Daxohol

Yikes! Stripes!

I take it everyone is busy working on their scandalous photos?

Today I heard the new White Stripe's album.  There is a song on there entitled "Take, Take, Take".  In the song he talks about running into Rita Hayworth in a seedy bar.  Here's were I do that whole cliche music consumer analyzes the lyrics and comes up with their artistic interpretation and writes it in their blog.  The general impression I get, is that one of the underlying messages he could be eluding to is the intense, often greedy and creepy nature of demand that celebrities get from their fans.

And it's all Gary's fault.  Why? How? "oh poor Gary! Leave him alone!"  No.  I'll tell you why! It's actually quite cool!

One time, Gary and Unckie A took off to Chicago "to go and take in some Improv"  Which is a super cool and highly productive thing to do as an improviser.  As it turns out it was Gay Pride. Hmmmm.  All I know, is that they returned with photos of really cute muscley guys claiming "they were just for you" (meaning me).  Unckie A was shot in the ass with a super soaker.  At one point in their scandalous love parade, they bump into none other than my wife Meg White and my back-up-husband Jack White (White Stripes).  Gary politely asked "would you mind stopping for a photo?  I'm from Canada, [yes, he pulled the "But I'm Canadian" card] and my wife is a HUGE fan and would be totally thrilled if I brought her home a picture of you guys".  Naturally Jack blew right past them in a hurry mumbling something crazy, but Meg was kind enough to politely decline as "they were in a hurry".  I wanted to lick Gary's lungs for inhaling the carbon dioxide that came from being blown off by White Stripes.

Then I hear this song.  I am sure.  That my husband?  Is a delicate gem of inspiration, that actually made it to the big time.

BTW - Daxon was conceived upon Gary's return from this trip.  So girls? Send your husbands/boyfriends/Servicemen to Pride!  *wink*

Yes, I already put away the crack pipe, shut up.

Off to go yell at trees.

Happy Stupid Birthday!

To my dear mother.

We tried to have a nice birthday for her.  We really did.  Unfortunately today was destined to be one of those days where you just can't seem to do anything right, and really, we should have just aimed alot lower.  Our expectations of what to expect from ourselves today was obviously just not realistic.  I mean, really, to think Daxon could be napped by 1:00 so that we can go to the Rubber Duck Race?  Of course not!  To expect me to know where my keys are and not have the standard scramble for my keys when I'm trying to get out the door?  Come ON!  Then, to expect my mom to remember to put her spare car key in her purse after changing purses.  You know, IN CASE WE LOCK THE KEYS IN THE EFFING CAR?!

Hell, we couldn't even let Daxon watch the REAL ducks in the lake for more than 5 minutes before it started peeing down rain.  Poor little guy.  He was miffed to say the least.

We also planned to go fake n' bake but that didn't work out either. Why?  Because after a full day of doing absolutely nothing we were just too damn tired.  It was a stupid day.  My poor mom's birthday was stupid.  Well, except for the ice cream.  That wasn't stupid.  But it could have been.  But it wasn't.

Well, none of this was our fault anyway.  It was the Gnomes.  Birthday Gnomes.  On my mom's birthday.  How rude.

FINALLY! *smack*

Sorry about that everyone.  My fatigue caught up with me and I have been spending alot of time trying to get caught up on some sleep, and on some housework.  Believe me when I say that my poor Daxoholics out there were in my mind the whole time.  I had dreams about some of you.  And some of those dreams where very very good! 

First, I have to tell you all something very important.  Make sure you are sitting down.  Something happened last Sunday that has not occurred in over a year.  I got 12 hours of sleep.

I know.  It's sick.  When I woke up, I felt like I'd been both punched in the face and had Robert Downy Jr. give me CPR.   I felt refreshed and rejuvenated.  What does that tell you?

Anyway, "shut the f*ck up and get on with the DaxoGnome Scandal contest you bleary-eyed bio-smear!"  Yes, yes here it is:

Now, here's the thing.  The technical winner (the person who was the first comment with the correct answer) was KAREN! 

Now, I know that there are a few of you that can't wait to get your cute little hands on the DaxoGnome Scandal images.  Due to the overwhelming demand for these images, I will be honouring these requests in exchange for your scandalous images.  The scandals can be PG13.  No need for X-rated.  Unless your okay with that.  Cuz I mean, X-rated is okay by me...you know.  Karen is exempt from these terms as she is the winner of the shittiest contest on the internet.

Don't Worry!

I haven't bailed on ya'll.

It's just been a bit crazy what with the sleep, and the back log of housework.  I will be updating tonight.

And YES!  I will be announcing the winner of the DaxoGnome Photo Scandal Sweepstakes.

Let's Play a Game!

One of these things is not like the others,
One of these things just doesn't belong,
Can you tell which thing is not like the others
By the time I finish my blog?

Twitching

Seizures

Orgasms

Casserole

The first person to comment and give the correct answer gets a picture of me and a Gnome!

-----------------------------------

Now, normally I don't go on about every little thing that Daxon does because quite frankly, this little guy is such a whirlwind of cute, I would be even making myself sick.  But this week he started saying "basketball".  It actually sounds more like "ba-cheep-baw".  Doesn't that make you wanna have a seizure?  For those of you who do not have seizures triggered by cute things, there are pails in the corner...feel free to use them. Just rinse them when your done. Thanks.  For those of you who suffer from seizures regardless of cute things, I suggest staying away from stobe lights and babies who say "ba-cheep-baw".  Opps sorry.

