Blast from the past: High School Home Economics
by Karla ° Tuesday, March 31, 2009
I sewed this dress in a Grade 11 Home Economics class.

Besides preparing students to take up Pilgrimage or follow in the footsteps of the Duggar family, Home Ec is also where I learned that the secret ingredient to homemade Mac ‘N Cheese is mustard. And looking back at what I learned in high school, I’m quite certain that learning how to make bread-crumb coated Mac ‘N Cheese from scratch was all that my brain retained. Well, that and how much fun it was to play with ramp-y things that create inertia in advanced physics and that no amount of heat can burst a fireproof beaker. Oh! And how to make bong.

Are you shocked yet that I moved on to college to graduate top of my class in Mineral Engineering and end up on the Presidents Honour Roll? Yeah, me too.

But damn can I ever bake a make a mean dish of Mac N Cheese.

And sew lame dresses, apparently.


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Blast from the past: MC Hammer Pants Style
by Karla ° Monday, March 30, 2009
These pants where all the rage back when I was in grade five, or six, I don’t remember exactly but man oh man I’m pretty embarrassed I have kept them all these years. And for what? To wake up one morning and say to myself, self, I am going to find my 20 year old MC Hammer pants and then post a ridiculous photo of me wearing them on my blog.

Yes, these über cool MC Hammer pants are actually emblazoned with signatures and neon-coloured drawings from my friends. I know! I'm shocked I had any friends too considering how much of a dweeb I must have been to allow myself to become a walking yearbook. God, at least I had the self dignity not to allow anyone to sign my crotch.

It also appears that I may have grown a few inches taller over the years and learned basic grammar.


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Stud Juice
by Karla ° Friday, March 27, 2009
Found in Mark’s office closet. It is all so clear now why I am in love with him.


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Blast from the past
by Karla ° Wednesday, March 25, 2009
At this exact moment in time, I’m living in the chaos known as SELLING A HOUSE. And I have to be honest, it is ridiculously exhausting vacuuming random kid crumbs and windexing endless dog snot and making beds and cleaning cat shit and picking up dog shit and fluffing this and straightening that and polishing sinks and picking up eleventy trillion toys and sweeping floors that are also perpetually coated in crumbs and taking out the already endless garbage of diapers and cat shit and dog shit and hiding toothbrushes and trying to cook food that does not have a weird smell and baking ONE FUCKING MUFFIN every day so my house smells like bananas and making sure there are none of Mark’s haphazardly tossed man socks lurking in a dark corner while simultaneously lining up all the randomly tossed shoes in the closet wiping up man whiskers from the sink and making sure that the counters are clutter free and the faucets sparkle and the diaper genie doesn’t smell and that there is no dog hair on my pillow case or deal-breaking pubes clinging to a bar of soap in the shower.

I feel bad for Nate, I really do, because well, we have to critically look and scrutinize every facet of this house right now to make it as appealing as possible, and that means Mommy needs to do other things besides play tickle troll and build the tallest Ninja castle in the whole entire universe out of lego.

Man oh man, and vacating our home every night while strangers analyze every nook and cranny of this house while our toddler screams that he wants A FRY MOMMY! I WANNA GO HOME DADDY! I POOPED! It kind of wears thin, you know?

I’m pretty sure the steam and gusto of my Type-A personality cleaning approach will quickly wear off if we don’t sell this house soon. And well, realistically, we won’t. The market in Ajax, as I’m sure in your neighbourhood, too, is a buyer’s market - a great time to move up or buy your first home, but not an ideal market for a quick sale.

Five years ago, when we put an offer in on this house, the market was HOT! And we actually had to pay more than asking price to win the bidding war. I think this was the seventh of eighth house we looked at, but we knew we loved the neighbourhood and this was the first house we walked into and were able to say the second we walked in the door that we wanted to put in an offer.

And now that we’re sitting here trying to sell our home in a bad economy, it’s kind of hard logging into a website where Real Estate agents can answer surveys and add comments about what their clients thought of our home. So far, we’re hearing the house is too small and the yard is too small, too. I’m kinda sitting here going DUDE! I KNOW! That’s why we’re moving because we have a dog that is the size of a human and he totally needs his own bedroom because I am sick and tired of sharing my pillow with him.

Wow. I just went back to proof-read what I wrote and I think I sound like a tired and cranky asshole. Totally time to lighten this up. I am a self proclaimed pack rat. But I’m only a partial pack rat because I’ll easily toss stuff that adds clutter and keep everything else that we can carefully store away forever and ever until I post pictures of it on my blog.

