In light of yesterday’s entry, on my way to work today I remembered that I hadn’t applied deodourant. Then as I thought about it, this has been happening more frequently lately. Ew! Forgetting deodourant, what am I thinking? And why? Luckily (for you) I am not that smelly a person by nature, so missing the B.O. stick for a day is not life or death, but is this a subconscious way of trying to keep people at bay? Am I thinking that if I don’t wear it people will just leave me the fuck alone?

I can’t get out to the store for another 45 minutes and I’ve had numerous moments where I am inconspicuously trying to smell and make sure that I don’t smell. You know? Like those commercials where the girl reaches for something above her head and just kinda takes a whiff, just to make sure. So far, I’ve successfully evaded the smelly BO.

Dude, smell my armpits

Update: I’ve ventured to the store, I am now ‘jasmine orient’ fresh and so so smelly. Wanna sniff? Promise I don’t smell too slutty (watch the video link).

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Do you tend to reserve weekends for your family time? Avoid trips, social gatherings and such so that you can have some time together as a family?

Here over here and tell me out it! Viable Vixen wants to know!

Becoming a parent has changed my personal grooming habits in a way I never thought possible. I’ve always been a very clean person; shower everyday, shave regularly, wash my face and brush my teeth before bed. You know, the norm. Our society is so focused on personal hygiene and overall cleanliness, it’s practically bred into us. Those that are not so focused on their personal hygiene are commonly looked upon as un-kept, dirty; maybe so far as disgusting. They’s some nasty ass bitches.

But parents? That’s a different class all on it’s own. Why? Because we’re forced to abandon our “way of life”; our instincts for showering daily, washing our face and removing crusted ol’ nasty eye boogers before rushing to the store for milk or diapers. We’re forced to embark on society as filthy slobs for the sake of our children. To be covered in snot, shit, vomit and whatever else has been hurled in our general direction, on a daily basis, all in the name of our offspring.

The vanity of life is really taken for granted in the years before children. I was one to never leave the house without a shower, a completed application of makeup and tidy, matching! clothes. I would be primped and proper for just about every outing. Now? How about right now for instance. I am wearing oversized jogging pants and a dirty t-shirt from my past employer with a long-sleeved white shirt that has a stain from children’s paint on the forearm (washable paint my ass!) as well as mud from playing in the backyard. I’ve been to the store, to the nail salon and outside with Carter for a few hours this morning. No shower, ratty hair, no make-up. Frankly, I’m not sure if I even brushed my teeth this morning. Classy, yes. So hot. You know you want me.

Yesterday at bath time (which I really hate and Mike normally does), I stripped off my long sleeved shirt, to my tank top, since Carter regularly soaks the entire bathroom. I was bombarded with a face full of water, and as I wiped my forehead on my upper arm I noticed just how damn hairy my armpit was! Oh. my. God. When was the last time I shaved those fuckers!? I was disgusted with myself. So disgusted that I embarked on a detailed hair removal process after Carter was put to bed. Shaved and cleaned up. Everything. I felt (almost) like a woman again. How on Earth do we let it get so bad, or is it just me? Am I the only one that needs to change the razor blade twice to clean up months (and I don’t even know how many months) of overgrowth? Ick. Please, tell me it’s happened to you.

Until I had to work last night from 12:30am to 7:30am and have had only about 40 minutes sleep in two days. Here I sit. A dirt bag. Without a care in the world. Oh the horror of it all!

What tricks do you have to share with this scumbag? Do you have a schedule of what gets done when? How do you find the time to maintain your parts? Please, I wanna know!

Apparently VERY tiring as well. I wouldn’t know since I’ve been slacking off all day.

We’re definitely the Best. Parents. Ever.

Here I am. Finally in the realm of Wordpress. I bought the domain in January and have been diligently trying to learn this platform. There’s still bugs to sort out, but I think I’m getting it. Thank you to Karen and BellaMommy who held my hand along the way (instead of holding my head underwater as they may have wanted to at some points). It’s a whole new world from Blogger and I think I am going to be very comfortable here.

So if you have random posts showing up in your readers (because I assume you’ve updated your feeds), then you’ll get to read all the great stuff again. Suckers.

And if you know how to retrieve comments that I’ve lost between a Wordpress.com free site and this one, please enlighten me! They are trapped in cyberspace somewhere and I want them back!!

So, welcome to Temporarily Me, without all that tag long Blogsp*t crap. Finally shook that shit off. Feels good too!

I’ll jump in and try and stay afloat. Don’t worry if somethings are askew once and a while as I try and figure everything out.

I am bitchy. Annoyed. Fed up.

I have no clothes. Well, not completely true because I am wearing something even though it slightly resembles rags. Tattered and worn out rags. At least you’re not seeing my albino white ass walking down the road neked. That would be a sight.

