Appropriate Signage For Weekend Plans

Aside from the obvious martyrdom I intend to pretend to endure throughout this weekend, I thought I would share my ever-so-exciting-plans.  They include, but are not limited to, the following:

·       * Drinking copious quantities of alcohol while attempting to spell alcohol (it’s difficult even sober. Which I totally am at this moment.  No, really I am.)

·       * Hanging up the print I said I was going to hang up last weekend but didn’t because Hubby was his usual uncooperative self.  And he was busy cleaning out the basement or some foolish sort of thing that has no bearing on me whatsoever.  Yeah.

·        *Start my memoirs…it’s a long and involved project.  I’m planning on a cool title…which is where I am currently stuck.  For the past ten years.  No judging.  Or suggestions of titles like “My Memoirs”.  Also not available are “This Shit Really Happened” or “I Have No Idea How I Got This Way” or “Freud’s An Ass”.  According to Google those titles are all taken.  I know I was disappointed too.

·        *Hammy The Hamster II has subsequently bit the dust, so cleaning out his cage was D1’s responsibility but due to the obvious emotional trauma sustained, I will probably throw the deliciously pink abode ceremoniously into the trash.  And then burn the shit in the backyard and invite the neighbours over for a bonfire.  S’mores anyone??

·        *Harrass the government for grant money so I can live independently in Grand Turk while crafting my memoirs that currently have no title.   Or content.

·        *Harrass my children for their assistance in projects I have no intention of finishing or participating in.

·        *Watch an entire movie without hearing the phrase “WHAT ARE YOU WATCHING THIS FOR?”  The obvious reply “BECAUSE I FUCKING WANT TO” will be taped to my forehead so no verbal response would be necessary.

*The aforementioned “BECAUSE I FUCKING WANT TO”  will be affixed to my forehead for the entire weekend because really, it would avoid pretty much every question that will inevitably float my way.  I suggest the same for everyone.   Maybe I should make some in advance and sell them on ebay….mommies will eat that shit up!  I’ll make millions.  Who needs a reality show?   I’ll just sit home and make signs.

No need for the government grant.  Fuck you, government (grant).     *insert smiley face here*

An Unnatural Nature Scene

I bring you a moment from the wild one may never see again.  First, let’s set the stage.  Watch the intro to Wild Kingdom…

Are you ready?

The Newfoundland Hubby in His natural habitat doing something unnatural.

The Newfoundland Hubby in his natural habitat doing something unnatural.

I know that you are all as amazed as I am about this…I was lucky enough to capture the scene on my phone so you can all marvel in this bizarre and captivating experience.

HUBBY COOKING!!!

For those of you needing the details he is cooking fish n’ brewis.  (salt fish and soaked hard bread.  He prefers his fried.)

Until next time friends, keep your cameras at the ready and watch out for those wild animals.  You never know WHAT they’ll do next!

How Many Fingers Am I Holding Up?

My lack of significant eye sight is becoming a challenge.  For all of us.   For instance, I misinterpret things I’ve read, I can’t quite make out a face in the distance and far too often I’m left squinting like Mr. Magoo.  I guess Father Time has decided to make me blind as a bat as well as physically uncoordinated and awkward in social situations.  Thanks for that.  That’s almost as awesome as having an allergic reaction to your allergy medication.   I’m thinking pretty soon I’m going to need a cane.  And a seeing eye-dog.   I walked out of Tim Hortons’ one day and I thought a sign on the door read Free WTF!  I LOVED THAT SIGN!!  I remember asking my husband if the Tim Horton’s company can legally put WTF!  on their doors without anybody complaining.  He looked at me a little weird until son spoke up and said, “No, mom.  IT SAYS FREE WiFi!!”  Ohhhhh….But I still wanted to try out the WTF sign on our front door, but Hubby wouldn’t go for it. I know, right?  Genius.  It would have been like, “WTF_________” fill in the blank, like “WTF are you here for?”; or “WTF is that shit on your head?”; or “WTF were you thinking knocking on my door without any bottles of wine in your hand?”  Yeah, all the missed opportunities are keeping me awake at night.  Or, when I thought D’s email wished Nurse Betty would ‘get some soon’ really she wished she would ‘be home soon’, or the time I thought my daughter’s text read ‘my ass is too boring’ when really it said ‘my dress is too long’ …I know.  Why would you think you have a boring ass?  Who told you that?  What are the qualifications of an exciting ass?  Is there a pass/fail grade curve the highschool put out on asses that I somehow missed?  I NEED THE WTF SIGN!!!