Which pretty much brings me to the point of this whole post. I am, between photography and writing and being a part time stay at home mom and trying to sell this house, totally at my max capacity for brain activity, so I thought over the next few days I would feature for you some of the crazy and weird things I have been keeping over the years that have been hiding in the dark basement shadows and untouched closet shelves for years.

So far, on this mission to delclutter, I have only tackled the clothes closet, but take a gander at this more than passé trend.

These faux-frayed shorts are from grade six.. Yes, grade six. I am not even kidding. They were all the rage back when I was like, what, 10? And the crazy part is not so much that I have kept these shorts all these years (although come to think of it is is crazy) but sympathize with me and tell me it is not just completely and totally uncool that my hips never ever evolved beyond those of a 12-year-old boy and my boobs never grew beyond an A-cup.

Be sure to check back later because just today I found a dress that I sewed for Home Ec in high school and jeans that I reconfigured with knee patches to look cool and leather pants that I actually wore to a New Years Eve party ten years ago with a faux snake skin shirt where I got really drunk and actually french kissed Mark in the same room as my parents.


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For Sale
by Karla ° Friday, March 20, 2009
I only have a moment before I need to run around like a chicken with its head cut off who couldn't tell you its ass from its elbow during such time of life changing stress, but if I don’t get this off my chest I think my just explode, or, like, burst from sheer sadness/excitement.


This is the MLS description:

Absolutely stunning 3 bedroom home in popular Westney Heights area. Spotless & well kept w/ modern neutral decor. Upgraded bathroom w/ granite vanity counter & soaker tub. Eat in Kitchen walks out to a large deck in a extra deep lot. Front enclosed porch overlooks interlocking landscaped garden w/ oversized single garage. Family friendly neighbourhood close to Hwy 401, schools, parks, Community Centre, library, shopping and public transit. A Must See!

And this is me going holy fuck you have no idea how much effort went into scoring that word "spotless" because life with a sticky-fingered toddler and an oversized yellow dog who sheds like there is no tomorrow and two ornery cats that like to hack up hairballs is not conducive to a life of "spotless."

In any case, please feel free to peruse these pictures of my "spotless" home while I a) try to convince my kid that wearing a spring coat is, yes different than a winter coat, but it is not the end of the world so just PUT IT ON FOR THE LOVE OF PETE BECAUSE I AM IN A HURRY TO LIKE, BUY A NEW GODDAM RAKE, and b) sleep for a thousand years from all of the cleaning I've done.

Um, where was I. Oh! Right! This is my house. My clean, spotless house. At least for like, another 4.2 seconds.

And this? Well, this is exactly what our family looks like right now as we scatter about trying to get our shit together. And by shit together, I mean pick up an entire winter’s worth/truck load of Samson’s shit from the backyard.

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by Karla ° Tuesday, March 17, 2009
For those of you who follow me on twitter or facebook, you know that last night, Mark and I sat on pins and needles waiting to hear the news about an offer we made to purchase a house.

Just to backtrack for a moment, our desire to move began pretty much the exact day that Ava died. How can one live in house with so many bad memories? A house where I walk the same halls I used to scream at until I fell over in a heap of crumpled grief? The desire to move has been strong, but it also has been a desire carefully weighed against finances and affordability

After careful consideration, Mark and I decided to move after Nate was born. So, armed with newborn-weary enthusiasm, we began the process of looking for a home two years ago. Oh, we must have looked at least few dozen or few thousand houses and absolutely none of them felt like home.

Frustrated, we put the idea of moving on hold for a little while, saved our pennies for a larger down payment, and just last weekend decided to head out with a real estate agent and to get an idea of what was on the market outside the realm of what the perfected pictures on MLS told me.

Mark and fell absolutely head over heels in love with the second house we saw. And I know that sounds quick, but I have pretty much been having a daily love affair with MLS for the past two years and although sometimes I swoon at homes that are like, totally only for people with seventy billion dollars in the bank, mostly, the search results come up with a gasp-worthy abundance of circa 1980 Easter egg coloured walls and never ending pink bathroom tile.

Anyhow, last Sunday we visited a home and OH! MY! I have never walked into a house that felt so much like a HOME. I can only liken the feeling to that of an old adage that a bride will just know what wedding dress is perfect for her when she tries it on.

I mean, I just knew the house was a place that I could call home for a very VERY long time. And it had nothing to do with the way it was decorated. God no! Pretty much every room had either cringe-worthy country kitsch rooster or flowery wall paper borders covering paint hues that only a 7000 year old Grandma with way too many cats could love. But, despite all the cats, man oh man I could SO envision a future of Nate running through the endless corridors and rooms, opening Christmas presents in the family room next to the heated warmth of a red-emberred fire and then spending his afternoons playing road hockey on a child safe and traffic-quieted crescent within a crescent street.