As many other women, I am inflicted with Ihavenothingtowear Ihateallmyfuckinglclothes disease. Every morning is faced with utter hatred for my closet and dresser. Everything either doesn’t fit, out of style (who am I kidding, what style did I ever have?), even worse.. so hideous it should be burned instead – whoever thought that men’s polyester golf pants were cool should be shot. Wait, that’s ME!. A paper bag would be more appealing then some of this shit that I’ve held on to.
I can’t tell you how many shirts and pants I have hoarded away thinking that I’ll be a size 9 again. Really? It’s been almost 5 years since I’ve worn them, do I honestly think that they’re going to be worn again? And even if I could wear them, they would probably be fit for the burn pile too! Gah!

I avoid change rooms like the plague; with those judgmental florescent lights and fun house-like mirrors (or is that just my ass?); it’s enough to make me want to shatter that fuckin’ mirror and slice my wrist with a shard of broken glass. (Too far?)
That just got me thinking. You know what the funniest job would be? To watch people try and squeeze their fat asses into tight pants through a one way mirror in a change room. Sick, but freakin’ funny! Sign me up!

I delayed far too long. Me and my new “mombody” just have to get over it, bite the bullet and go shopping. Find something to tuck in the muffin top, strap the girls together and get my shit together.

Should be good times. I’m looking forward to it. Really. I am. Can’t wait.

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Hey you working parents! Remember your first day back to work after the birth of a child (be it the first or the fourth)? Come tell us about it!

For the past three weeks Mike has been on course for workwhich means that he is up with us in the morning as opposed to out the door at 5:30am.
It’s been GREAT for me! I sleep in (until 6am), have a leisurely shower, a chance to shave (if i want to. note to self: do it!), even get my make up and hair done; all without the whines of a toddler wanting a bottle and an ass change.
Since Mike’s been on course he offered to take on the morning responsibilities of getting Carter ready as well as pick up and drop off (I think he did it so that he can drive the better car). I’ve been loving the “vacation” from my usually so hectic mornings. Mike, not so much.

From the day I returned to work and took on the responsibility of getting Carter up and ready as well as daycare pick up and drop off. Mike always had some dig:

What are you complaining about, it’s not like it’s hard…
You have to dress him, sit him at the table and then take him to daycare, how hard can it be?
You’re always complaining about it, maybe if you were more organized…

For any parent that has a set time to get there shit together and get out of the house with a toddler in tow, you know what a feat this is.

Toddlers are one of the most unpredictable beings on the face of the earth. Forget the fuckin’ wild animals. No lion, tiger, shark, or even a ChowChow has anything on a stubborn, tired and picky toddler. You have to watch your back with these little ankle biters; for one second they are happy and laughing … then you utter words “Want breakfast?” all hell breaks loose and the kid loses his damn mind! I don’t think Carter is dealing well with having choices. If you tell him what he’s eating and tell him where to sit, he’s better off.

Mike has this thing with liberating a 20 month old and letting him make his own decisions. What he wants to eat, where he wants to sit, what fuckin’ spoon he wants to use! Granted it’s a great plan, but not always necessary and more times then not, it’s a hindrance.
After Mike goes through the list of choices of what colour spoon, what chair, what sippy cup the kids eyes are practically bugged out of his head, he’s delusional with hunger and annoyed to his very core. It’s a tailspin of utter chaos from that point on. The rest of their morning ends up with Carter crying and both of them frustrated.

Where am I? In the washroom, peacefully applying my make-up and smirking. I am so bad. He thinks it’s so damn easy. Sucker!

Now instead of him telling me that he understands how hard it really is and that he won’t assume how it easy it is anymore, you know, since he’s been in the situation… he says that I don’t do anything! Carter’s crying, won’t eat and all I do is ignore him without offering to help out. *sigh* Will I ever win?

Kids are temperamental and difficult, especially when they sense your frustration. It’s a lose lose battle as far as I’m concerned. Just keep your cool and realize that children don’t have concept of time.

See? Cool as a clam.

(Until I am back in the front line in 2 weeks.)

Let the vacation live on! I’m living this up as long as I can dammit!

Don’t you just love when you get a call last minute about having to work on the weekend? And to work through the night on the weekend? That’s even better. I love those calls. Love. Them.

Piss. Piss. Piss. I have to work this weekend starting at 2am until 7am because that’s the only time that we can get inside the subway tunnels (the trains aren’t running and we have to be at track level), all to check and see if anything is different then it was before construction started adjacent to the tunnel. Very interesting work, yes. But at 2am? Nah.

Though this happens very rarely now, since I am more of a 7 – 4 (yes, not 9 – 5 – how’d I get screwed in that deal anyways?) worker, WITH WEEKENDS OFF, it really sucks when I get The Call. It throws off my entire weekend since Carter’s usually bright eyed and ready to go as I am pulling in the driveway from a night’s work. Only one thing was shitter then this; getting called into work when I was a teenager and a college student. Those were good times.

