Breaking News from Crazytown

So, there's a reason I've been a bit absent these days, and now I can finally tell you.

I'm having Gerard Butler's love child. It's OK. My husband knows and he's agreed to raise it as his own. Isn't that amazing of him?

Okay, so I'm kind of joking. I bet y'all were totally fooled, RIGHT? Ahem.

But, there is some truth to my bullshit.

I'm having baby number three.

Oops.

Hold me.

It's been a bumpy ride so far; pregnancy sucks, yo.

I shall leave you with the words of my beloved grandmother when I told her the news:

"You're pregnant? Well, that's what happens when you let him stick his dick in you."

You think I'm kidding, but I'm totally not.

Oooh. And by the way, you're a fan of my granny, you can follow her on Twitter to hear all her other gems. *wink wink*

Good times.

Fuck.

Hatin' skatin'

It had been a long day cooped up inside; at -14 degrees, it was too cold to play outside & the boys were driving us b-a-n-a-n-a-s. "Let's go ice skating for the very first time with the boys, ever" was my brilliant idea. I was thinking pssfftt, I got this shit covered. I was a hockey player. I have Bauer skates. I don't even need a jock strap! I'm a bad ass bitch on the ice, yo. I did, however, have to pick up new skates on the way to the rink, as it has been the better part of a decade since I've been on skates, and my old ones wouldn't fit me anymore -- of that, I was pretty sure.

Even at Canadian Tire, when I needed to ask the store kid for help (since I was in a hurry, not because I didn't know what the fuck I was doing. Ahem), I totally had my butch jock'star attitude on as I boasted, "I play hockey, so I don't weeeear figure skates. I need hockey skates." And inside, my ego was lookin' like this . . .

I mean, it would surely be like riding a bike, right? Who cares if it's been 8+ years since I've stepped a blade on the ice -- a brand new, freshly sharpened pair of blades that could cut a jugular with a mere accidental sneeze, to be more precise. Nevertheless, when we got to the arena and while I was lacing up, I still felt like I was going to rock this rodeo . . .

But then faster than you can say onamonapia, I stood up on my new skates and the searing pain went chi chi chi owwwwiee all the way up my spine and exploded from my neck with an additional aaahhhh guuuggghhh with every single click clop click clop of my skates as I approached the ice. The very instant I stepped onto the rink, I felt like this . . .

It took every burning muscle in my body to keep myself standing upright. And then as the boys entered the rink, I had to deal with this as well . . .

Sweet Jesus. I have never wanted to curse my husband's "weak ankles" more than at that moment. He got to watch from behind his shame the crash boards as I sucked up every last drop of adrenaline my body could possibly produce. Soon there was trouble on the front and when one goes down, he took us all with him like 3 bowling pins, and I felt like this . . .

But of course, we got up and shuffled onward and after about fifteen of the longest minutes of my life (and not yet even making it to the center line), I was ready to chalk it up to "a good first effort", but the boys actually WANTED to stay and were LOVING it . . . of fucking course they were! The ONE time I am actually hoping they hate an experience. Ugh. It was about at that very moment that I looked over at my husband kinda like this . . .

Thankfully, the Zamboni gods spared my life and it was time to get off the ice, regardless of the boys' plans to stay there for all eternity. There were tantrums and chaos but I didn't even care and barely noticed. I just wanted to stand on a non-frozen surface - that was the short term, number one goal of my life.

When I woke up this morning, it was a huge OMFG. I wanted more than anything to rock the Pierce Hawthorne look and just not give a shit until my body heals in a few days . . .

And as soon at it was a reasonably acceptable hour to use the phone this morning, I call my daddy . . .

. . . and told him he needs to come over and teach his grandsons to skate, because I ain't EVER fucking doing that again by myself!

And please take my advice: If you're out of shape, don't ever attempt to prove your body wrong. Denial can be lethal. Just avoid intensely strenuous activities all together, forever -- it's way easier and much less painful.

Or gradually get into shape, I guess.

Blargh-dee-blargh blargh.

Whatthefuckever.

An apology letter to a cunt

To whom it concerns,

I'm sorry that you have such a sad and boring life that you feel the compulsion to entertain yourself by bullying an amazing woman like my mother. She is loved by everyone that knows her. She is honest, caring and thoughtful -- 3 qualities you completely lack.

