Attack of The Crows

Current events in our city has prompted this drawing.  Crows are attacking innocent peeps in a terrifying Hitchockian manner!  Residents walking downtown minding their own business and totally not shouting or mocking the birds.  Observe:

A picture is worth a thousand words...or at least a few hundred

A picture is worth a thousand words…or at least a few hundred

Now you are officially informed.

Pray for us….or send slingshots.  At least that way we could charge admission to the public for their chance to play the game called “Scare The Crap out of the Crows” If someone actually hits one, they win a free bucket o’chicken.

Artwork by Kayjai



Shit I Did This Weekend

Played The Board Game from Hell

I think my family is expecting a post about the perils of the game Trouble.  Then again, I think my family expects more from me in general, anyways so, here.  Don’t say I don’t do anything for you guys.  Geesh, stop bothering me will ‘ya?  It’s like having Erkel around all the time.  GAAAAAWWWWWD. What’s wrong wit…sorry. Babbling.  Okay you can start reading now…orrrrr now.  Now?  Yeah, now. 

The devil's invention that sends me into fits of swearing and air punching. I commend thee!

The devil’s invention that sends me into fits of swearing and air punching. I compel thee!

Have you played this raunchy-when-I-play-it- over-the-top not-for-little-kids-mutha-of-a-game?!  One minute into the throws of punching that plastic bubble in the middle and I was calling my sis-in-law a 6-whore and demanding a replay from my niece.  My poor 79 year old mother-in-law must have thought I was possessed or have been negatively influenced from living in the city too long.  She stayed quiet while I fiercely pounded the bubble as the dice inside REFUSED to turn over to a number 6. The number 6 is necessary to even begin the game.  You know, 6…Devil, Beast, Asshole…(If you’re a Trouble virgin like I was, I’ll give you the condensed Kayjai version of the game.  You. Are. Welcome.

You have 5 game pieces who are safely ensconced in ‘home’ position.  The object is to get your 5 homies into a safe house, but first you have to wander aimlessly around the neighbourhood, but watch out!  The crackheads are out and gunning for your ass, so it’s survival of the fittest.  You get them, before they get you.  You nail their asses before they have a chance to say “I need a fix!”  Got it?   It’s probs. not supposed to have ‘crack’ references or raucous swearing and bouts of fist-flinging…or insulting commentary, but I was trying to bring it to a level most people relate to.  Not that you relate to crackheads…or strangers chasing you down and calling you names in your neighbourhood.  Or maybe you do. I don’t know…I don’t know where you live…anymore.)

 I finally made it out onto the actual playing board and when I did I was gunnin’ for 6-whore and whoever else got in ma way.  I think I obliterated my mother-in-law a few gagillion times and inspired a mob mentality by getting my niece to chase after her momma with ire and determined fury.  Yeah.  I think the Devil was having a grand ol’ time watching me morph into some evil-crazed sociopath looking for a little payback and attacking any innocent bystanders who may be present.  I was half expecting the arrival of a priest to hose me down with incense and holy water. I think I caused my mother-in-law to fall into immediate prayer and beg for my salvation…we played two games.  Niece had to go to work…pfft…LIKE THAT WAS IMPORTANT. WE WERE PLAYING TROUBLE FOR GOD’S SAKE!  WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU!  Anyway, they said I had to let her go, so after my final head-spin, I think I won the second game…AND, I wasn’t even the slightest bit drunk.  Ha!  I WIN! 


Played Card Games and ‘Borrowed’ A Truck

I played mother-in-law in two games of cards before suggesting we go to the next town a half-an-hour away for lunch.  Incidentally, I won the last game.  AND, I wasn’t even drunk.  Ha!  I WIN!  The kicker?  You know that Hubby bought a nice shiny brand new truck in November, right?  You know that I have never driven nice shiny brand new truck, right?  You know that he so BLATANTLY left his truck keys on the counter, PURPOSEFULLY pointing out to me where he left them while he and son and his bro went fishing.  AND, it was mother-in-law’s of course I had to treat her to lunch.  In the next town.  And invite sis-in-law and her crew.  AND HOW WAS I GOING TO GET HER THERE???!!  Dat’s right…the nice shiny brand new truck that I have never driven before, of course!  Duh….

