Texts With Daughter

Texts with D2 as I wait to pick her up from rowing practice:

Me: Here

D2: —–

Me: Kinda no place to park so…

D2: —–

Me: You should maybe rush a little.

D2: ——-

Me: Still here

D2: ——

Me: Nice Police man drove by and I waved.  I think if he comes back he’ll make me move.

D2: ——–

Me:  Your response and caring are overwhelming

D2:  ———

Me: Waiting patiently kind of

D2: ———-

Me: People are mad at me for blocking traffic

D2: ——–

Me: They’re probably calling me mean and nasty names now


Me: Like yucky face and poo-poo head

D2:  ——

Me:  The police man came back


Me:  He’s now yelling at me furiously.  I probably shouldn’t have stuck my tongue out at him.


Me:  I’m now making a scene and he’s giving me a ticket.

D2: ——-

Me:  You’ll have to call your father for a ride home as I’m now in the back of the police car going to RNC headquarters.

D2: ————

Me:  Get bail money ready.


Me: I see you’re stunned into silence by my behavior


Me: They let me go since I know *people*


Me: Now I’m parked safely facing the lake.  It’s lovely.  So glad you care.

*I watch as D2 exits the boat she’s been in the entire conversation*

Me:  Ignore all my previous texts


Me:  Here


You Know You Should Call It A Day When:

In a rush to secure a gift for the love of your life, you call specific stores with desired item on sale only to find the last one to be sold “just minutes” before your alarmingly boisterous arrival.  This was hours after your initial plea of ‘can you save it for me?’ only to be told ‘no’. Fuckers.  So fearing impending doom and total catastrophic disappointment from the love of your life, you flee to the netherworlds of town to secure desired item.  You find it!  It barely squeezes into backseat of car.  Meanwhile, D1 is lamenting that you were unable to pick her up from her job so she asked the love of your life for a ride who calls you 7 times in attempts to reach you only to be promptly ignored.  And when finally you answer you hear this: ‘why the hell am I paying 65.00 a month for a cell phone that you don’t answer?!’ to which you respond ‘she could have walked to a Tim’s and waited it’s a nice day’ to which he states ‘what Tim’s there isn’t one close’ to which you promptly hang up.   You then drop D2 off at rowing 15 minutes late which is devastating since she’s the coach and is responsible to show a good example to the ‘young people’ and now has to do laps in response to her lateness.  Gee mom, you pretty much suck.  Then, you rush to rescue D1 from the hockey arena that D2 said she was impatiently waiting at since the love of your life had to pick her up from her job since that job equals death and waiting any more than five extra minutes could be as painful as having your toenails removed one-by-one by a monkey high on crack, AND the love of your life had to take son to hockey hence the whole arena thing,  only to find that she is home and has been home for some time now and if you had answered your fucking phone you would have known that and not have found that out by the time you were half way to an arena at which  none of your family were even located.  To which you proudly display said perceived ‘desired item’ in the livingroom after having to secure a hernia in the process of extracting item from the backseat of your Corrolla only to have the love of your life proclaim, upon his arrival home,  it’s not as desired as perceived.  Bastard. 

AND THEN THE NEXT DAY, you dump a whole bottle of coffee cream on the floor of your car, and a strong odor of Hazelnut permeates the interior.  In attempts to squelch that odor and the impending sour-milk-from-the-depths-of-a-nauseated-baby-smell, you erroneously decide to mop up said dairy product with paper towels and a Lysol-soaked rag.  Now the car smells like Hazelnut infused Lysol.  Pleasant. 

THE DAY AFTER THAT, having not had the opportunity to purchase more Hazelnut heavenly goodness in which to put in your morning coffee since you were busy doing OTHER PEOPLE’S laundry, preparing supper, cleaning shit up and planning an epic holiday, you ask three family members early in the morning to assist in said purchase only to be told that it would ‘make them late for work’.  So, only one cup of morning coffee.  All the damned day.

 Grumpy. As. Shit. 



Hope you are having a fucking awesome day.  Love and hugs to all.



Parlez-Vous Joey?

So, Hubby sent me these attachments to read and ‘get to know’ on an intimate level regarding pensions and shit.  After the first page, I started reading this:  A pension under the…blah, blah, blah, annuation perpetuates by a 2% blah, blah, blah….fuck-it-all-and-move-to-Figiblah, blah, blah….

Yeah.  I’m not sure how much ‘getting to know’ and ‘intimacy’ myself and this pension plan has.  There will be no candle-lit dinners involved in THAT relationship…

We have booked an epic journey to New York departing Montreal following the Canada Games row-a-thon that D2 will be commandeering.  Should be a hoot.  After a week of forcibly attempting to speak ma Joey-French (to those of you who missed THE ENTIRE NINE YEARS OF FRIENDS AND IF YOU DID, I’M NOT SURE IF WE COULD STILL BE  CONSIDERED FRIENDS, Joey-French was the mysterious French- language-interpretation that Joey thought he could speak and get away with.  Unfortunately, that did not work out very well for him. HOW COULD YOU HAVE MISSED THAT ONE?  SERIOUSLY. GO WATCH IT SO WE CAN GO BACK TO BEING FRIENDS.) 