I'm sorry that you thought you would feel better about yourself by making up inflammatory lies about my mother and spreading them like diarrhea from your over-inflated ass.

I'm sorry you thought you could get away with your infantile (that means young or immature) behavior without consequence. My mother might be able to rise above it, but I'm not nearly as nice or forgiving as she is.

I'm sorry that you never graduated high school and feel insecure that everyone around you is more educated than yourself. I tried really hard to keep my words to no more than three syllables each.

And finally,
I'm sorry that I will likely never have the displeasure to see your smug face again. It would give me intense joy to return the favor and cause you even just one tenth (that's a fraction, by the way, or I could use 10% if that's easier for you to understand) the pain and stress that you have caused others.

The next time you're on you knees, it better not be for praying because that would make you the biggest (literally) fucking hypocrite north of the border. You'd be better off filling those loose lips of yours with something much less religious.

You are a putrid human being and quite frankly, a cunt.

Suck on it,

Lady E.

These zits are bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S.

I've gone and done another song for your listening/reading displeasure. This time around it's to the tune of Hollaback Girl by Gwen Stefani. Listen to this glorious ear worm of a song while you read along . . . if you feel so inclined. If you don't catch yourself humming about zits or bananas after reading this at some point day, I'll consider myself a goddamn failure.

Uh huh, there's another zit.
I need to stomp my feet like this

A few times I've been around this track
So I'm pissed it still happens like that
Because I ain't no dirty crack girl
I ain't no dirty crack girl

Ooooh ooh, squeeze my zit, pop my zit (x4)

I knew about this festive shit
And I thought maybe I could resist it
Families offer us chocolate crap, getting everybody fattened up
So I've gotta accept the flack, gonna pick this ack'
Gonna go to town, gonna squeeze it out
That's right, put those bon-bons down, getting everybody fattened up

A few times I've been around this track
So I'm pissed it still happens like that
Because I ain't no dirty crack girl
I ain't no dirty crack girl

Ooooh ooh, squeeze my zit, pop my zit (x4)

So that's right dude, check out this double feature
No Clearasil, no "healthy preachers"
Gotta have fun and be a sinner, cuz these holidays only come once
So my pants'll get tight, gonna drink 'til I crawl
Sure ain't no porcelain doll, gonna have a pallor hue
That's right I'll be expanding as I bite another pumpkin pie crust

A few times I've been around this track
So I'm pissed it still happens like that
Because I ain't no dirty crack girl
I ain't no dirty crack girl

Ooooh ooh, squeeze my zit, pop my zit (x4)

Let me hear you say these zits are bananas.

B-A-N-A-N-A-S

(These zits are bananas)
(B-A-N-A-N-A-S)
Again
These zits are bananas
B-A-N-A-N-A-S
(These zits are bananas)
(B-A-N-A-N-A-S)

A few times I've been around this track
So I'm pissed it still happens like that
Because I ain't no dirty crack girl
I ain't no dirty crack girl

Ooooh ooh, squeeze my zit, pop my zit (x4)

The Quick & the Dread

A BlogHer '12 Experience

It was an early Friday morning and since I had not been partying the night before, I was there really early. This turned out to be a blessing, since one of the only people there earlier than me was Alexandra. It was calm and lovely and exactly how I prefer to talk with people - especially a person I admire just so damn much. Breakfast was relatively civilized and divine, while also meeting A Lady in France, Marinka, Two Busy, Avitable, Suniverse, Buried With Kids and many others.

Then, the chaos happened. In my brain.

Very quickly, thousands of women began filtering into the conference hall and my brain began to short circuit. I don't know if it was my ADD shifting into super-sonic bat crap crazy mode, but I was hearing every single conversational humm, squeal and laugh. I was on over-stimulation meltdown.

I found myself wandering around looking for people for a big chunk of the time. Because I was only there for the one day, I really wanted to meet everyone that I have grown to love so much, whether through this blog and/or The Twitter. Perhaps I tried too hard to achieve my goal, but I'm a gawd damn over-achiever, so because of that, I felt quite rushed and anxious for a big part of the day. Crap.