There was even a main floor library, which I would have totally turned into a room donned with two high wing back chair in front of a giant furry area rug facing a cozy fireplace where one could have heated sex with their husband behind French doors. Because who needs books when you’re classy like me?

The backyard was lined with mature mile high privacy-enhancing trees and was spacious enough for Samson to find plenty of places to shit. The master bedroom was even so big that our real estate agent made some sort of comment that you could have a party in it and Mark was all, “Isn’t that the point?”

The home was, in a word, amazing, and the following day Mark and I decided to put in an offer. Which we were so excited about it, except apparently we weren’t the only people who thought the house was perfect because we were quickly made aware of fact that multiple offers were also being arranged.

And so, we didn’t get our hopes up because we knew we were going in with the condition on the sale of our home first, but you know, it’s a buyer’s market and with the right offer, maybe, just maybe we might get lucky right? Right?

Wrong. Our offer was rejected. Right along with every other offer last night because every single one of them had the same condition about selling their current property first and the seller did not like that one bit.

When Nate woke up this morning we told him that we didn’t win the new house and his adorable little sleepy face scrunched into a frown, his bottom lip began to quiver and then full blown tears streamed down his cheeks as he asked, “No Catty’s?

And we had to tell him that no, unfortunately, some pussy is going to have a hard time selling their gargantuan house in this shit market.


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by Karla ° Friday, March 13, 2009
Pssst. Guess what? Two super awesome Canadian bloggers recently asked me, ME! (holy humbled) to be a contributor with the fabulous community of women over at the Silicon Valley Moms Blog group. These two ambitious women also created the Canada Moms Blog website and to say an invitation to write for them is an absolute honour is a bit of understatement.

My first post is up and I feel a bit naked and cold over there in my newbie contributor birthday suit. Perhaps, if you feel so inclined, you could mosey on over and say hi, or you know, tell me that a home decorated by the Easter Bunny isn’t the end of the world.
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by Karla ° Wednesday, March 11, 2009
The only Superhero on the planet who demands endless sippy cups filled with milk, being chased around the room again and again and again to infinity and beyond (so help my poor weary soul), endless tickling and jelly bean-infused giggles.


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by Karla ° Tuesday, March 10, 2009
While grocery shopping yesterday I was amazed to discovered that cock soup was on sale – a whole 10 cents off.

I actually had to do a double take because I could hardly believe what I was seeing. I mean, wow, who knew that delicious flavoured cock is like totally available on the grocery store shelf to bring home to savour and enjoy. Or, seriously, why not add a package of cock to your lunch to take to work? Go ahead and try and tell me that wouldn’t satisfy your afternoon craving for something salty.

Anyway, I grabbed the package of cock and had a good hard look at its contents. Apparently you just need to add water and be sure not to overbeat. Serve alone or with a side dish, like meatballs.

I’m telling you straight up, at only $0.69, I could afford to afford to eat a hearty bowl of cock flavoured soup for months and months, if you know, I swallowed meat.


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Voice of a 7000 year old smoker
by Karla ° Thursday, March 5, 2009
I have had this annoying house guest living inside my body for what feels like an eternity plus a day with no intention on leaving. The crazy bastard makes me sound like a 7000 year old smoker that has been repeatedly punched in the face.

So far, I have hacked up a lung and a spleen and bruised my uterus from all the effort it takes to cough and blow my nose so often.

Ahh yes, The Inventible Winter Illness I forget because I’ve just had so many this year. But this is the first annoying viral infection that has caused me to mindlessly perk a pot of water sans coffee and put the milk jug in the cupboard. This is also the same kind of infection that essentially requires plenty of sleep and rest to cure, which would be fine if my toddler would agree to sit still for two seconds and abide to stringent household laws like, say, everyone who still poops their pants must go to bed by 8:00 PM.

Since it was going to take a week to get an appointment with my family doctor, I finally went to a walk-in-clinic this morning and Lo! I was told to suck it up because I have a cold just like 90% of the rest of planet earth right now and prescribed a nice big heavy dose of cough medicine laced with codeine.

Awesome! That last time I had a drug like codeine was when I had a subdural headache and thought my head was going to explode when the first attempt to stick a needle in my back resulted in spinal fluid leaking into my brain. And the time before that was when I had my bottom wisdom teeth ripped out of my mouth.

When I have my voice and semi-consciousness back, remind me to tell you about how Mark has been all trying to help me around the house while I lay in bed in a pitiful snot-induced coma and how he proudly made a point to tell me that he merged two bottles of shampoo to help declutter the shower even though our kitchen floor has been covered in seventy billion fridge magnets for over a week.


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