 The poor people of Quebec will be so confused at my version of the French language they’ll ask that I switch to sign language.  OR they’ll just think I’m high all the time.  OR that I have some disability that makes me speak in tongues.  So, they’ll ask son to speak on my behalf.  Thanks Montreal. 

New York is looking like a sand trap for tourists who revel in getting tragically lost at every turn or high from the exhaust fumes from all the traffic.  SOUNDS PERFECT.  Hubby is not thrilled with this choice…he wanted sand. And sun. And blue water.  SUCK IT UP, DUDE.   AND, we could be forcing him to sit through a Broadway show.  I can’t wait to see his face after an hour of singing and dancing. HE’S GONNA DIE!!!!  (This is the antagonistic asshole part of me. You. Are. Welcome.)

After scouring the internet for days on end, repeatedly pestering Bestie and D regarding our impending Journey into The Great Beyond, I have nailed down exactly NOTHING. Nada. Zilch.  Fucking zero, people.  City pass or Explorer Pass?  Museums?  They have a gagillion.  Statue of Liberty?  You gotta take a fucking boat to get there!  Jeesh, I live on a Goddamned island and I GOTTA TAKE ANOTHER FUCKING BOAT?!!  Ugh…I got the swearing down pat.  AND, I’m working on ma New York accent…FUHGEDDABOUDIT…eh?  Sort of a cross between a young DeNiro and an old Carol Channing with a Canadia twist.  I SAID I WAS WORKING ON IT. 

It’s all confusing and exciting at the same time…great.  Now I’m sounding like a Taylor Swift song. 

As for the Father’s Day gift that I bought for the father of my children, the bread winner, the all-around-great –guy.  He arrived home from work last night and saw it sitting in the living room.  His reaction: “What’s that?  Why did you get that?”  He then continued to tell me I should have spent the money on myself, to which I replied something like this:

“dlkskjieooiwj…and lsiie tet fusi- place un baiser sur mon ass maintenant fblahmuthaslsoifuskcier” 


For all my DH ladies who made the effort to come to the blog to read something different, my apologies.  Your emails are now fodder for blog posts. 

Now get back to watching all NINE years of Friends…

Adventures in Cyber-Walking

Topping the headlines for today in Kayjai-land, the new telephone books have arrived. Swathed in plastic wrap with the scent of new paper circling the stiff office air and the blinding yellow cover sending peeps searching for their Ray Bans, those volumes of weighted paper overwhelmed the office hens, making them high on the fumes.  They couldn’t wait to ink in the new front pages with forgotten phone numbers that went out of date with the ark.   Yes, out with the old, in with the new…books of wonder and awesome that lay abandoned and neglected, their information outdated by the time it goes to print and no one with neither the time nor inclination to look up shit.  That’s all online now, peeps. 

In other awesome headlines, Kayjai and kin shall be making the most epic of epically awesome trips to New York City this summer.  Lock your doors kids, Kayjai will be in town!  I have spent hours on Google street-view cyber-walking the streets in search of some semblance of direction.

"Stand in the place where you live, now face North..." North?! Where the fuck is North?!

“Stand in the place where you live, now face North…” North?! Where the fuck is North?!

 I have none. 

Getting lost has never looked so appealing!  Every way my yellow street-man turns, I find a new building to ogle over and yet another food-cart.  I should weigh close to three hundred pounds by the end of this trip.  Yay me!

 Do you know how many tours there are happening in that city?  And the stuff one can see…wow.  I’m abound with glee and wonder.  I’ll probs. get so tired by all the walking and mugging, I’ll land face first into a pitcher of beer at a bar whose name no one can pronounce.  Fucking awesome, I tell ‘ya.

Hubby and son will have to paste posters with ma picture on it saying “have you seen this woman?  If so, approach with caution and hand her a map with a big yellow dot indicating where her hotel is and the dive she is currently sitting at swigging back a few pints.  OR, just hand her a GPS and shove her out the door.  Sort of like ‘blind man’s bluff’ only she’ll be blind-drunk instead of blindfolded.  Then sit back and watch the fun!”  

A GPS would be great since I have trouble reading maps.  It’s all very linear and complicated for me.  At least the GPS lady talks at you.  She’s annoying as shit, but the condescending tone reminds me of someone from home, so it should send me into a homesick-laden lament worthy of all the consummation of beer that had landed me in no-man’s land to begin with. 

As it happens, Bestie and her fam will already be in the city that never sleeps, so we will hook up for some drinky-drinks and a tour…or just drinky-drinks.  You never know what can happen when a bunch of folks from Newfoundland get together in a big crowded city full of other tourists and residents fucking hoping all these tourists would get permanently lost…CONGRATS!  I SHALL BE THAT TOURIST! I’M YOUR FUCKING DREAM COME TRUE, HOMIES! 

