The Wrath of God June 26, 2008

Are you there god? It’s me, Kirstin… God? uhhh, WTF? Like, seriously, what is this sh*t? I ask you for something worthy of an awesome blog entry and this is what you give me? Is my suffering really what you would consider “awesome”? Although it would explain a lot if you do…

Last Night, a.k.a. The Saddest Story You Will Ever Hear

5:30: Kirstin arrives home from work and makes dinner, plays with son while husband goes to work.

6:00: Kirstin receives confirmation that she is required to attend a big ol’ sleepover at sister-in-law’s house so that the whole flimin-flamin-family can drive mother-in-law to hospital for minor surgery following morning at 5:30 a.m. In Kirstin’s opinion a lobotomy may require a sleepover. Quadruple Bypass? Sure let’s sleep over. This surgery is neither of those things and Kirstin is not convinced it’s absolutely 100% necessary for the whole family to get up-in-arms and rally together. To clarify, Kirstin’s role in said sleepover is to baby-sit both Julian and his cousin Samantha between the hours of 5:30 and wake-up time while everyone else (a.k.a. the important adults) take MIL to the hospital. Thanks. ‘Preciate that.

8:30: SIL arrives to pick up Kirstin & Jules. In car Julian looks like he’s about to fall asleep.

8:40: arrive at SIL’s house. Julian spies cousin’s pink electric guitar and looks alarmingly NOT sleepy.

9:00: toddler rock band in full swing. Kirstin pours herself glass of wine.

9:15: Kirstin, the proverbial wet blanket to all things that are Three Apples High and somewhat lacking in musical talent suggests getting into pajamas and having some milk. Milk anyone? Muscle Relaxant? Tranquilizer dart?

9:17: Kirstin wonders how it is possible that she’s by all indications invisible while wearing such a shockingly bright hue of turquoise?

9:20: Kirstin calls upon some archived wrestling moves honed during the 80s and manages to get Julian into clean diaper and jammies. Props to Uncle Jonathan for forcing Kirstin to watch endless hours of WWF back in the time of Rowdy Roddy Piper.

9:21: Kirstin recalls a cartoon featuring the wrestling characters of yore. Was this a figment of her imagination or did it exist? Anyone?

9:40: Both kids are in pajamas, have milk and are seated on the couch watching Dora’s Pirate Adventure (Note: f*ck morals and values and raising your kids the “right” way. If I can get them to fall asleep watching tv I’ll take it in a heartbeat).

9:50: It’s time to go up for sleep. Samantha and SIL go up to her bedroom and Kirstin and Julian go up to the spare room. Also known as the “toy room”. Great. This should be easy.

9:55: Kirstin clears bed of toys, piles of blankets, more toys, outgrown toddler clothes, toys, a few toys, extra pillows, toys and toys. Julian goes hog wild and spins around “toy room” in fashion reminiscent of Tasmanian Devil.

10:00: Kirstin hears SIL return downstairs. Samantha is asleep. Kirstin contemplates calling a cab to take her ass home to her own bed in a room that is decidedly less stimulating.

10:01 – 10:40: Kirstin sings, cajoles, fights, pleads, prays, soothes, pats, cuddles, begs and offers bribes in an attempt to get Julian to go to sleep.

10:01 – 10:40: Julian sings, chats, rolls, plays, jumps, pokes, giggles, farts, kicks and gives cold shoulder in attempt to turn mother into babbling crazy person. Eventually he asks simply if he can go sit on the naughty step.

10:41: Kirstin longs for the days of beds with bars that could not be climbed and takes Julian downstairs (something she has NEVER DONE in 2-1/2 years) and decides she will let him sit with her on her lap until he falls asleep as lying in the toy room is clearly not providing a calming sleep environment.

11:00: Julian is looking sleepy and SIL suggests we try the bed thing again. Kirstin acquiesces since it IS her house ‘n’ all but with every step up the stairs somewhere, somehow a phantom voice whispers “lost cause lost cause lost cause”.