I just wrote the most awesome email to my friends detailing my week of trials and tribulations at work that at best can be described as The Eternal Fuck-Up.  Work, not the email.   It was an epic tale of good vs evil; right vs wrong; burger vs sandwich.  I wish you all could read it.  Jesus was even in there for a cameo.  Really, it was pretty damned good.  It’s a good thing they blithely look away after reading the shit with which I inundate their inboxes.  If no replies come rolling my way soon, I’ll have to send out warnings/threats of more emails to come that look more like spam and junk mail.  I’m shocked they haven’t blocked me or junked my stuff already.  Wait, maybe they have and I don’t know it yet.  Maybe they’ve all banned together like some little gangsta posse and decided to spam my ass behind my back, sorta like stabbing me in the face while I was sleeping.  Pfft….nah, they’re just waiting for a follow-up…I just know it….

Since this writing, most of my DH ladies have subsequently replied…they still love me…excuse me while I have a Sally Field moment….

My sign...notice the decorative heart and flowers...I think Hubby should rethink his position on this.  It's awesome

My sign…notice the decorative heart and flowers…I think Hubby should rethink his position on this. It’s awesome

“Be funny. You’re not being funny. We were expecting more. You suck”

I was writing a blog post in my head this morning as I was making lunch and breakfast and smiling wanly at the dog who was looking up at me with expectant eyes like “You WILL drop something on the floor for me to eat, right?  ‘Cause that’s the only damn reason for me to be seated at your feet.  That and I feel the inexplicable need to bite your ankles every time you step away from me.”   Yeah.  The post was pretty good.  The only problem is I can’t remember it.  I didn’t have a pen and paper nor the inclination to run for one at that moment, so the post is long gone into the chasm of my memory…there must be so much shit in there that the filing system is completely fucked up.  Seriously, files marked “Shit I Need” are obviously misplaced and gone into the dark abyss of never- never land. The cabinet marked “Garbage That No Other Human on The Face of the Earth Needs or Wants to Know” seems to be correlated by date, time and the place they last washed their feet. Those files are easily accessible and ready at a moment’s notice.  Especially after several glasses of wine and someone proclaiming a trivia game would be awesome right about now.  Fucked. Up.

 So this morning’s blog post is lying somewhere between “Shit I Should Know But Don’t” and “The Most Awesome Facts About Boats”.

This weekend had me spinning wildly between a fun filled DH night with the ladies where it was demanded that I “be funny.  You’re not being funny.  Get her more wine” and D2’s grad.    I’m assuming by the previous DH statements, I wasn’t living up to my “you’re the fucking entertainment” part of my contract.  Maybe I should stop sending out my witty emails in my feeble attempts at humor and pithy attention.  It’s a well-known fact I suffer from Raj-syndrome.  I speak very little but hand me alcohol and I become a sarcastic wino who slings comebacks and insults with mega sardonic phrasing.  I hadn’t realized there were expectations around my verbal nonsense.  That’s a lot of pressure.  I need a drink…and some new material.

Speaking of drunkards, while at D2’s meet and greet portion of her graduation, Hubby and I were entertained by a sufficiently inebriated man who insisted on detailing a story about golfing in the United States.  The story involved an over- ended golf cart and wayward golfers. There was a few racial slurs and sexist innuendos all making that much more awesome for the eavesdroppers surrounding us.  He was going on and on about how only Baymen were the best workers and “I wouldn’t hire a townie to save me life”.   Onlookers were appalled.  Especially a lady who was all decked out in diamonds and an evening gown.  She was particularly insulted.  I was thrilled by her horrified expression and feeble attempts to move out of the way.  There was nowhere to go.  So Larry, tell me more!  We were happily obliging Larry for the next story.  Where the fuck were you last night when I was coming up short for stories for the ladies?  Hire Larry.  He’s available and we could pay him in Lamb’s.  I’ll be sure to invite the evening- gown lady…we probably aren’t going to be invited to any more meet and greets, anyways.  She’s probably on the Regatta Committee…and is disgusted by food fights…and doesn’t think possessing something as awesome as this is ‘appropriate’ for a mother of my stature.  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!  A dog that sticks it’s tongue out at you on demand is unworthy of attention??!!    If that’s the way you feel, I don’t want to go to your meet and greets.  I don’t want to have dinner with you and your fancy dress.  I don’t want to be in on the secret club meetings at the boat house…okay, yeah I do, but I can let that go if you can’t see how adorable that doggie is!!  Or her tongue!  It’s like she’s giving you the finger only she doesn’t have any fingers so she’s just using her tongue instead.  It’s all incredibly remarkable and awe-inspiring.

