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)

When I got exactly what I wanted.

At this time of the year, while we are busy being thankful for what we have, whining for what we want, and rolling our eyes at our crazy families, I like to reflect on Christmases past and the lessons I've learned from them.

Picture it; it was 1989.

Big hair was calming down but the bangs were staying high. Girls' foreheads all over the Western world were being burned on curling irons. Neon colours were still staking their claim on at least 30% of "fashionable" wardrobes, mostly thanks to the likes of Vuarnet logos. No one in my class even knew who Vuarnet was, but we still had to own at least one thing from that brand (even if it was from the Tiger brand store which meant it had a slight imperfection that made its price 60% cheaper). I went there a lot with my mother.

Seriously, who the fuck is Vuarnet? I laugh now that I know . . . 23 years later.
I detest skiing!

Anyway, I was then at the stage that I didn't need toys anymore for Christmas.
I was mature.
I was sophisticated.
I was fashion forward.
I was 11.

All I wanted was this utterly amazing and outrageous winter jacket I had seen on a previous shopping excursion with my mother. I begged and pleaded for this jacket. It would be a statement piece! To channel my inner Ferris Bueller, "It was so choice." And also? It was over $100. My mother had flat out said no. Even at 11, I realized that that was a lot for a jacket, particularly to be worn for someone of my age but all rational thought had escaped me. I was fixated on that jacket and I needed to have it.

I played dirty.

Being the only child of a deceased only child had given me a particular advantage — I was spoiled as hell by my grandparents. Whenever my mother noticed me using my "powers", she'd rip into me like an enraged mama tiger, so I had to learn to be subtle and crafty with suggestions. Except for this jacket. I was ready to accept the heat as long as I could feel that cool textured nylon/polyester blend against my neck.

The first chance I got, I took my grandmother shopping and got her to buy it for me. I remember the adrenaline pumping through my veins as my grandmother handed the shop clerk her credit card. I could hear my heart thumping in my ears; I knew it was wrong but I never once hesitated.

Needless to say that on Christmas morning, when I unwrapped my present from my grandparents, while busy expressing my phony expression of surprise, I glanced at my mother; I could tell I was screwed. She was biting the inside of her lip like she did whenever she was utterly furious with me. I avoided her for most of the day.

The next day, she didn't yell or scream or do much of anything. She just walked passed me while she was cleaning and passively but coldly said, "I am disgusted with you." It was the first time since my whole obsession had begun that my actions really became apparent to me. Ugh.

The worst part was when I wore my new "spoils of war" to school. It really was a statement piece alright. I mean, I was always one of those that enjoyed standing out a little bit . . . but . . . not like a sore thumb. This jacket was a sore thumb.

I instantly hated it — more than I think I've ever hated a single item of clothing, ever.

But I had to wear it. All. Fucking. Winter.

And the year after as well.

T'was a worthy punishment.

Not the exact same jacket but pretty fucking close.

Seriously.

The lesson I learned from that year? Well, I guess it's pretty obvious. Be careful of what you think you want or must have at all costs — it might not be worth who you step on to get it.

A lot like fame, I would surmise.


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{Etsy image source}

Holiday Twittertainment

Because of family visitors, preparing food to the point of exhaustion, and having a couple fairly fantastic meltdowns (both me and the little people), these are what sporadically put a smile on my face over the last few weeks. Here are my Top Ten Tweets of December... and because I'm a self-proclaimed narcissist (and others have proclaimed it as well) I will start with 2 of my own special holiday tweets. At least I didn't favourite my own tweets, so you have to give me some credit. Enjoy!

This one was especially for Carri Brown, because she's so lucky that way:

The more I think about it, he likely did it on purpose.

We'll leave you two alone then ;)

Yes. This...

That would be divine. Or chocolate covered bacon balls.

Every time I see a car decorated like a reindeer, I want to crash into them, so... agreed!

This? Was just nerd-tastic and awesome.

Hulk laugh.

Make that a baker's dozen, darling!

And finally, the #1 sentiment that sums it all up...

And now I must get through my husband's birthday AND our anniversary, both of which are this week.

By a thread, people. 

By. A. Thread.

Fuck.

A Festive Parting Gift

Mark and I had been having brief encounters for the better part of a decade, off and on. Perhaps it was because there was no continuous affair as to why our 'Friends with Benefits' arrangement always worked so successfully. There was never any emotional attachment beyond our friendship, nor was there any jealously when one of us entered into a relationship with someone else. We just stopped having sex for that length of time and then when said relationship ended, it was understood that our sex would reconvene.