11:01 – 11:30: Kirstin sings, cajoles, fights, pleads, prays, soothes, pats, cuddles, begs and offers bribes in an attempt to get Julian to go to sleep.

11:01 – 11:30: Julian sings, chats, rolls, plays, jumps, pokes, giggles, farts, kicks, and gives cold shoulder and then insists, once and for all, that he wants to sit on the naughty step.

11:30: Kirstin is now frustrated, hot and inexplicably furious with her husband. She agrees that if Julian wants to go on the naughty step that’s where he’s going. She puts him on the naughty step, tells him not to move and goes downstairs

11:32: Kirstin pours herself a 2^nd glass of wine.

11:33: eerie silence from the naughty step.

11:35: still silent. Kirstin downs wine and half-heartedly wonders, “if a kid falls asleep at the top of a staircase does he automatically fall forward, catapulting himself down the stairs and breaking his own neck?”

11:37: a quiet question from the naughty step – “mommy? Can I get off the naughty step now?”

11:38: Kirstin debates the appropriate response. Is it: “of course sweetheart, come sit w/ mommy and have a cuddle”? or “you put yourself there, dumbass, whadaya askin me for?”

11:40: Kirstin is repositioned on the couch with Julian watching a Korean soap opera that neither Kirstin nor Julian can understand because we do not speak Korean. Kirstin’s hope is that it will prove to be so unbelievably boring that Julian will HAVE TO FALL ASLEEP FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST GO TO SLEEP YOU INSANE LITTLE PERSON.

11:45: Kirstin is so way engrossed in Korean soap opera. This show is the bomb and I don’t even know what they’re saying. Jules did you just see that sh*t? That dude just died in a blazing inferno! What the… Jules? Jules?

11:47: the kid sleeps. Halleluiah.

11:55: Kirstin is back downstairs having put kid to bed. Korean soap is over. Sniff. Now just time to finish bottle of wine and wait for husband to arrive for sleepover.

12:15: phone call from husband. He’s decided to sleep at home and show up in the morning instead. Interesting seeing as I believe this whole Fun Family Sleepover Extravaganza was his idea. Oh, ya, and it’s his family.

12:15 – 12:45: Kirstin watches half an episode of Friends and half an episode of Sex In The City because Thou Shall Never Sleep Without Half Hour Of Grown-Up Time Or Thou Shalt Die.

12:45: Kirstin brushes teeth, washes face, revisits WWF cartoon question. There was a Hulk Hogan cartoon character, no? Bastardly compromised temporal lobe makes remember anything damn-near impossible. I hate you temporal lobe.

1:00: Kirstin falls asleep.

5:50: Julian wakes up screaming about DROPPING THE BEACH BALL OMG I DROPPED THE BEACH BALL THE WORLD IS GOING TO END.

6:00: Samantha wakes up having been disturbed by the beach ball episode. Surround-sound screaming ensues.

6:15: Kirstin has a toddler on each hip and is singing some song about daffodils. WTF? Kirstin doesn’t even know what kind of sh*t is coming out of her mouth. It’s 6:15. Did we mention 6:15? and the singing? No wonder Julian has nightmares.

FAST FORWARD TO 8:30 a.m.: husband shows up to take Kirstin to work and Julian home to bed. If it wasn’t for the McDonalds breakfast in husband’s hand husband may have been forced to lay down life for the greater good.

Real time: Kirstin is living on 4 cups of coffee and the realization that God is not her friend. Nap room beckons but Kirstin fears she will never resurface if she goes in there. Toy Room is forever banished from Kirstin’s life. I will not return to that place. Ever. Nor shall I ever look at another Drop ‘n’ Roar Dinosaur.

OOOH! In other news we booked a night at Great Wolf Lodge near the end of July w/ John’s family. Can anyone say FAMILY SLEEPOVER!?

