I Was a Directionally Challenged Pirate Named Kevin in Ma Previous Life. True Story.

Bestie’s on tap to redo ma ‘do tomorrow night which is a good thing.  I haven’t seen so much grey since dude at the Halloween party dressed as Fifty Shades of Grey.  Lame costume, BTW dude.  I can paste a bunch of paint swatches to myself and proclaim it a costume too… in fact I do that almost on a daily basis.  It makes for a fun and interesting conversation piece.  You should try it. They love me at work.  “What’s that colour  you’re wearing today, KJ?  Ecru?  What’s that?”  and then I have to explain the colour palette and the colour wheel and what colours go with others…it’s all very artistic and shit.  Totally worth the hour it spends duct-taping those swatches to ma pants.  What?  OH, you thought I would tape those to ma shirt?  Most people look at the asses of others.  True stat.  Look it up.  So, I tape the swatches to ma ass.  There’s more space… It’s like the size of Quebec down there, so pahlenty of swatch taping room….

Not only is he wearing the costume...he's showing attitude. Work it!

Not only is he wearing the costume…he’s showing attitude. Work it!

Christmas is coming!  Only 28 more days, in case you were all wondering and didn’t have a calendar handy and can’t count.  I’ve done all the work for you.  Consider it your Christmas present.  Merry Christmas!  You. Are. Welcome.

I know there are those who walk among us who loathe Christmas and all it stands for, but I am not one of those people.  I fucking love it.  I love the music, I love the lights, I love the decorations and I love the excitement and shit.  I’m not down with the whole ‘Christmas Magic’ b.s.  That’s not me, but Christmas day is the BEST day.  I guess because the kids are older and we all just hang out in our jammies and put the fire on, play Christmas music, down all the chocolate one can eat in an hour and then eat turkey and pie and drink wine. Well, I drink the wine while I cook the turkey.  It’s amazing we have a dinner on the table at all. 

It’s awesome.

 Now that D1 is over the legal age for consuming alcohol, I don’t feel so awkward handing her a glass of white wine to toast at dinner.  Not that I’ve let that stop me. A couple of years ago, her bestie’s mom had a hissy fit with the news that I ‘allowed’ my daughter to have a glass of wine at Christmas dinner.  No shit.  She went Bat shit crazy.  She must have had some issues around alcohol to have a fit about ma kid having a bit of wine at a family dinner that she was not a part of and had no business commenting on.  Maybe she was drunk when she said that. Or had some bad crack. Some people can’t handle their liquor. Or their drugs.  Maybe she took the drugs BECAUSE  she was drunk…apparently that’s all the rage now.  AND, making ranty videos WHILE you’re drunk.  I think I should so do that.  It could make me a more famous drunkard that what I already am.   Either way, we kinda don’t talk…it’s a good thing.

I’ve been having conversations with myself all day, and it’s pretty freakin’ scary.  Most of the discussions have been religious based (not sure what that’s about) and I tuned in to watch Long Island Medium last night just to see the whole scam at work, when she was going to do a ‘past life regression’ session with her ‘spirit guide’.  I think I want to do that.  I wanna see what awesome past life I can reconnect with to freak people out at parties.  Maybe I was a saloon girl in the Wild West and helped Billy the Kid shoot up a couple of towns. Or maybe I was a business tycoon on Wall Street and was murdered because of my totally bad ass money making skills that resulted in the downfall of the Russian mob. Or maybe I was a spy that got turfed into the ocean when divulging secrets to the Americans and got caught by the mean Italian mafia who decided instead of shooting me, they would see if ma swimming skills were up to par.  Probs not.  Or, maybe I was a pirate.  Yeah!  That would be way more exciting and more accurate given my penchant for eye patches and alcohol.  Hmmm….

Yeah…maybe I was a directionally challenged pirate named Kevin and got lost out at sea and floated aimlessly for months, dying from starvation, scurvy and yukky sea gulls pelting at me, while I was searching for the lost treasure of Red Beard and his Angry Band of Asshats.  Excellent. 

Totally worth it if there’s a treasure map involved…I’ll let you know if I regress far enough to remember the map.  Of course I’ll get lost trying to follow the damn thing….

BEST PIRATE EVAH! Maybe me and Captain Jack taking on the high seas and Read Beard. AWESOME

BEST PIRATE EVAH!  Me and Captain Jack taking on the high seas and Read Beard. AWESOME

The Santa I Painted…With Gumballs!

