Category Archives: Misguided Musings

Happy Canada Day!

Posted in Misguided Musings by

canadian-flag-heartThe following was taken from the website: http://members.shaw.ca/kcic1/canisms.html.   Thanks to Miss H for the tip about the website and enjoy.

Happy Canada Day everybody!

The pics are from Cape Spear, NL the eastern most point in North America.  Hubby and I ventured out there yesterday and I snapped a few.

Cape Spear

Cape Spear

You know you’re Canadian if :

You stand in “line-ups” or “queues” (in Victoria, BC) at the movie, not lines.
You’re not offended by the term, “Homo Milk”.
You understand the sentence, “Could you please pass me a serviette, I just spilled my
BOWL OF POUTINE” !
You eat chocolate bars instead of candy bars.
You drink pop, not soda.
You had a Prime Minister who wasn’t fluent in either of the official languages (English & French).
You know what it means to be ‘on the pogey’.
You know that a mickey and 2-4’s mean “Party at thecamp, eh?!”
You can drink legally while still a teen in some provinces.
You talk about the weather with strangers and friends alike.
You don’t know or care about the fuss with Cuba, it’s just a cheap place to travel with very good cigars.
When there is a social problem, you turn to your government to fix it, instead of telling them to stay out of it.
You’re not sure if the leader of your nation has EVER had sex and you don’t WANT to know if he has!
You get milk in bags as well as cartons and plastic jugs.
Pike is a type of fish, not some part of a highway.
You drive on a highway, not a freeway.
You know what a Robertson screwdriver is.
You have Canadian Tire money in your kitchen drawers.
You know that Mounties “don’t always look like that.”
You dismiss all beers under 6% as “for children and the elderly.”
You know that the Friendly Giant isn’t a vegetable product line.
You know that Casey and Finnegan are not a Celtic musical group.
You drive with your headlights on during the day (since 1989, all new cars have been fitted with “daytime running lights”).

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You wonder why there isn’t a 5 dollar coin yet.
Like any international assasin/terrorist/spy in the world, you possess a Canadian Passport.
You use a red pen on your non-Canadian textbooks and fill in the missing ‘u’s from labor, honor, color. etc.
You know the French equivalents of “free”, “prize”, and “no sugar added”, thanks to your extensive education in bilingual cereal packaging.
You are excited whenever an American television show mentions Canada.
You make a mental note to talk about it at work the next day.
You can do all the hand actions to Sharon, Lois and Bram’s “Skin-a-ma-rinky-dinky-doo” opus.

I thought it was very artistic of me to photograph a barren picnic table. Sadly, it just looks kinda creepy and like an empty picnic table.

I thought it was very artistic of me to photograph a barren picnic table. Sadly, it just looks kinda creepy and like an empty picnic table.

You can eat more than one maple sugar candy without feeling nauseous.
You were mad at the CBC when “The Beachcombers” were taken off the air.
You know who “Relic” is/was.
You know what a touque is and you own one and often wear it.
You have heard of … and have some cherished momento of … Bob and Doug McKenzie.
You still sing the “Great White North” theme song with pride … “coo-ooh-coocoo-coo-ooh-coocoo”.
You know Toronto is NOT a province.
You never miss “Coach’s Corner” during Hockey Night in Canada.
Back bacon and Kraft Dinner are two of your favourite food groups.
If you live in some of the colder Canadian provinces, your car has a cord and plug sticking out of the grill … it’s a block heater for those sub-zero (in Celsius) days.
You only know three spices: salt, pepper and ketchup.
You design your Halloween costume to fit over a snowsuit.
The mosquitoes have landing lights.
You have more kilometres on your snow blower than your car.
You have 10 favourite recipes for moose meat.
Canadian Tire Store on any Saturday is busier than most toy stores at Christmas.
You live in a house that has no front step, yet the door is one meter above the ground.
You’ve taken your kids trick-or-treating in a blizzard.
Driving is better in the winter because the potholes are filled in with frozen snow and slush.

The local paper covers national and international headlines on 2 pages, but requires 6 pages for hockey.
At least twice a year, the kitchen doubles as a meat processing plant.
The most effective mosquito repellent is a shotgun.
Your snowblower gets stuck on the roof.

You frequently clean grease off your barbecue so the bears won’t prowl on your deck.
You know which leaves make good toilet paper now that there are no more dollar bills.
The major parish fund-raiser isn’t bingo, it’s sausage making.
You find -40C a little chilly.
The trunk of your car doubles as a portable deep freeze.
You attend a formal event in your best clothes, your finest jewellery and your Sorels.
You can play road hockey on skates.
You know 4 seasons: Winter, Still Winter, almost Winter and Construction.
The municipality buys a Zamboni before a bus.
You understand the Labatt Blue commercials.
You perk-up when you hear the old theme from “Hockey Night in Canada”.
You pronounce the last letter of the alphabet “zed” instead of “zee.”
and …

You end some sentences with “eh,” … eh?

IMG_3142

You Know You Should Call It A Day When:

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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. 

NOOOOOOO!!!!! MY EYES ARE BURNING

NOOOOOOO!!!!! MY EYES ARE BURNING

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

KJ  

 

Parlez-Vous Joey?

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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” 

YOU WOULD TOTALLY UNDERSTAND THAT IF YOU KNEW JOEY-FRENCH.

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

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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…