stop, her mother was waiting at the front steps. She wasn’t overly close with her mother and the sight of her waiting at the place where she worked gave her a sudden and overwhelmingly sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Sweetheart, I need you to be calm.”

“What’s going on? Tell me now! Why do I need to be calm?”

“It’s your husband. His dad went to pick him up for work and found him in the bathroom... on the floor. He tried everything to revive him but...”

“OK. Did he have a seizure? He hasn't had one in forever, but still...what's the big deal?”

“Honey, he’s at the hospital now; they are waiting for you... but... darling... he didn’t make it.”

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This post is in memory of my father, who passed away 33 years ago this week. This is a true recollection of the night before and the morning of his passing, according to my mother. I was that baby girl and my mother kept her promise to him and named me Stephanie. I was born 6 weeks later, on what would have been his 25th birthday.

Santa’s a scary dude.

Every year one after another of unsuspecting toddlers line up to sit on Santa’s lap in the mall or at an office Christmas party, only to burst into hysterics and wriggling fits of terror. Why do parents put them through that? Because it’s Santa Claus, god dammit! He’s friggin’ jolly and all that other shit!

It mystifies me how so many people insist on placing their traumatized child on his lap, even though they really don’t even quite get the whole notion of Christmas anyway. Both of my sons enjoy reading about him and they have just learned to say his name, but at our first attempt at approaching him, they both were NOT cool with it – and that was fine! It's not worth the nightmares. We didn’t force the issue; they preferred to admire him from afar.

What would have been the point of trying to get them to sit with Santa anyway? So we could get a photo like this?

Classic. This is my little brother, circa 1988. The funniest part of this photo is that Santa is, in fact, our grandfather. He was the BEST Santa ever – every other Santa since him pales in comparison. It took my brother a few more years before he pieced the two together, despite incessant hint dropping.

Regardless of whether Santa is your grandpa or not, if you think about it… to a 3 year old, he is a very scary dude.

Bruised - Violence Against Women

Black, just like the sexy dress she wore out for dinner.

Blue, as deep as the sapphire that is encrusted with diamonds.

Purple, similar to the Gucci handbag that matches her shoes.

Red, like the lace on the card that reads “I love you! I'm sorry.”

Yellow, glowing like the gold earrings that dangle above her shoulders.

Green, a lighter shade than their private estate.




She will
           never
                   leave him.

I f**ked Charlie Brown

This is a prime example of how sometimes, with the assistance of an obscene amount of alcohol that the 2 most unlikely people can and will end up together at the end of the night, even if they’re 5 inches shorter and about 50lbs lighter.

So there we all were at my friends party – the later they showed up, the more stoned or drunk they were. The party was packed, like something I would have only imagined from one of those teen movies; in reality they rarely were ever that crowded. Most teenaged parties were too elitist or clique-centred to have so many people invited, but apparently word had spread for this party across a few schools in the area and everyone and their cousin’s brother showed up. Not before too long it was bordering on out-of-control, and I was kind of glad it wasn’t my house!

Perhaps it was because there were so many people from other schools that the original few that we knew ended up gravitating towards each other. The skater boys from our school had showed up earlier in the night; these were the guys that on any normal day either ignored me or took an opportunity to make fun of me for one reason on another – usually my “funny” accent was their choice of attack – it got old fast, but you know what they say about small things amusing small minds.

There were about 6 guys in their group and none of them had girlfriends (shocker), even though they thought they were the coolest guys in the school. They just were a over-charged herd of testicles that festered and boiled. One of the ‘leaders’ of this skater clique was this odd little fellow that resembled Charlie Brown. He was about 5’1’ with a perfectly round head and his hair was so thin and pale that all he would have had to do to perfect the similarity was put on a yellow and black sweater. When I first saw him at school and they told me that he was ‘Charlie’ I thought it was funny that it was his name... but I guess it was one of my blonde moments because they laughed at what I thought was cool irony. “Ya! That’s why he’s got that nickname, genius, that’s not his REAL name, but everyone calls him that.” Ah, OK. Got it. Fair enough.

I was sitting on the couch, trying to take in the insanity of the party and working on a pretty good buzz. There was only a little space left on the couch, but Charlie was a little guy, and he squeezed in beside me. “Hi Stef-an-ieeee” he said, in his stupid failed attempt at an American accent. Must have been the booze because I laughed at him this time. He proceeded to make small talk with me... for the first time ever. It was strange but I was curious to see how it was going to play out.

After a short while I had to go the toilet and get another drink, so he said he’d come with me. Perhaps the little lost puppy had got separated from his testosterone posse, who knows. Usually, where there was one, the others followed not far behind... but there was Charlie, following ME around. As we walked around the house party, he put his hand on my waist as not to separate from me and it was then that I started to get a little more intrigued about his ulterior motive. My inhibitions had been tossed out the window about an hour before, so what the hell? With a new drink in my right hand, I pushed Charlie up against the nearest wall with my left, grabbing his midriff in a sexually charged kind-of-way. He gave me a little Charlie Brown grin that showed off his 3 forehead ripples very clearly, like they had been drawn on personally by Charles Schulz.

We started making out and the sneaky little kid had his hands up my shirt almost immediately, not that I minded. Not long had passed and we heard screams coming from outside. Someone had been stabbed! That’s right, stabbed! What the hell was going on? Everyone was scattering like an ant hill on fire. Charlie grabbed my hand and we escaped out the side door and went to hide in the garden of the neighbouring yard. Oddly, we weren’t even focused on the chaos that was happening, not even when the cop sirens and lights appeared. We just pulled each others’ jeans down around our ankles and started having sex right there in the garden, on the uncomfortable landing of a 4-stepped cobblestone path.

It was awful; absolutely, outrageously awful. He had the smallest penis I had ever seen! Size isn’t usually an issue...but to an extent. Christ! Then the logical part of me piped in, “What did I expect? It’s bloody Charlie Brown! He could fit in my pocket.” Maybe I hoped he was packing something awesomely disproportionate to the rest of his tiny body; I was wrong. Anyway, it was over fairly quickly as well, which was fine with me, since I couldn’t feel anything anyway.

There were many mornings after a substantial drinking session that I thought to myself through a throbbing hangover, “What did I do? And, why the hell did I do that?” This time was even more bizarre than others because that next morning I had to add to my myriad of embarrassing questions, “Did I just fuck Charlie Brown?” Yes; yes I did. Good grief!