A Word To Your Mother

Me: I’m awesome.

Daughter:  *silence*

Me: Obviously, you didn’t hear me…or you’re not listening.

Daugher:  I heard you

Me:  You should say it

Daugher:  What?

Me:  You should tell me I’m awesome.

Daughter:  Why?

Me: Because if I prematurely die at the hands of a violent psycho killer, I want you to be able to say that to all your friends.

Daughter:  Okay.


Daugher:  Ugh….You’re awesome mom

Me:  Thanks, but I don’t know if I can believe you now

Daughter:  And this is why I never invite my friends over….

I met someone recently that I haven’t seen in around 25years.  Upon first seeing him, I didn’t readily recognize who he was, but once I got closer (my eyes are totally fucked, yo) it dawned on me who he was.  And then I made the fatal mistake of attempting a greeting.  Here it is:

Me: Hey, what up dawg?

My mind just freaked at me from the inside.

My mind: What the fuck was that?!!!!  Did you grow up in the projects and not tell me about it?  Who SAYS that?!!  Are you Snoop Dogg or Snoop Lion or whatever the hell he is calling himself these days, are you his mother?  Sister from another mother?  What the hell?  You haven’t seen this person for YEARS and you come up with that??!!  What shit are you smoking?   Seriously.

As my mind internally gives me a beat down for my ghetto greeting, I attempt a strained smile that says “I’m really not a white Nicki Minaj…just go with it here, pal”.

I’m living in Newfoundland.  This is apparently how Newfoundlanders greet other fellow Canadians now.  We have developed an affinity to our brothers and sisters of color.  We are attempting to relate to each other with verbal greetings that resemble meager attempts at becoming members of hip-hop bands.  Next I’ll be donning a wide brimmed hat and saying ‘yo’ a lot.  Tourism NL should so consider me for their next advertising campaign.  Instead of showing the red-headed children frolicking precariously close to the Atlantic ocean as if not a care in the world upon those cliffs that appear dangerously high and jagged, but really aren’t that scary since the film crew is there to catch them if they step the wrong way, they should so show me and my whoop-ass deadly wide brimmed hat and chains with my “What up Dawg?  Come on down to ma ‘hood.  We show you how to paaarrrtttaaaayyy”.   My phone should be ringing off the hook.  It’s dope, yo.  Word to your mother.   I think dude will return to Ontario with a much broader appreciation for the cultural diversity of this province…or he’s saying to himself “glad I dodged that bullet.”

 Yeah, probs the latter….

rapper hat

The Word Game


There’s a wrestling match going on inside my head and so far Rogue is losing to the opponent.  Problem is I’m not sure who or what the opponent is.  He remains nameless and faceless.  I resolve to write a great post full of wit and wisdom and end up with this…this…rambling and fumbling of words.  I fucking hate that.

In order to free up the creative process, let’s play a little game.  I’ll say a word and the other me will write down the first thing that pops into my head.  It’s easier when there is more than one ‘you’ inside your head.  Yay for mental health!  Ready, people?  Let’s go!

Ball- Run

String- This is stupid

Room-  With a view!  I win!

Desk- A Fucking mess

Lindsay Lohan-  Also, a fucking mess

Pen- With which to write which I haven’t, thus the need for this idiotic exercise. Next.

Apple- Crunchy

Chair- Dumb chair.  Fell over it this morning…oh. Sorry.

Dog-   The cutest wittle doggie evah…ahem.  Again, sorry.

Weight- Wait?  Or WEIGHT!  Like HOLY SHIT I WEIGH HOW MUCH? Or HOLY SHIT I HAVE TO WAIT HOW LONG?!!  Which one?  Both are evil.

Fruit-  Owns a hair salon and totally denies he’s gay…oh!  You mean FRUIT, like apples and oranges and stuff…again with the apples? Ugh.

Heat- Totally absent in this space and therefore I am FUCKING FREEZING!!  Hello?!! Oh!  I meant house.  I’m home today…back to the words…

Keys-  Ima gonna need a new set when they change the locks on the door…to my HOUSE of course, because that’s where I currently am.  HOME.  Yeah.

