Charlie Sheen is in my bedroom

Scott came out of the bathroom with a self-satisfied look this morning.
I knew what that look meant.
"I've lost five pounds," he said flashing that famous porn smile.
"Go fuck yourself," I said as I sipped my 90 calorie vanilla almond latte.
"What?"
This is what bugs me about men.
You promise a man that you will have sex with him one day a week for every 10 pounds of weight he loses and all of a sudden all that beer melts off his belly like ice cream on a sticky toddler.
We just started this diet on Monday and today is Thursday.
He's lost five pounds. I've gained one.
By the weekend, we'll be doing the hibbidy-dibbidy at least once.
God kill me know.
It's not that I dislike sex. I just dislike sex wearing neon panties and looking like Rebel Wilson. You know the British foul-mouthed three-hundred pounder who's all over the place waving her flabby arms in the air and wearing a thong?
You've rented Bridesmaids as many times as I did.
I know you've seen her.
You said: "Hey, that girl looks just like Rose only twenty years younger."
Yeah, go fuck yourself, too.
Seriously? I was sort of hoping that the fat would melt off both of us at once.
But it never friggin' happens that way.
It takes me a year and a half to lose 10 pounds and one ill-conceived weekend at a smokey hotel in Ste. Hyacinthe for my regime to go straight into the crapper.
And all I had was one lousy carton of poutine and a bag of wine.
Scott loses weight like someone who's layering clothing on a wickedly hot summer day.
He gains it back as well, but only after two years, a keg-a-day beer habit and several vats worth of single malt chased by five pound bags of potatoes with a side order of beef ribs.
You women out there, you with the underactive thyroids, stretch marks from yo-yo dieting and three baby-bladders. You know what I'm talking about.
We give hipsters a bad name.
But still, we keep trying.

This whole sex thing has Scott pumped.
He's counting calories and has actually installed a calorie app on his Smartphone where his World of Warcraft versus Gods of Laserquest app used to be.
This morning, he was measuring and questioning every morsel he packed into his little Bavaria beer lunch bag to be sure he didn't go over his allotment of nuts.
He also re-signed up at the gym I'VE BEEN GOING TO FOR TWO YEARS WHILE HE PLAYED VIDEO GAMES.
Scott's a man on a mission and I'm the God Damned Apollo spacecraft.
I'm having nightmares, I tell you.
Pretty soon he'll be Charlie Sheen crazy, looking like Rob Lowe with his shirt off. He'll be inviting all the crack whores in the neighborhood over to do a bit of twerking to Robin Thicke, (who has no business twerking with Disney Princesses by the way!!)
Somebody, call his mom!
Blurred Lines, I'll show you a blurred line -- it's between me and the refrigerator right now.
Meanwhile, I'm eating rabbit food and channeling Roseanne Barr.
Seriously, Scott is a sweet man, and I project too much.
All he said was "I lost five pounds" and it's time for me to go on Dr. Phil.
"Dr. Phil, I have an eating disorder. Every time I think of eating pancakes, the waiter brings me dis order of lettuce hold the dressing."

Ashley Simpson: Don't Let Her Die in Vain

Six years ago, I was combing through my Facebook and I saw post from my cousin Julie Major. Her brother and his wife were frantically looking for their daughter Ashley who just days before had Facetimed her mom saying she was planning to return to her home in Niagara. Ashley never made it home. She was murdered in cold blood in her home in Salmon Arm then buried in a nearby field. It would be five and a half years before her body was located, and her boyfriend was charged with second degree murder. Today, Ashley's urn has a sacred spot in her parents' home, and Derek Favell is in jail awaiting trial by judge and jury. The trial is expected to go into next year sometime. This has been an agonizing journey for Ashley's friends and family. The pain has never stopped, and the wounds are broken open every time the family has to sit through a series of pre-trial proceedings. Fortunately, this ordeal will end but the pain will never wane for the people, including me, who have b...

Ashley Simpson: A Father Remembers

I have asked Ashley Simpson's family and friends to give us a glimpse into the life she lived before going missing nearly a month ago. Here is how her father John remembers his sweet girl. Ashley was a treat when she came into this world, a smashing 9lbs 8 ounces with a head full of hair and nails that needed to be clipped. She has made many friends in her journey of life and continues to make them as we speak. She has made this world a better place by her love of mankind and this place we call Earth; unfortunately this life she has lived hasn't been the best for her. She has suffered through unbearable pain and suffering through her menstrual cycles. She has cysts on her ovaries that make those 10 days a living hell. She had one of her ovaries removed when she was just 14; the other they won't take out till she is 40 or older. Years of hell for my Ashley. I so feel her pain every month but she doesn't quit, doesn't give in. That'...

What Bell isn't telling you about Fibe TV

Update: This week, we switched back to Rogers after spending far too long using Bell's crappy television service. For those with Bell, read and weep. For those considering Bell, think twice even if you hate Rogers. RS I've always been an early technology adapter. I had a Betamax. That tells you everything (if you're over 50 at least). My first computer was a "Portable". It weighed 40 pounds and I had to lug it around town on a gurney. I've been through probably 15 computers in my lifetime. Apple is the best. It's also too expensive so I have a piece of shit HP, the one I'm writing this blog on. I've had cable, internet and now Netflix. American Netflix . That's how far ahead of the curve I am. I get all the newspapers for free. How? I disabled my cookies so they can't track me when I'm on the newspaper sites. Even the New York Times hasn't cottoned on to that trick. Hahaha. That will be a fifty buck consulting fee. Bein...

Rose's Cantina

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