What the hell is wrong with Santa?!!  WHAT DID YOU DO TO SANTA?!  WHY IS HIS BEARD SO BIG AND WHAT ARE ALL OF THOSE BALLS DOING AROUND HIS HEAD?!  You sick perv, Santa should not be surrounded by balls! You’re not displaying that anywhere, are you?  ‘Cause that would be wrong…just wrong.

Were you drunk when you painted that?  It looks like somebody on acid came up with all of that glitter and colour and shit.  What the hell?

Honesty is all the rage around ma house these days.   Ugh.

Just a snippet of shit I got thrown at me when I posted ma newest painting of Santa…BizzaroWorld in Colour.  That’s my new title for the piece.  I think it’s appropriate.  Just to be clear…I wasn’t on Crack when I painted that.  Totally sober.  And I really did think it was kinda pretty…until the comments…


In other news, it seems ma ‘hood is staging an intervention for me.  How sweet.  Bring the booze.  Ima gonna need it, yo.  The intervention stems from ma wandering around Pet Smart on the weekend looking for a Christmas dress for Mags, the Wonder Dog, (yeah, I know) when a lovely puppy came up to me for a pet, so I did just that (he was a furry cutey)  then got distracted by all the pretty stuff and then heard, “OH, ITS KJ” and I thought “Fuck, the dog speaks! I’m such a doggy-parent failure” when no, it’s owner, H was there (tethered to Charlie…the peeps that live across the street from me.  Yeah. You can see how ma wandering got me in deep here ) and felt a bit neglected by all of ma mindless rambling and lack of acknowledgement of her presence and so…BANG.  KJ needs an intervention.  Obviously.

I think it goes a bit more than that after the presentation of Santa on Crack painting that led to the whole “KJ has completely lost her marbles and needs help ASAP” but you get the general idea.

I should interject here by saying somebody got a preview of ma post and let’s just say he shouldn’t have been reading it and now he thinks I’m a serious whack job in need of more stringent measures than just a simple ‘intervention’.  Ugh.

Be that as it may, I have some late breaking news.  Hubby, who was scheduled for the infamous knee surgery for Thursday that was rescheduled from Tuesday has now been cancelled once again…for a more inconvenient time at the whim and choosing of the Powers That Be from Eastern Health.  Whilst, ( I so enjoy that word..it makes me sound so British or something) whilst, I enjoyed the latest cancellation due to my not having to drive to Deliverance country on the weekend to deliver son to a hockey tournament in the boonies, I now have to brace myself for the knee surgery to take place at another moment, saaaaayyyyy….CHRISTMAS??!!  Oh, God NOOOOOOOO!!!  MOUNT PEARL CHRISTMAS TOURNAMENT, YO.  NOT GONNA HAPPEN, YO.  You do remember that Mount Pearl is like driving into Satan’s Lair and I REFUSE to drive there on account I get inescapably lost and end up driving in circles…and I can’t get out.  It’s like I’m a little lab mouse and I’m trapped in a maze and some being is looking down at my sorry ass and laughing at me as I try to find my way back to humanity or at least a piece of cheese, but I keep going around and around and around…ugh.  It’s exhausting, really.

  I think if they schedule it for that particular event, I may throw myself from the bridge…any bridge….so I won’t have to drive to that little escapade in torture.

You feel ma pain, right?  Right?

If not…just remember the Santa on Crack painting and all will be restored to it’s natural goodness and order….

You. Are. Welcome.

Joyful Santas and Gangsta Mags Are All The Rage, Yo!

Hello, there.  What’s new?  How have you been?  Read any good books lately?  Seen a good movie or two?  Me? Nah…I’ve been doing shit.  You know, getting shit done.  This and that.  Moving and grooving…I can’t be any more specific or I’ll have to keeeeeelllll you…or something.

Get the feeling I’m rambling?  Yeah, me too.  I’ve actually been painting.  Not walls, but I decided to take up my tole painting brush and start again.  After ten years of doing nothing at all, I thought painting some Christmas themed stuff would be fun!  Yeah.  Although ‘fun’ is not the word I would use, it has been productive and relaxing.

Of course, I decided to do this in October, so searching up for supplies has been a challenge.  Did you know that nobody tole paints anymore?  Or some people refer to it as Folk Art painting.  Whatever the fuck it’s called, NOBODY does it anymore… Who knew?  Ugh…leave it up to me to pick up a hobby that died out with troll babies and Ninja turtles.  But, they made a come-back, right?  So can I.