No no no, when there are waterslides involved it’s SO not the same thing. Really. I swear.

June 25, 2008

Internet! How are you?! It’s been too long – I’ve missed you! Where have I been? No where good, sadly. I had a nice long weekend and actually went out and drank on Saturday night and then paid for it dearly when Julian woke up at 6:30 on Sunday and then I’ve actually been pretty busy at work so far this week so there you have it. No being hog-tied and thrown in the back of someone’s pick-up, no terrible accidents that landed me in the hospital with no access to hi-speed internet, just a lack of blogging inspiration and some social & fiscal responsibilities…

Soooo… what have you been doing? Ya, I really can’t think of anything to say today. I’ll think long and hard about it tonight and I promise a really good blog entry tomorrow. Seriously. I PROMISE.

(God, if you’re listening, please send me some kind of divine intervention worthy of a kick-ass blog entry. Thanks. You’re the sh*t)

Mystery in the House of Ahn June 19, 2008

Yay! Long weekend for me! I have the day off tomorrow to take care of a secret project that I shall reveal to you, Internet, only when the time is right. I know we’ve been through a lot and you know all the intimate details of my intimates but this must remain secret for now (aren’t you intrigued?)

In the meantime, whoohoooo! long weekend! And then isn’t the next weekend a long weekend? Whooohooooo!

Anyway, i have nothing to say again today except for: whoooohooooooooo!

C ya suckers

A List of Stuff In Place of Thinking of Something to Write About June 18, 2008

I have nothing much to blog about today so instead I’ll give you a run-down of the things that are on my desk right now:

1) a banana & a bag of baby carrots from Monday (I’ve chosen, instead, to eat cookies & big chunks of chocolate each day) (the baby carrots actually might be from last week so my question now is how long can you leave a bag of baby carrots out on your desk before they’re too old to eat?)

2) a WAY cute pic of Jules

3) a telephone

4) a step file-folder holding lots of files that make me look important and organized

5) three crusty old pieces of cutlery that I probably used for lunches last week and still have not returned to the kitchen even tho I go there all the time

6) hand lotion (that is useless and soon to be replaced with mini desktop version of fish hot tub) (picture when you used to go to Swiss Chalet and they brought the little bowl of warm water to wash your hands in but with fish in it instead of a tiny piece of floaty lemon)

7) cowboy hat (I brought it in for a coworker to borrow because her son was in a play and I haven’t taken it home. One day one of the creative directors said to me, “do you wear that hat in every day?” BAH! I don’t know what I love most about that moment – the fact that he thinks I’d don a cowboy hat for my commute EVERY DAY WITHOUT FAIL and hop my delusional self on the streetcar thinking it’s my trusty horse-friend and hollering “giddy up!” as the car moves out of Broadview Station or just that the fact that he thinks I’m such a loser that I would wear this hat for the purpose of fashion? The possibilities are endless. That was a good day)

8 ) a multitude of post-it notes with cryptic messages scribbled on them that I hesitate to throw away in case one day I remember what they mean and need the info to keep the world from exploding (some highlights include: “Liquitex colours” “2520 – JQ575 – 725” “copy due on SOW” [this next one looks important]: “MEETING CANCEL Trish ph #”) Oops. Hope the meeting got cancelled in time and that Trish’s ph # was alerted

9) stainless water bottle

10) calculator (when people walk by sometimes I like to jab at the calculator. Again, it helps me to appear busy and important)

11) OH and this one’s a surprise – a tape dispenser. Everyone always comes by asking if I have tape and/or a stapler. It seems now that I do have one of these things. I wonder where you came from little tape dispensing friend? Alas I suspect someone has just left you behind and will come looking for you soon enough.