What?  I texted Hubby…

AFTER I had arrived at lunch and parked said nice shiny brand new truck FAR AWAY FROM EVERY LIVING THING IMAGINABLE, lest there be denting or scratching or heavy breathing on it. 

See?  Everything was fine. 


Me:  I took the truck to take YOUR mother out to lunch since EVERYBODY ELSE IS GONE.

Hubby: K. Where did you go?  And have you reached your destination?  (he thinks everybody is watching him and reading his texts, so he remains formal like he’s met me maybe once in his whole life…unless he’s pissed at me.  Then he feels the need to speak like a sailor.  Bastard.)

Me: We are meeting sis and Niece at Gibsons for lunch in GFW.  We are here now.  The truck drives itself!!  I don’t know why I haven’t driven it before!


Me:  YOUR MOTHER wants to know if she needs to get the frying pan ready.  (subtly trying to change the subject)

Hubby: You haven’t driven my truck because I don’t want you to.

Me:  Why not?  I’m like RainMan.  I’m an excellent driver.

Hubby:  EXACTLY.  Please be careful with my truck.  I luvs her right.

Me:  Well, maybe you should marry it then.

Hubby:  What?

Me: Ugh…never mind…

I’m so mature….






Sock Wars – Like Star Wars, Only With A Psychotic Puppy. And No Robots.

I have no idea what shit goes down at my house when I’m at work, but I’m sure it has something to do with all of my missing socks…and Mags.  She secretly hordes them, I swear.  I’ll find a random sock sticking out of the bottom of the bed or under a chair or strewn haphazardly on the floor and think “Where’s the matching one?  How did that get there?”  I see her looking at me all:


  “You mean the one that I’m currently WEARING?”


“Sock whore…”

“Oh, yeah?  I think you just put a clean comforter on your bed…”

*Gasp*  “YOU WOULDN’T!”

“Who’s the bitch, now?” 

*rips off sock*  “Look, Maggie.  I got a pretty socky for you!”


Mmmm, hmmmm……..

Addiction is difficult.  There will be an intervention, I'm sure of it.

“What?  Oh, these?  It’s nothing.  You see nothing, you got it?”


The word on the street that the Mob would have us relocate is getting to be more of a fact, than a rumor.  Now the question remains as to where to relocate the wonderful Kayjai-kin?  Aye, there’s the rub.  We are still in limbo, but the horizon looks very wheat-fieldy or Island Life, The Extreme North Edition.  Essentially, they want to haul us off to rural areas.  Maybe we have been city-folk way too long for their liking?  Ugh…go west old man, never seemed all that appealing to me.  Can I get a witness?  Hell, no we won’t go! 

As an aside, Hubby is quaking in his high browns, but we remain positive until the hammer comes down all definitive-like. No use panicking about something that may not happen.  With two daughters in Uni (D1 just got accepted to Nursing.  Can I get a ‘hell yeah’?!)   the prospects of having to go yonder ways to where they would have to either start a different university or stay here in residence is daunting and tipped on the side of inane.  Ugh.   

So for now, we sit and wait while the map is outstretched before the Mob Boss as he throws one hand over his closed eyes and with his other hand, juts his pointed finger towards the map and BAM!  We have been relocated.  Congratulations, Kayjai-folk!   

And THAT, good people is how it’s done….

True story.

The Barn


I remember being in the presence of an old barn.  This was back in the seventies when the summers were hot and seemed to last a whole year, not a mere few months.  We with nothing more to do but to wander aimless and reckless, our shorts hiked up and our faces flushed from the heat, trudging through yards and barren forest looking for adventure.  Or shade.