You all owe me…



The Email

The following is an actual email I JUST SENT to all of my DH ladies.  THEY’RE GOING TO BE AFTER ME SOON!!

Dear Things,

It is with a heavy heart that I must send you this email.  You have all been trusted and dear friends of mine and I realize this news may come as a shock to you, but I really must impart this most disturbing turn of events.

I don’t want you all to be dismayed by this news or have it shatter your ideal image of me (just go with it), but I feel you all must know the truth.  I have spent the better part of the afternoon rehearsing how I would say this without causing you pain or therapy for your families.  I have agonized how I would word it gently and without undue stress, however there is no easy way. 


There.  I’ve said it.  I’ve managed to pick out the white bits, but really it’s the goddamned microwave’s fault! 


Seriously, if that button wasn’t there we would have to estimate the cooking time and who among us gives a shit about that? Oh, right.  Nurse Betty.  My bad.

Look it's Nurse Betty waiting for the popcorn!!

Look it’s Nurse Betty waiting for the popcorn!!

But other than Bree-Clone, who would stand at the microwave waiting for the popcorn to pop.  Watching minute after minute, interminable second after second as the popcorn slowly comes to white puffy heaven, only this time it went to black pieces of soot-like filth. I have more important shit to be at, like, HELLOOO, spider solitaire and ma wonderful stu-dents!  Ugh…

Anywho, I thought I would just let you all know this awful news before you heard it from God knows where and the RNC is called and they want all the surveillance tape from the cameras in the building to document what truly went down.

Jeesh, it’s not like I left a burned bag lying carelessly on the side of the road, or anything….

I appreciate your understanding and truly value our friendship.  I hope you all find a way to forgive me and move on from all of this undue tragedy.

Yours in popcorn-popping,


Loose Limbs

There was a comment made at DH by Bestie the other night about her knee. She has been running and she suddenly developed this odd bump or ‘growth’ on the side of her right knee.  ( I bet she is soo impressed I’m telling you this right now.  She’ll be all “OMG I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU TOLD THE WORLD ABOUT MY KNEE-GROWTH!” And I’ll say “Calm down.  If you wanted to tell the world about half of the crap that seems to eek from my appendages, do you think I’d mind?!  Hell, no I’ve probs told everybody everything anyways, so go with it Sista!”  ‘Cause that’s how we roll)

Anywho, about the growth.  Yeah.  She said she laid off the running to see if it would magically disappear since she can’t risk injury. (it’s still there but on a smaller scale)  She needs to be able to stand up to make a living.  She’s a hairstylist (and not a nude artists’ model like I know all of you were thinking).   And a damned good one, peeps!  (that soooo makes up for my mentioning her knee-growth) 

That statement pretty much got me thinking… I don’t really need all my ‘appendages’ to be able to earn a living at what I do.  In fact, if I was missing a limb or two, it wouldn’t matter.   Not that I’m going to throw my arm into the nearest wood chipper or ‘accidentally’ fall in front of a moving lawn mower, but there is some comfort in knowing if my finger or toe or left hand suddenly detaches from my body, my life is not permanently ruined.  My career is not over.

 Maybe a little uncomfortable, I mean can you imagine trying to maneuver multiple hand puppets with just one hand?  Or trying to toe paint with only 4 toes?  (I’m figuring one toe missing from the dominant painting foot…provided you have two feet.  If not then that really sucks) 

See?  Stuff can be done with missing body parts.  Wait, what? 

I should clarify…one can still operate and function without ALL appendages just fine.  Not that you would do something with someone else’s detached limb like use it to clean the toilet or pick up the dog’s poop or touch somebody on the shoulder when he wasn’t looking and then stroke his cheek in a loving manner only for him to become abruptly aware the hand is kinda ‘manly’ and then he suddenly sees the man-hand as it independently moves around haphazardly and he screams like a little girl who just got her first cell phone.   No…not at all….

So not the hand I had envisioned but it will do in a pinch....

So not the hand I had envisioned but it will do in a pinch….

I noticed a spot on my arm that is different from the gagillion other spots I have on my arm.  It’s a great spot of pink.  So, I decided to Google ‘bright pink spot on my arm.’   Now I know why doctors HATE IT when patients Google shit.

 DON’T GOOGLE SHIT. They should have that sign on their door.  I should probs pay attention to it next time.  Apparently it has to be a certain shade of pink to qualify as ‘right’.  LIKE WHAT, A SALMON COLOR?!!


Hypochondriacs must have a hell of a time on Google.  Their doctors must ban Google or tell them to stay away from computers.  How would they be able to remain sane with all of the ‘this causes cancer’ and ‘you will die if you have this’ or ‘death is imminent; get out now while you still can’?    It reminds me of D1 who every time she gets a headache, she has a brain tumor. Or if she has a little pain, it must be a cancerous tumor that is spreading wildly or if she gets a hangnail, she’ll have to amputate her whole hand since gangrene is imminent. 

She’s the nursing student.

 I know.  Four years of hilarity coming ma way! 

And brain tumors…let’s not forget all the brain tumors.