Other than Whiney McSnivel's relentless whining today, I had a pretty good day today.  I made a casserole.  That's right, a casserole.  It was my first casserole.  Lets see how many google hits I can get for casserole.

Last night the Fools of The Round Table met.  The usual unscriptable scriptable hilarity ensued.  Auntie Bernie and Unckie Science Bear have a new car that looks like a silver vibrator.  All they need now is a DVD player in it loaded up with "When Harry Met Sally" and they could have some serious fun.  Then again, who needs "When Harry Met Sally"?  This is Auntie Bernie and Unckie Science Bear!  They have enough sexual spark to power all of Ontario, and maybe parts of Manitoba! Hot DAMN!

Molly Maid and Mr. Clean Should Get It On...I'm Just Sayin'...

Since I have been working, I am naturally going through this adjustment period.  Wait a minute, I've been going through an adjustment period for the last 5 years.  When exactly does this end?

Well, to be completely fair, Gary is also going through an adjustment period as well with his newly supercharged role as Dada-extraordinaire. 

Okay, here's the deal.  I cannot for the life of me understand why my kitchen has never been so clean, so regularly and the rest of the place looks like Ike and Tina made up with just as must rough and tumble as the fight. 

Alright fine, I do understand. 

I have a pretty healthy, normal relationship with housework.  Normal in that I hate doing it, and healthy in that I love the sense of "ahhhhhh that's better" when it's all done.  Now, my problem is Procrastination Gnomes.  I really need to get a grip on these little shits. 

I keep telling myself "well, I just need a couple of kid free hours" or "I just need a day".  Why the hell do I keep saying that?  I mean, shit.  When the hell am I going to get "a couple kid free hours" when I'm at home.  If there is anyone looking after the little dude, you can bet your last bus ticket outta Tijuana I'm at Karaoke, Improv, or somewhere else far, far the hell away from the 41 bins of clean laundry waiting to be put away.  41 bins of clean laundry is better than 41 bins of dirty laundry, but I digress.

I seriously need to change my rationale.  My Texan soon to be Kansasite? Kansasian? Kansor? (Oh man! what the eff will you be?!) sweetie over at A Peek Into My Insanity once wrote about how she rewards herself for doing what she needs to do.  For example "If I finish putting away this laundry now, I can have ice cream."  I think that might work for me.  As long as I don't go and mess it up by just going ahead and eating the ice cream.  Because I would do that.  So maybe Ice Cream isn't a great example.  But again with the digressing.

I think that once I get a handle on back log, staying the course will be much easier with an attitude adjustment.  Ahhhhhhh...There now, nothing like a good head cleaning.

I Got to Pop His Cherry

I was gentle.  We took it slow, and I finally got him.

Gary now sports his own blog!  He is a sports freak with alot to say about sports and other sports related sports.

Go check him out! 

Bashed

Okay so things got a bit crazy at Genuine Bash.

I may have crossed a few lines. NO! NOT ME?!

Well, let's just say that I wasn't the only one stirring the pot! I certainly didn't start it! I just tend to throw balls when they are rolling.  That's all. 

G just better stick to being whore, and not a pimp. *nervous laughter*

Eff Sports Illustrated. Eff Them Were Their G-Strings Ride.

Today my mother took me bathing suit shopping.  In all it's hellish glory, I managed to find one.  This was turning over a new leaf for me as a woman.  You see, previously to having Daxon, bathing suit shopping was easy for me.  Dare I say fun.  Anyone wanna slap me? Well don't worry I think I have a black eye for doing it myself.  Now, it's a different story.  Now I get it.

I worked in a swimwear store for a month years back.  I hated it.  I hated listening to all the constant bitching that women did about their bodies, about the bathing suits, about the sizes, about ruffles, tassels, ties and wraps.  They bitched about colors, styles and prices.  Instead of calling the store "Bikini Whatever", they should have called it "The Giant Abyss In Which You Can Bitch Into".  Being on the receiving end of all that was just too much for my tight skinny self.  Which was probably half the problem right there.

Today, I bitched.  I apologized to the tight skinny girl helping me.  I apologized for me, and for the rest of us.  She appreciated the apology, all she wanted was for someone to acknowledge her side of the world.  We hugged, and then I punched her in the face.  *I keed, I keed!*

I nearly settled for a very busy, nearly hideous suit because it fit like a dream.  I was very happy about the fit, but not as happy with the loud pink, teal and black large abstract floral pattern.  I was not about to allow myself to stoop to that level.  My mother wasn't going to let me either.  Not yet at least.  I was not going to settle like that before I tried on every other suit in the city.  Fortunately, I didn't have to drag my mother along until she was foaming at the mouth.  I only had to try two other suits until I found the one that parted the clouds, beamed down heavenly sunlight and made the angels sing.

One thing I have to bitch about before I leave you today.  Tinted mirrors.  Why the lies?  I know I don't have a tan.  Don't try and make me THINK I have a tan.  It's annoying.  I do not want to mistakenly purchase an over $80 dollar, non-returnable item because I was tricked into thinking my pale as ghost skin could pull off aqua-marine.  Or worse, don't think that I am so stupid to actually believe that those stretchmarks magically disappeared during the walk from one store to yours.  They didn't.  They are there.  They. Are. Still. There.

Dada's Quote of the Day

"Is the world going to end? Yes!  Have you been treated unjustly by the Republicans? Yes! Is your whining really annoying? YES!"