There stood before me a large black structure, the wood rotted and the inside dilapidated. The tall A-frame of the roof pointing skyward as if noting the direction of heaven.  The window at the top was gone; replaced with just a wooden bi-fold door hanging off its hinges.  The wood was split and left hanging, the wind blowing the shards innocently, as if afraid to blow too hard and break them. The grass lay brown and dry, the summer quickly turning into fall the leaves having fallen, dried up brown and withered away.  The dirt road was dry and gravelly, the stones crunching when we walked upon them.  There was a gaggle of us, the kids.  We were dispersed in age, the older ones herding the younger ones around the barn discovering it’s secrets and noting its dangerous allure. We were alone out in the country. Of course, near Chatham the country is everywhere around the outskirts of town.  I couldn’t have been far from where I lived.  I can’t imagine my mother ever allowing me to stray too far from her sight.   The attraction to the old building was in its mystique.  The rotting wood that once housed what exactly?  Animals?  Hay?  Corn?

   I’m not sure I was ever inside the barn.  The large looming face stands resolutely in my memory, however, any ideas of lofts or ropes or any items deemed ‘barn materials’ seems out of reach to me.  Was it a dream I had and I thought it was a memory?  Maybe, as the motives for attending the scene secretly remain hidden within the black rotting wood.

My brother seemed to have been the catalyst for my presence at the site.  My cousins were there as well, but more as outlying extras in a movie set.  Their milky dreamlike movements float through my mind and I can see their smiling faces looking down at me, mocking my existence among the big kids.

My memory of the old barn ends there.  I have no idea how we managed to travel so far outside of town, or even if it was that far out.  I just remember the feeling of freely walking about and curious as to its existence.  I know it’s no longer standing out in the country, but it’s nice to visit from time to time….

Rainy Day People

Everyone will be relieved to know that I am officially an iTunes purchaser.  I know, right?  I can feel your excitement! The fifteen dollar card I’ve had in my possession since last July finally came in handy. Good thing my kids know a thing or two about i-stuff…I could still be sitting at the computer screen staring at it ominously while the thing lists even more songs I don’t recognize for a teeny iPod I will probably misplace.  A joyful experience, really.  Sort of like a coming of age.  ‘Remember when you bought your first song on iTunes?  Yeah.  Good times.’   I received ten songs and still have two dollars left over!  I’m gonna need more iTunes money, I fear. I know there’s songs out there that I haven’t yet begun to download.  This could be a new obsession for me.  I could be like the computer peeps who sit hunched over at their laptops downloading the latest version of ‘whatever’ and HAS TO HAVE IT while eating Cheetos and drinking down slurpies until 3am just waiting for a new song to hit the play list.   That will be me, I just know it.  I’ll need a new iPod and have to buy new versions and have to have them all full of thousands of songs that I couldn’t possible listen to in a lifetime.  The future looks bright!

The rainy cold weekend has brought out the best in all of us.  The fam is getting a little cramped and cranky I’m afraid.  The daughters are busily doting to their Mcjobs while the rest of us hunker down in front of the fire watching hockey.  It’s like a repeat of winter during the onset of spring.  The trees are budding but will probably be confused by the lower-than-Snooki’s-IQ temps.  Snow has hit the central portion of the island, hence the curtailing of the weekend road trip extravaganza that was close to occurring. God works in mysterious ways!  Or the weather does, at least.  As for the crankiness, I choose to pursue other avenues of misadventure and turn the proverbial rosy cheek.  The Canadian long weekend will come to a screeching halt soon enough…no need to wish it away.

Below I’ve decided to add for your enjoyment, (or lack thereof, depending on your musical taste) a little J.T. to get you movin’…or to make you spit out your coffee.

  You. Are. Welcome.

An Interview With A Legend, Mr. Buzz Phone

Today at, we (really I mean ‘I’. ‘We’ sounds more professional and like I have a team of peeps working for me like Microsoft or Google or something.   Really, it’s just me..’I’…’me’, ‘myself’ and ‘I’.  So, technically the three ‘mes’. As long as we’re clear) so ‘I’ would like to introduce my first interview ever!  I know, right?  Exciting.  Joining us today is the irreverent and highly entertaining author of everybody’s favorite book, Mr. Buzz Phone.  