Alright, y’all, I gotta go (seriously, I’m getting SO good at f*cking the dog at work that I actually find I barely have time to fit it all in nowadays. I’m all, “what? It’s 2:00 already? Where has the day gone?” but I’ve done NOTHING. I may start holding seminars to share my gift with others)

Me and my big mouth… and my timesheets June 17, 2008

P.S. I’ve just started doing my timesheets for last week that were due by end of day yesterday so I am already late and that makes it worse and I don’t know why but it just does. I hate them more than anything. If it wasn’t for the fact that it’s my mother’s birthday today and I baked her a lemon meringue pie instead of a birthday cake that I get to eat when I get home I may decide to stop living

P.P.S. In other news I may have ostracized myself further in my place of work by making a joke yesterday via email to a coworker. She has not responded via reply email or in person to said joke even though I have spoken with her since then. I am starting to believe she didn’t get that I was joking and I have instead made her very uncomfortable. I must remember to a) not be a jackass to people who don’t know me and b) not be a jackass to people who don’t know me ESPECIALLY via email where things can be taken in the wrong context. Oopsie.

P.P.P.S. Now that you’re dying to know what my offensive joke was, it was this: (background: I do the resource management for the creative team so if people are finishing up a job or don’t have much on the go they will often email me to tell me they are going to be available to take on some work)

COWORKER X’s EMAIL: Kirstin I’m free tomorrow afternoon

KIRSTIN’s EMAIL: Coworker X, are you asking me out?

HA! That’s funny right? No? Not funny? I think I put a little Smiley Icon after it to help indicate that I was joking… Does the Smiley Icon sometimes translate into Pervy Smiley Icon? Okay, be honest, Internet, on a scale of 1 to 10 how likely am I to have a sexual harassment suit on my hands?

P.P.P.P.S. I’ve effectively managed to further procrastinate doing my timesheets with this little post-script-extravaganza but now, and with a heavy heart, I must return to the Evil Land Of The Timesheets. Good-bye. I shall miss your procrastination-friendly-time spendyness. Sniff.

HERE fishy fishy fishy… June 17, 2008

So I’m of Scottish/British descent and my dude is of Korean descent. The culture thing hasn’t been a huge deal in our relationship (fortunately I love kimchi and he loves… ignoring me while I eat Marmite) but there are a few racial differences that always seem to come up. One of these subjects? What John lovingly (if you look deeply into the expression of disgust, that is, you can sense the love) refers to as my “honky feet”. I have way dry skin, yo. Like, my fingers and heels actually crack and bleed in the winter sometimes because they’re so dry. Ya. Ew. But John? I swear that guy doesn’t have a single dry patch on the bottom of his feet. They’re pristine and supple. And he insists it’s cuz “his people” just have nice skin (sidebar: his mother does have only 1-1/2 wrinkles and is pushing senior citizen status so he may be right).

ANYWAY

I’ve now found the answer to all my problems and IRONICALLY it comes from Korea. No, no, scratch that. I think it comes from Turkey but I’ve heard about it through the Koreans. My in-laws just got back from a trip to Seoul where they went to a little spa-resorty-waterparky funland that had this unique water-therapy feature (and y’all know I’m all about the water therapies). Anyhoo, check this:

It’s a hot tub-type pool filled with little tiny fish that eat dead skin! So you stick your honky feet into the water, try to ignore the sheer bizzarity as mini fish gnaw away all your scaly dead skin then pull them out and VOILA! They’re all buffed and beautiful (I imagine this to be a way stranger feet version of a bowling-ball-shiner: stick it in, pull it out: *gleam* “I can’t look directly at them! The glare off your feet is blinding!”) As a matter of interest, it doesn’t just have to be your feet, you could, as the brave woman in the pic seems to have done, plunge your entire body in there (sidebar2: she looks like she’s enjoying the mini fish a little too much, don’t you think? I mean, I like the idea of fish taking care of my honky feet but do I really want them gnawing all up in my crotchal area? Not so sure) (sidebar3: taking a closer look, does she even have any feet left? I think the fish might have eaten them clear off. In fact, they seem to be devouring her from the bottom up. She must has gots some NASTY honky shins).