It's like she's saying "Fuck You" but in a cute puppy way...

It’s like she’s saying “Fuck You” but in a cute puppy way…

This post actually took me two days to write since I was looking for the perfect pic to go with it.  This may be a sad statement to make, but I have over 100 pictures of my dog on my phone.  100!!! I wonder how my kids feel about that…hmmm…I should be getting my Mother of the Year Award in the mail any day now!  My kids have come to the joyful realization that the dog takes precedence.

 Kid That Lives In My House: “Oh, mom did you remember to pick up my dress?”

  Me: “No, but I got the cutest little hair bows for the dog!”

KTLIMH:  “You forgot to pick me up after my practice…again.”

Me: “Sorry, I was out back playing with the dog.  You wouldn’t want me to neglect her would you?”

 KTLIMH:” THERE’S NO HOT WATER!!”

Me:  “Sorry…I had to give the dog a bath and mini-spa day. She needed to look pretty…she was getting all tangley and mangy looking. AND, you wouldn’t want her to be rejected by the other doggies in the ‘hood, would you?!  She’s got a rep to uphold”

KTLIMH:  *sigh*

Me:  Yeah.  Get used to it kid….

My Ode To Shamie and Why Is That Lady In A Cage?

There’s a lady at Costco who works from a cage.  I shit you not.  It’s true and a little disturbing.  I was there last night getting propane for our barbeque that we probably won’t use until mid-July, and we had to pay her through cage in the Tire department.  I was going to snap a picture of her for you with my cell phone, but Hubby wouldn’t let me.  Something about it being too embarrassing or ‘inappropriate’…wait, what?  I want to take a picture of a lady in a cage and I’M the inappropriate one?!  THERE’S A LADY IN A CAGE.  I was going to make the statement that she was like Danny Devito on Taxi, but I think Hubby was a little put out by all the staring and pointing going on.  “She’s in a cage!  A fucking cage!  Do they feed you in there?”  I actually only said it in my head, because that’s where it belongs…apparently.

Yesterday, there was an email going around from my DH ladies regarding the impending festivities changing from Sunday night to Friday night.  I think my response was a little over-the-top with all the capital letters and exclamation points.  And the rambling on about nothing remotely to do with DH.  It’s funny, everybody’s reaction was the same.  Ignore her and move on.  Hilarious…I was expecting somebody to say something about my unusual response, but they all just accept my over-exuberance as part of my personality.  “Oh yeah that’s Rogue.  Let’s all be the mature ones…someone has to”   They’re great, aren’t they?  I’m planning to inundate their email boxes with more of my effervescent personality.  They’ll love it, I know.  I’m like the little sister who annoys everybody but they tolerate it because it’s kinda funny and a bit weird but really, they would all miss me if I suddenly died  or got run over by a truck or something.   At least I think so.

Bestie’s cat died yesterday.  It was very sad and she was terribly upset.  I felt awful for her and her girlies.  As sad as that event was, I was so close to saying inappropriate odes and writing cat eulogies.  How inappropriate is that?  I know, right?  Ugh…Here is my ode to Shamie (that’s the cat’s name, duh)

Shamie

Ode To Shamie

I saw you very little

But your presence was always known

By D’s daughter’s frightened expression

And your penchant for being alone.

Your fur was very fluffy

Your eyes remained bright and wide

You never appeared huffy

And you were always by Bestie’s side

Now you’ve gone to cat heaven

To play and frolic all through the night

Be happy dearest Shamie

You’re never far from their sight.

You were a badass in cat terms

That made the other cats jealous

You possessed cat charms

That made you appear a tad ‘over zealous’ *

Eventhough you suffered from depression

That made you seem ‘put-out’

You never let that stop you

From getting out and about.

That’s the best I could do…okay, not the BEST but I think it’s adequate. I hope you liked it.

RIP Shamie

*Let me see you rhyme a word with ‘jealous’.