If I introduced myself by my alias, people would ask me, "Ahh, but what's your REAL name?" Then, if I introduced myself by my real name, people would ask, "Huh?" So that was an interesting social experiment. Lady Estrogen won out, for sure :)

And there was lunch. 

Saying that lunch was impressive would be an understatement, since The Next Martha totally went above and beyond with an amazing centerpiece. She over-achieved the FUCK outta me! Ever the gracious hostess, darling. Apart from that, I also got to briefly chat with Ooph, The Bitchin Wife, Ann Imig and Toy With Me (among others). Seriously, it's mostly a blur. I'm impressed that I have managed to remember this many people so far! Oooh, yeah... and Martha Stewart was FABULOUS. She really does have her perfectly groomed fingers into absolutely everything! I bow to her greatness.

Ahhh, yes. My special packages. After totally FREAKING out in New Jersey while I was stranded at a train station in 102 degree weather with 50 Lady Godiva chocolates in my suitcase, they miraculously all made it to BlogHer. I was so excited to give these to the wonderful ladies that I had met - it was the LEAST I could do to show my admiration to each and every one of you! I swear to god that I didn't have them with me when I saw Adam Avitable, so suck it! But I did have them when I got to ambush meet The Bearded Iris.

The "Sessions" were OK and although the premise behind them was great, the whole "Wait, you didn't sign up on this sheet first?" chaos was a bit intense. And it wasn't just me - there were a whole lotta newbie chickens bobbing around the corridors mumbling, "What the fuck's going on?" which was hilarious to watch and admittedly be a part of. Then I ditched and hung out with Suniverse, checked out some panels and we brought on the bitch, together. Wurd.

Then there were drinks.

Another personal highlight was just hanging out with The Animated Woman and chatting with booze being imbibed. Apart from gaining a true "IRL" friend, I also got this... which is by far the best swag I received:

My arms have never looked better! Snort. What is that I'm holding? That is the Trojan Pulse, which they were handing out like candy. Speaking of candy, did I mention MY package also had that too, because I'm a fucking marketing whore-slash-genius. Suck on THAT, Trojan!

I tried to stay for Listen to Your Mother "Open Mic" for a little while. After FINALLY meeting two of my heroes, Mama Kat and Scary Mommy, I couldn't stay much longer. There was no gong OR giant cane dragging people off stage if they went way (way, way) over their allotted 5 minutes. What the shit?! I wanted a gong; it needed a gong... at times.

And Sparklecorn happened.

Drinks being $13 a shot made having 8 drink tickets fan-fucking-tastic. Hello, New York City prices! The music was spot on - they soooo knew their target audience. It was like a high school dance party, but we didn't have to hid the alcohol in a flask down our pants. I finally got dance (to Vanilla Ice) with Mommy NaniBooboo. Whut, whut! And got some hugs from Michonblog, Tough Cookie Mom, The818, and Whatnowandwhy. And by 1 o'clock in the morning, I was spent!

To wrap this shit up -- 

All in all, it was a cool but busy time; I will indeed be going back next year. My main goal at BlogHer 2012 wasn't to get help with technical issues or re-fuel my blogging engines -- it was to meet people, but I ended up spending too much time trying to find them and not enough actually meeting them. I have posted the few photos I managed to get on my Facebook page. Check those out!

Because I was so fucking lost half the time, I still have 4 of my special packages left! It seems a shame to not give them away! If you were at BlogHer '12 and didn't manage to find me (or even if you weren't there and really want one), leave me a comment and we'll work something out.

5 Things for BlogHer 2013 in Chicago...

1. I will sit my fat ass at a centrally located numbered table and drink for 3 STRAIGHT HOURS. I so want to meet everyone, but I don't have it in me to play cat & mouse again next year -- it stressed me out beyond these words.

2. I will save up and go for the ENTIRE conference.

3. I WILL BE ON A PANEL. (Or at least, I will attempt to be more motivated to follow through with my application to be on a panel, now that I know what they're all about.)

4. Since it will not be my first one, I vow to be more relaxed, more happy-go-lucky... and probably much more intoxicated.

5. I will be designing a "Sausage Queen of Chicago" special edition Blogher'13 t-shirt, because HOLY SHIT, THAT'S SO DAMN HILARIOUSLY AWESOME.