Living Outside Of The Law June 16, 2008

Oh no! Internet! I’m in trouble yet again (but not with my own undergarments this time thank GOD). I went into the bathroom at work and after the hand washing, etc. I stopped in front of this big wall of shelves that hold all kinds of emergency stuff (free tampons/pads, hand soap, hair de-frizzer, and much, much more). I stopped and put my hands on my hips and let out a big sigh and thought, “hmmm, what can I find here to either 1) entertain myself for the remainder of this OH SO BORINGEST of BORING days; 2) is there anything here I can steal for my own personal use thus saving me money from my monthly budget to, instead, spend recklessly on more alcohol and/or presents for me; 3) is there anything here that I can MacGyver into a fun activity for Julian to, once again, secure my position as coolest mom EV-VUR?” and I had just picked up a mysterious box (which turned out to be a big fat disappointing box of gauze pads) when a woman came in and gave me that, “I know what you did last summer you stole gauze pads from your new office for the purpose of personal gain” look and I quickly tossed the gauze pads back on the shelf and ran which was WAY the wrong way to go. Like, if I’d taken a gauze pad and feigned a pained expression and clutched my side at least I could have played off, like, stab-wound-requiring-new-dressing or recovering-from-recent-surgery but NO! I sold myself out by acting like I got caught and now it’s going to be a million times harder to steal stuff from the emergency bathroom stash because the office fuzz’ll be eyeballing me 24-7. I suck.

But maybe a free tampon’ll cheer me up…

Uh-oh. I’m officially an addict. Here’s hoping this all ends well with me coming BFFs with LiLo in rehab.

Kirstin’s Response To A Message From Her Underwear June 13, 2008

Old broke-down underwear, I’m waaaay sorry yo. You’re totally right. You’ve been treated unfairly and after your years of service I should not have spoken of you so harshly to the Internet. Perhaps the reason I do pick you over the nice underwear is because you are so comfortable and because of our long and complicated history. I will never relinquish you to the perverts. Please. I beg you. No panty-saw.

A Message From Kirstin’s Underwear June 13, 2008

Uh… Pardon me? Yes, down here. This is Kirstin’s underwear speaking. I just wanted to say a few words on behalf of all the old threadbare underwear in the drawer that was viciously and unnecessarily ATTACKED in the previous post. I want to point out that we, as a group, have been there valiantly and loyally standing by you and your nether regions during good times and bad and we resent terribly the sentiments expressed in your most recent “blog”. We were new and attractive and cheering you on when you were still single and actually having promiscuous sex. We cried with you at your wedding, we partied on your honeymoon and we stretched with you during nine months of pregnancy. We’ve exercised utter discretion through the post-pregnancy-occasional-incontinence – even when you bought Julian his mini-trampoline and insisted, day after day, on bouncing when we all knew what the outcome would be and now this? Pardon my French but what the Sam Hill is going on here? For that matter, if you want to get into it, I have a few comments of me own: T-shirt? You’re brand new and not only are you splattered with olive oil, you’re starting to fray at the bottom. Your quality is, quite frankly, shit. And jeans? Do you really think you’re still fashionable? You not only look appalling but you, as well, are aging long before your time. Flip-flops? Do you honestly believe you fit in here at all? This is a place of business and you two look quite foolish. And bangs? Don’t even get me started.

I am, in fact, declaring a state of war. WE WILL NOT GO DOWN INTO THE CAVE OF PERVERTS WITHOUT A FIGHT! Look forward to a long, ugly battle in which we will use all the weapons in our arsenal (which include wedgies, atomic wedgies, camel-toe wedgies, skid-mark usage for the purpose of evil, and the much-unknown and under-rated panty-saw). You may or may not also be hearing from our lawyer.

Good day to you madam.

Whatcha got under there? June 13, 2008

Mercy we’ve had some good times over the past few days haven’t we Internet? We’ve had some audience participation from my two dedicated blog readers, we’ve laughed we’ve shared… Good times. Good, good times.