I think that’s why I hate The Call so much. Remember how much of a damper it puts on plans with your friends? Everything’s set and you’re ready to get your drink on and all of a sudden, work needs you. Can’t say no because you need the money so bad, right? Why with all that bar hopping and socialization, can’t do it with no funds. Or worse? Having a scheduled shift the morning after some heavy partying; at 5am, pissed drunk, adamant that you’re going to be up and ready to go at 8am.

During college I worked in retail, at a chain clothing store (clothing store chain?) for about 30 hrs a week – nearly full time since student loans were insufficient (read: not enough to support my partying ways as well as pay for school) my second year. It was a mediocre job, nothing to it and it was money in my pocket as well as a clothing discount – can’t go wrong there.

To be honest, I can’t believe I actually lasted as long as I did. I was probably one of the worst employees there (though I could sell you a paper bag if I tried). All the other kids were high school students and I was The College Student. I set a great example for those children, their parents should be proud.

If I came into work on a Saturday I was hungover more often then not, sometimes un-showered with too much perfume masking the stench of stale cigarette smoke, mascara smeared under my eyes and ratty hair hauled back into a messy bun. I. was. hot.
Sometimes getting to work was a small feat on it’s own. They probably thought I was the worst cook ev-ah after I seemingly had food poisoning *wink, wink* about once a month. Those were actually the days that I spent most of the time visiting my porcelain friend. I can honestly say I don’t miss that porcelain guy, since I’ve upgraded to cars and public washrooms.

To live that lifestyle today would be utter torture for me. Now? To stay up sober past 10 o’clock is challenging enough, throw a couple beers into the mix and I’m a complete write off. Good Times.

As parents how do you find the shift work treating you? Is it really as hard as it seems to be for me? Or am I a complete whimp?

What a gorgeous couple of days! Many hours spent basking in the beautiful sunshine, family, friends and an all around great weekend.

Tell me, how’d you spend your time?

We went to visit my parents. My mom turned “The big 5-0″ on Saturday; our immediate family congregated for the weekend which was wonderful, since it’s a rare occurrence. Though we all live relatively close to each other it seems like we are never together as a family anymore; guess that’s what happens when you get older and have your own lives and families.

I can’t even tell you the number of times someone shield their eyes for fear of going blind commented about my lily white ass legs, already. My meager attempt to give them some colour resulted in my first burn of the season. My skin can attest to the amount of time I spent taking in the rays. Oh. My. I. Am. Red. Like a lobster, so I’ve been told.
Stupid me thought that the sun can’t be that bad since it is the first time it’s been out in Oh, FOREVER! and chose to forgo the sunscreen. I was sorely mistaken. After 26 years years you’d think I’d understand that the sun can (and does) burn even the first time one sits out for the season.

But as this lobster-like shade of red begins to fade, you think I’ll have a tan? Nope. Albino white again. Guess I should take what I can get. Can’t blame me for trying, right?

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I’ve decided to start Weight Watchers again. Since my winter was spent indoors doing nothing but sitting on my ass and binging on anything and everything like a fucking pig I’ve gained back 10 of the 20 lbs I had lost last fall. So, back on the wagon I go. I wanna get this fatso ass of mine lookin’ tight(er), so seeing my reflection doesn’t result in gaging and convulsions anymore. My goal, to lose 20lbs by June is quite attainable, but will I succeed? I dunno. Depends on how many Dairy Queen ice creams I consume over the next couple month. Mmmmmm Dairy Queen.

Is it fair to blame it on having a kid? I mean sure, it definitely loosen things up and change your body composition… but can I still blame Carter after nearly two years?

Funny how one becomes so much more conscious of body image once the weather warms up and one if forced to wear less clothing. Hiding under sweaters and pants dose wonders for my self esteem, summer weather – not so much. The thought of getting into my bathing suit makes me want to sob into my pillow.

Not to mention, the sun shining off my glowing lilywhiteass body would be like the ultimate beacon to be seen at the Space Station. Maybe like that search light they use for the The Bat Signal. Seriously, I bet it could be done.

It takes skillz to pull off being this white. Don’t be a hater.

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I just don’t have any creative juices flowing lately. As hard as I am trying to form sentences and conjugate (I mis-spelled it the first time, and spell checker suggest copulate. tee-hee! Dirty spell checker.) something remotely worth reading it’s damn hard sometimes, even harder when I’m not “in that frame of mind”. I’m even getting bored by this trash I am spewing. My apologies.

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Come, pop by my new digs for a visit and a read. You know you wanna! We’re up and ready, tell us what you think! I’m a lit-tle late with the invite, but it’s an invite nonetheless.