That’s right.  He is the author of the telephone book. The King of numbers. The Wizard of all things numbery.    It takes exhaustive research and analysis to come up with every single person listed in your area and Mr. Phone works tirelessly to deliver a top-notch albeit predictable, product.  He was able to extract himself from his life’s work for a short time to sit down with yours truly for a little heart-to-heart.  Sorta like Al Capone’s vault only minus Geraldo.  Yeah.


Kayjai:  Thanks for taking the time to sit and speak with me today, Mr. Phone. Much appreciated.

Mr. Phone:  Please, call me Mr. T, everybody does.  But don’t confuse me with the other Mr. T.  I don’t have a Mohawk and say ‘I pity the fool’.  That’s his gig.  Mine is a whole other ballgame, sweetheart.

Kayjai: Yes, I bet it is. The illustrious and ever-changing telephone directory has been in existence since, well since the invention of the telephone, so-

Mr. T: Don’t hurt yourself, lady.  The telephone directory or the TD as I like to refer to it, has been around since the late 1800’s when the very first book, if you can call it that, was made in Connecticut.  It was just a piece of cardboard then listing about fifty businesses that had telephones and-

Kayjai:  Yeah, anyway.  It must take countless hours of research and painstaking exact census grabbing to get all of those phone numbers and extensions and names down pat.  How do you do it?

Mr. T:  Well, first off honey, all those names, numbers and addresses are collected by the government.  All I do is take what they hand me and reprint.  Now, with the invention of the computer, I copy and paste and send it out.  My workload has drastically been reduced.  Kinda frees me up for other ‘enterprises’ if you know what I mean.  *winks and grins a toothless grin*

Kayjai:  Mmm-hmm, okay.  Speaking of computers how has the internet and the rise of smart phones and desktops impacted your work other than giving you ‘enterprise’ time?

Mr. T:  Are you fucking joking??!!  The ‘internet’ has been a royal pain in my ass since Gates first went all ‘Microsoft is fucking awesome’ all over the place.  Fuck him!   It has practically ruined my little corner of the universe, thank you very much.  All you people think ‘Google’ is God-like and fucking necessary to even function during the day!  What’s wrong with opening a nice legible LOGICAL book and finding everything at your fingertips?  I remember back in the day when the arrival of the phone book was synonymous with getting your first lay!  Come on, what happened with society?!   Ah, I need a drink.  Got any vodka around here?

Kayjai:  Umm…I see. Uh, no.  No vodka, sorry.  Some critics would assert that since the rise in technology and instant messaging that a need for such a large wad of paper listing names, numbers and addresses would become a bit unnecessary. 

Mr. T: LARGE WAD OF PAPER??!!  Has that what my work has been reduced to?!  I’ve spent my entire life looking over phone numbers, going through listings, writing down addresses.  My eyes have gone permanently crosseyed!   DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY PEOPLE NAMED SMITH THERE ARE??!!  Fuck me…seriously.  Know the old joke ‘that lady has more Chins than a Chinese phone book” ?!  WHO DO YOU THINK CAME UP WITH THAT LINE, LADY?!!   That book has more uses than simply a cache for EVERY PHONE NUMBER IN THE FUCKING WORLD.  Some kids used the book as a seat stuffer in the car so they can reach the gas pedal on mom and dad’s Lexus.  Remember Guiness and when ripping phone books in half was considered a feat of strength?  What about that, huh?  AND,  I seem to remember somebody used to carry a copy of my book with her in her car when she first moved to a new area, since I implemented a map of the city…hmm…ring any bells, sweetheart? 

Kayjai: What?!  How did you know- ?! I mean, yes, I heard that some people enjoyed your map addition to the pages, however, with the economy the way it is, global warming, the calls for a greener environment, don’t you think the telephone book is soon to be extinct?  What job prospects are you hoping for if or when this happens?

Mr. T: I’m like goddamned Santa Claus, baby.  I see all!  AND, I don’t expect to be booted out of my job so soon into the future.  There will always be the phonebook diehards, as I like to call ‘em.  You know, the peeps with no computers, or smartiephones.  They need to have something to hang on the hook in the phone booths! 

Kayjai:  Yeah, there are virtually no phone booths around anymore either.  In fact, according to my research, areas such as Seattle and San Francisco are moving to ban the phone book.  They say it is irrelevant and a ‘waste’.