Florida- where I should be at the moment.

Book- Love them all, read them all, wrote a couple…awesome stuff.

Paper- Umm….white, blank lately, some have lines, trees died for them?  What do you want from me?

Elvis- We went from paper to Elvis?  Really?  “Thank you, you’re beautiful”.  All I got.

The lights are on but no one’s home-  The story of my life…This is supposed to be ONE word.

Money-  Apparently not something young adults take downtown so instead of  YA being able to get home independently, she feels the need to call the mommy so she can meet her at a location only to have that location change when mommy gets there due to the absence of money and the YA’s ability to avail of the public transportation system therefore, after much yelling and throwing of cell phone in car, (which sadly now works intermittently at best) mommy dutifully drives all over fucking town (since the location of pick up changed twice after the first time) to rescue daughter and friend only to hear  “thanks” and “well, if you had let me take the car this wouldn’t have happened”…. Good thing my phone is due for an upgrade….

Fuck off- See above.  ‘nuff said.

Thank you for playing.  See you next time on WORD ASSOCIATION-THE BEST GAME FOR YOUR MENTAL HEALTH.

Disclaimer Clause:  It should be noted that no harming of any cars, horses, dogs, cats, wandering hobos, daughters or cell phones occurred in the above scenario.  Swearing was kept to whispers and loud voices in my head…I think it was implied in the yell of “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T HAVE ANY MONEY?  WHO GOES DOWNTOWN WITHOUT CASH?!!  TELL ME!  WHO DOES THAT?!”   Ugh….

A Conversation

It’s Sunday evening.  The house is quiet.  The D’s are hidden away in their rooms and Hubby and son have gone off to hockey, leaving me alone with the chocolate cookies and a football game on TV.   Yeah.  Football.  The strangest game on earth.  I don’t understand the joy people seem to get from guys ramming their heads into each other and throwing a ball around.  I guess you have to be a guy to understand it?  Although there are women who enjoy this too.  I can see them in the stands…and the scantily clad ones cheering…hmmm….maybe that’s why guys watch the game.  I’m starting to understand this now.

Why are there no cheerleaders in hockey? They don’t want to get a puck in the nose.  Soccer?  They don’t want to get a stray ball in the side of the head.  Baseball? Waaaaayyy too long a game.  Cricket?  Wait…what? WTF is that?!  A game with a broad stick, a ball and running around...sounds a lot like baseball.  It’s not.  Oh.

Congratulations, you have just witnessed my first schizophrenic conversation!  How do you feel?  A little disturbed?  Slightly uncomfortable?  Awkward and a little unsettled like someone that has been staring at you just a tad too long?? Yeah…I hear ‘ya.

I was checking out some websites of authors.  I’ve decided I don’t like them very much.  They have ‘webmasters’ who design things for them and create their site and decide how everything will look.  It’s like having somebody raise your kids for you.  You don’t actually do anything interactive with them…you just claim their parentage; their blood line.  All the work and enjoyment lays on the hired help.  Congrats!  You are a parent of no one.  A master of nothing.  You post a blog and claim to have worked on it.  Uh, no you didn’t.  You just showed up to the party for the refreshments and the accolades.  Fuck off.

Ugh…I’m complaining about nothing important or relevant.

Awesome post, Rogue! Please continue with your mindless chatter about nothing!

Thanks! Okay.

If I was following my Kingly advice, I should be reading something right now.  But I’m not.  I’m rambling instead.  Filling up space.  Killin’ time.  Foolin’ around.  Such a productive use of time.

What’s new?  How’s life?  Read any good books lately?  Seen any good movies?  No?  Me neither…thought I’d ask….

I’ll get back to trying to figure out the football thing and stare at the last chocolate cookie in the box like it was the last morsel of food on earth, at which time I will stuff it angrily into my mouth and throw away the evidence before anyone discovers it’s gone.  You go back to whatever it was that I so rudely interrupted.  Nice chat.  Let’s do this again soon.

Sadly the cookies are gone.  Bring some next time, will ‘ya?  Thanks.