So now I’m about to share something new. It’s not pretty but I think we’re ready for it. I was getting dressed this morning and realized that I have a weird habit. I horde underwear. Yes. Underwear. I gots a little collection of really truly nice underwear (because my mother bought them for me) (I wish I was kidding) (future blog topic: Your Mother Showing Up At Your Door With A La Senza Bag Full Of Sexy Thongs: Coping With The Grief & Subsequent Therapy – stay tuned) (she didn’t spring for a bra tho which is too bad cuz I really need a bra) so, I have these nice lacey pretty pretty sexy yumma thongs and then I have a collection of thongs that look like they’re fresh out of the shopping cart of Pee-Stinky Sally No Home and I NEVER wear the nice pretty ones. I always pass them over in favour of the O.L.D. broke-down ones. And WHY? Why do I do this? I believe somewhere in the deep recesses of my brain I am saving the nice ones for a special occasion which is DING DING DING loooooOOOOOPY for the following 11 reasons:

1) nobody sees your f*cking underwear, Kirstin, hence the word “under”.

2) if you did have a “special occasion” pop up in your, uh, NON EXISTENT social calendar it would require one pair of nice underwear. ONE. It’s doubtful you need 17 pairs on stand-by waiting for you to have somewhere to go.

3) you’re married and thus you’re not gonna be all up in a club bustin the Roger Rabbit hoping to go home with some random guy who will appreciate the delicate beauty of your special occasion lacey thong.

4) even if you weren’t married and were gonna be all up in a club bustin the Roger Rabbit hoping to go home with some random guy, he’d be a guy. Probably a drunk guy. And, thus, would still not appreciate the delicate beauty of your special occasion lacey thong and rather would sway a little and look at you from his droopy drunken half-eyes and proceed to rip off any undergarment without noticing it cuz “stop prancing around in your underwear already and let’s get to the good stuff before I pass out”.

5) back to the “you’re married” thing? Well, you’re married and so sex is pretty much a crap-shoot (will we? won’t we? honey, let’s assess after we’ve evaluated what’s on the PVR, how much alcohol has been consumed, the temperature, the humidity, the exhaustion, the ache in my left elbow, your gas, Julian’s sleep pattern, when I last shaved my legs, your tension headache and whether or not the pervy neighbour is afoot) so you may as well wear the nice ones just in case, no? Like, what if tonight’s the night? hot-damn!

6) this list is becoming a little boring and nonsensical and I haven’t had breakfast yet so maybe I should go do that and come back and finish it.

7) ew, speaking of pervs, on the way back from the kitchen I saw an employee I’ve never seen before and he smiled at me and EW it was the perviest pervy smile ever to pervy itself into the land of the perverts. LESTER’S IN DA HOUSE.

8 ) which brings me to my next point: what about all the non-pervy boyz & girlz in the world who so often get a peak at the top of your thong when you bend over to, ya know, snatch the rat poison from Julian’s hands as he’s about to toss it back with a chaser of apple juice? Don’t THOSE poor innocent souls deserve to see the nice underwear to curb the unpleasantness of the ass-top-squashyness? I mean, throw a fraying discoloured thong on top of the ass-top-fat and it’s kind of adding insult to injury.

9) Ack. Perv flashback. Don’t these guys know they’re gross? and if not shouldn’t we be informing them in some kind of office-intervention-program so they can go and live in underground caves and communicate through morse code only and eat bugs and rain water and we won’t have to be infested by their grossosity?

10) Why was I talking about my underwear again? Oh yes, the nice underwear and my boycott of it. Maybe pervy could take all the old ones underground when he goes and then I won’t have a choice but to wear the nice AND it’ll give pervy something play with. Sweet.

11) This has gone on way longer than I’d planned and has outlived it’s own interest factor. Sorry. I’ll go now.

Bye!