************
I'm going to shamelessly quote Avitable's blurb right now:
I know I left out a lot of people in this post, but that’s because of me, not you – don’t hesitate to chime in in the comments and give me hell for forgetting you!
************

Rolling in it... again!

A couple months ago, I shared the precious gift of money that my grandmother gave me. I still haven't hauled that booty to the bank, by the way. I'm waiting for just the right time -- when I'm reeeally hurtin'. I stopped in last weekend for another visit and as usual, there's not a dull moment.

She just had to tell me how annoying her evening was, since one of the women that "doesn't have any marbles left" fell and badly hit her face. It was annoying, of course, due to the fact that all the hubbub that surrounded the incident caused my grandma's dinner to be late................ .......!!

Then I asked her if she new anything about the funky house that is being built across the street from her residence. (It is seriously cool. Not sure if it fits with the surrounding properties, but cool nevertheless.) She just waved her hands away and groaned, "Pssfft, probably a couple of queers moving in."

As we were eating, the chef came out to greet the residents and their guests; he's East Indian. As he walked away, my grandmother yelled, "My god, he is black, black, black... in't he?"

She was on a roll, people.

Speaking of rolls, after lunch she winked and handed me another present before I left. It looked like this:

Within our family, she is quite famous for these packages. Usually, they contain already opened boxes of crackers that she decided she didn't like, or buckets of yogurt that will be expiring within the next 24 hours, or even bananas.

Oh, sweet Jesus... the fucking bananas.

Let's just say she doesn't pack them inside those phallic yet effective travel containers. A few years ago, I put my foot down with the banana donations. Even with this package -- the fact that she put that note on it is a good indicator that it contains something that I'd likely not want to take home with me, but I have to be honest, I was totally expecting bananas.

So, like the obedient grand daughter that I am, I waited until I got home to open her mystery package...

Toilet paper.

And not just any toilet paper - stolen toilet paper from her residence.

I called her to question her motives, "Grandma... really? What's with the toilet paper?"

She giggled, "Well, you can't tell me you doing need that. Everyone poops, darling."

-------------------------------------------------------------
Update. Just got off the phone with her today (Tuesday) and she hopes that every time I wipe my butt, I think of her....
Not. Fucking. Kidding.
Oh, this woman ;)
-------------------------------------------------------------

Let Your Backbone Slide

Apparently, there's been a mini trend for celebs (like Justin Beeeaver and The Queen) to make an appearance at weddings. That's cool and all, blardy, bar, bar... but THEN... then I saw something pretty motherfucking fantastic on the news yesterday. ->>

That's right, y'all. It's thee one and only Maestro Fresh Wes walking in while the groom is busting away on his (ridiculously famous, if you're Canadian) song, Let Your Backbone Slide.

HOW WICKED IS THE LOOK ON THE GROOM'S FACE?!
(or the bride's, for that matter ;)

LOVE IT.

So, of course I had to spread the love around and tell other people. Then, this was my morning...

My mind? Melted.

I'm not sure why he's calling me Ma... must be a Toronto thing. I've been out of the city for a little while, but it's totally OK. Ya know why? Because he's the fucking Maestro - that's why!

It got me to thinking - what would be the top songs that I love to sing along to (even in public, usually at weddings) and that I would completely lose my shit in the best possible way if these performers made a coincidental appearance to show me how it's done. These are specifically the songs I haven't heard in forever and actually don't even own copies of them (honestly, I don't, except Shoop - I need to start building my back catalog for realzies) but when they come on? Holy shit! I bust it out and sing them word-for-word since I have no shame... and basically because I'm a bat crap crazy white girl like that.

10. Digital Underground

Humpty Dance

9. Young MC

Bust A Move

8. Sir Mix-A-Lot

Baby Got Back (I Like Big Butts)

7. Tone-Lōc

Wild Thing or Funky Cold Medina (They're pretty much the same song)

6. Naughty By Nature

O.P.P.

  

5. DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince

Parent's Just Don't Understand

4. Beastie Boys

So What Cha Want

3. Maestro Fresh Wes

Let Your Backbone Slide

2. House of Pain

Jump Around

And by a landslide, also currently the ONLY song I've ever done (sober) karaoke to...

1. Salt N Pepa

Shoop

So, I'll pass it on to you...

What old school songs make you lose your freaking mind when they come on?