And so it was also understood among our other mutual friends that we had this special 'arrangement' but it was never acknowledged out loud or a part of any passing conversation, et cetera... until one Christmas. At this particular point in time, Mark and I hadn't had sex with each other for quite some time - I cannot remember if there was a particular reason or just because I lived a fair distance from him.

It was a party celebrating both my best friend's birthday and Christmas, at her parent's house. (Another sucker with a birthday too close to Christmas to separate the two) We had all been dipping into the Christmas cheer that night and things were winding down. There was about six of us remaining and it was decided to commence a card game of alcoholic Asshole.

Mark was sitting beside me, and therefore following after any card I would lay down before him. After a few rounds, I put down a hell of a cruel move (like an Ace on a Nine or something like that), to which Mark flared his nostrils, turned to me and said, "YOU'VE JUST FUCKED ME!"

Another one of our tipsy friends immediately replied, "Tell us something we don't know!"

There was about 2 long seconds of complete silence.

And then roaring laughter. From everyone, including Mark and myself. Finally it was out in the open, and it only took 7 years.

Perhaps it was that burst of comical tension release, but after another group had left, Mark and I decided we were "too drunk" to go home. My best friend crashed in her old room upstairs and Mark and I had the basement rec room to ourselves.

I need to also explain that although Mark and I had had sex on numerous occasions, I had never climaxed. As I've said before, it wasn't easy for me in the past (until this year, actually. Ahem), and most of the times were just hot quickie fucks after a party; sometimes in the forest.

OK, so this time? After carefully clearing a spot on the carpet to lay down a few layers of blankets, he went down on me like a starving animal. It was fan-fucking-tastic, and nothing like he'd done to me before. Wild. At one point, I could have sworn I felt his tongue tickling the bottom of my rib cage! The only shitty thing was the fact that my best friend's parents were asleep upstairs and I didn't exactly want them (or my friend, for that matter) to hear me screaming. He put his hand over my mouth while I proceeded to achieve a HUGE orgasm while doing my best to stay quiet.

It was the first time he'd got me to climax in 7 years. And it was the last time we would ever be together.
I met and started dating my would-be husband 3 weeks later.

Well, Mark, we'll always have Christmas. Or rather, the weekend before.

Same diff.

It's the thought that counts, not the nuts.

This is a semi-Wordless Wednesday. I say 'semi' because it's almost impossible for me to NOT crap on about something, even just a lil'bit. I have mentioned my 90 year old grandmother before when she gave me a sewing machine, but since Christmas is all about family and crap, I thought I would share with you the gifts that I have received from her this year... because they are pretty darn fantastic.

My first installment landed me this.

That is actually my Sharon, Lois & Bram cassette. I have no fucking idea where she found it. 

Then, I got another bag of goodies on Sunday that topped it off, and now my cup runneth over.

I like to think there's an ink bomb inside that will go off if I open these bags.

I don't believe this photo does the shape and size of these slippers justice.

I'm pretty sure my pug can fit into the top one like a sleeping bag.

They. Are. Rockin.

Thanks, Grandma. If nothing else, you're keeping it interesting!

Christmas is coming...

Christmas is coming,

My ass is getting fat.

The kids have all gone mental

And the dog just shat. 

I'm oddly rather horny —

Just a quickie shag'll do.

If you can't put out for Christmas

Then really, fuck you.  

Christmas is coming,
I don't mean to be a crank,
But get your shit together
And then I want a spank.

There's so much crap to do
And I hate to be so blunt.
But after all the chores are done
You need to lick my cunt.

Your folks are staying over —
A tiny piece of Hell.
I think I've more than earned
For you to ring my bell.

This time of year is when
I really start to twitch
'Cos Christmas is coming...
Ain't she a lucky bitch.

My Humble Dysfunctions? Yes, please!

I've always been a bit of a stationery nerd. I love a new pad of coloured paper, a fresh set of pencils, a funky designed organizer, and I sure do love the fuck out of a brand new Sharpie multi-pack. Oooh, hell yeah! When I was working part-time retail as a student, I never wanted to work in Staples (Business Depot, and the like) because of the whole 'don't crap where you eat' philosophy. I never wanted to lose that lust for good office supplies. So, naturally, when I go to shops that have stationery sections, I get a little lady wood goin' on.

But nothing could have prepared me for the euphoria I experienced when I found these journals in Chapters over the weekend. These diaries have THEE best covers I have ever seen!

I want them all; I must have them.

Santa? Are you hearing me right now? Time's ticking!
Fucking write this down, please.

...But not in these journals. 

Get your own.

Fuck off.

LOVE YOU, SANTA!

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