Mr. T:  Damned hippies!!  They always want ‘save the planet’ this and ‘recycle’ that.  Bullshit!  My phone book is the only fabric that is holding this society together!  Get rid of it and there ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ the Commies from comin’ in and takin’ over!  *stands and rips off microphone*  THIS INTERVIEW IS OVER!  I AIN’T NO COMMIE AND I AIN’T GONNA TAKE THIS SHIT ANYMORE!  I HAVE RIGHTS!  I’M VALUABLE, DAMMIT!  I MATTER!  THIS IS BULLSHIT!  I’M OUTTA HERE!  *stalks out of the door, slamming it behind him.  A tattered phone book falls to the floor*

Kayjai:  Umm…thanks??

You Weren’t Sleeping, Were You?

Since allowing our precious puppy to sleep with us, we have encountered a plethora of interesting late night/early morning goings on that can only equal that of a crack house during peak operation.  Here’s a little rundown of last night’s exploits:

10:30pm – Magilicious takes up position at the end of the bed and begins digging.  She’s a digger.  Don’t ask me what she’s digging, I don’t’ know. 

10:31 –  I promptly replace Mags on her cushy brand new orthopedic bed with chew bones and toys and say the command ‘stay’.  Which she does.  I then secure myself in under the covers and set the tv up.  I’m all comfy and cozy.. 

10:31:03 – I’m suddenly pounced on by a seven pound mound of hair that thinks my face has been dipped in bacon.  After I extract her from my face I again, replace her back on her cushy brand new orthopedic puppy bed with the command  ‘STAY’.  She looks at me like this:

Really?  Yeah, right.

Really? Yeah, right.


10:34 – Magalicious cautiously creeps onto the end of the bed as if she’s sneaking up behind a masked villain stealing her doggy treats and she’s about to take him down.  She sees me eying her.  Her ears go down and she gives me that “What?  But I’m cute, right?”  I get up and move her AGAIN to her cushy brand new orthopedic puppy bed with her chew toy.  “ANNNNNDDDDD  STAY”  She gives me the stink eye.  I return to my comfy position.

10:45 – I feel a paw, then another paw, then another one caaarreefully walk on my ankles, then I feel a sudden ‘thump’.  I raise my head to see her walking in circles around my ankles in an attempt to get comfortable and plop herself right on beside my leg.   

10:46-  the door opens and Hubby walks in.  OH NO!  The dog is suddenly on high alert.  She’s standing at attention as if the president just walked into the room, her tail is wagging and in an excited flurry, she jumps down to her cushy brand new orthopedic puppy bed and retrieves her toy and brings it to him like it’s a gift for his majesty for gracing us with his presence.  Give me a fucking break.  Her ears are down, her tail is wagging and she’s just so damned excited she just may pee on her bed.  Which she does.  Great.

11:00 – Everybody is settled…ON OUR BED for the night.  Magalicious eyes me and is smiling smugly…I just know it.

1:00am – A flurry of activity has aroused me from a raucous dreams about Johnny Depp, helicopters and chocolate…dammit.  I feel my fingers being chewed off.  Then my arm is being used as a scratching post. I feel Magalicous climb on my head and try to chew my hair to its roots.  WTF?  I grab her and place her not so gently on the end of the bed.  I lay back down. 

1:00:03am –  A flying object with hair has inexplicably landed on my face and my ear is being chewed off and licked excitedly.   Ugh…I make the fatal mistake of standing up.  She thinks its morning and takes that as a sign we will be getting up now to play!!  “Yay!  Lets’ all go outside and run around and eat grass and bark at the neighbours!”  I grab her but not in time…she leaves a puddle on my comforter.  UUUUggggghhhh….

1:05am –  Magalicious is in her crate for the remainder of the night.  Hubby rolls over.

  “Where’s the comforter?”

  “The dog peed on it”

   “Oh.  Where is she now?” 

“In her crate where she’s staying” I say emphatically. 

“Aw, that’s a sin.  She likes sleeping with us” 


  “Huh…I didn’t notice anything