I dug out my paints in the bowels of the basement.  They are still encased in a large wooden crate that has been half painted.  I gave them all a shake and they were as good as new…almost.   I discovered that they don’t make the paint I used, so now I have to switch. The only problem is that all of the colors are different now.  So, search up handy-dandy conversion chart and now I have to mix and match new colors and buy the ones that I simply can’t create myself.

Santa that I painted...I like him even if he looks depressed.  Joy is not his name.

Santa that I painted…I like him even if he looks depressed. Joy is not his name.

 Joyful Santa here was done on canvas.  I really liked the way he turned out despite his cheery demeanor and purplish-alcoholic nose.  Nothing says ‘Merry Christmas’ more than a framed alcoholic Santa!  Yay me! I loved him so much, I made him a part of my mantel.

Now, I’m working on Santa number two also in canvas, but once that’s finished, I have to search out some new wooden material and that ain’t easy…(I can see you when you do that, “I GOT YOUR WOOD RIGHT HERE”    Yeah.) Maybe if I lop off a tree branch and sand it down I could have something to paint…Or, my fence would be good.  But Hubby would have to tear down part of it, dry it and bring it in so I could paint it…bit of a pain.  And the dog would escape and terrorize the ‘hood, so we can’t have Mags running loose.  She’s already got an attitude with her new sweaters…I bought her a hooded pink one.  She sorta looks like Missy Elliott now.  Scary.

Gangsta Mags...she's comin' at you, bro!

Gangsta Mags…she’s comin’ at you, bro!

 Next she’ll be doing gangsta rap and looking for a posse to hang with.  All the other dogs will want to join her and we’ll have Spike, Cooper, Reese, Max, Charlie, Hershey and of course, Special Needs Petey (He’s special)  and the leader Mags with their hooded sweaters and their swagger….the ‘hood has gone to the dogs…literally.

All that from a bit of painting…*sigh*   Anyways, my apologies for ma blogging buds for ma absence as of late.  I have been reading, just not commenting.  I will return when this painting urge/thing/obsession recedes a bit and I can get back to writing and reading and socializing and being my old annoying and sweary self.  I know…miss me, yet?

And if you see any troll babies around, throw one out ma way, will ‘ya?

Growing Pains

My postings have taken the proverbial nose-dive…it’s not due to anything specific, just time and energy.  It seems I am lacking both these days.

Life is marching on and with it comes kids becoming awkward young adults.  Case in point, D1 and her purchase of her first new car.  After listening to her pleading and begging, three years of it to be exact, we took her out Saturday for ‘car shopping’.  A somewhat daunting task that had us juggling dealerships and models and bi-weekly payment schedules.  In the end, she bought the car she liked the most or in her immortal words ‘the car I’ve always wanted’.   The white car shall take a place in ma driveway whilst my little Toyota shall be relegated to the street…tossed aside and left to wonder its fate as the daughter’s car, all shiny and bright, gets admired and awed over like a…well, new car. Daughter is thrilled, however, her new life as a bill-payer is also becoming a weight that we warned shall be hers forever more.  Don’t wish to grow up too fast, dear one.  It ain’t all it’s cracked up to be….

It’s been a busy time, me adjusting to life as a mother to adults living all under the same roof and subjected to daily musings of ‘do you need help seeing that mom’?  or ‘Did you forget I told you that already?’  Ugh.  I’ve caught myself singing their baby songs in the morning, remembering that a song could settle even the middle one on a restless night (which invariably lasted for four years) and could bring a smile to a bouncy baby boy.  Now the babies are practically grown (or are grown) and I’m left feeling empty-nested, but without the empty nest.  When did that happen? I can still see them settled next to me for Chapter One of the new book that’s all the rage, Harry Potter.    I insisted that when the last one came out, we would be reading it together.  Big dreams die hard, and that one fell to an awful fate of “Mom, we are too old to have you read to us.  We think we can read that ourselves” and “I’m waiting for the movie.  I’m not reading all that” (D1)  Ugh.

How I see ma little girl…good commercial.

Nursing school, University schedules, junior high school yearbooks and new cars are taking the place of Harry Potter stories and baby songs.  I’m lamenting my new role as Mom, The Chief Food Supplier and Educational Supporter.  Give me a good book surrounded by pajama clad kids and a round of You Are My Sunshine, any day.

This growing up stuff, sucks….