Tag Archives: DH ladies

Parlez-Vous Joey?

Posted in Misguided Musings by

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…

The Email

Posted in Conversations With, Misguided Musings by

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

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. 

I BURNED A BAG OF POPCORN. IT’S NOT JUST BURNT.  IT’S BLACK. TOTALLY INEDIBLE.  FUCKING TOTALLY BLACK. LIKE NOT EVEN REASONABLE.

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

THAT’S WHAT THE POPCORN BUTTON IS FOR. 

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,

K

Loose Limbs

Posted in Misguided Musings by

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.

Saving the World One GPS At A Time

Posted in Conversations With, Doggie Diaries by

D1: OH MY GOD THE DOG JUST SHIT AND NOW SHE’S PLAYING IN IT! 

Me:  Perhaps you should tell her to stop

D1: OH MY GOD NOW SHE’S RUNNING ALL OVER THE HOUSE!  EWWWWW!!

Me:  Perhaps you could catch her so it doesn’t infest the floors with dog feces

D1: OH MY GOD SHE THINKS I’M PLAYING WITH HER AND NOW SHE WON’T STOP! 

Me:  HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

D1: IT’S NOT FUNNY!!

Me:  I used to have to run after you for the exact same thing when you were a baby!  HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

D1:  WHAT??!!  That’s not helping.

Me:  No, but it is funny….

What? It wasn't me! WANNA PLAY?!

What? It wasn’t me! WANNA PLAY?!

Below is an excerpt from an email I sent to ma DH ladies last week.  It seemed to generate a lot of discussion.  Hmmm….

Now that spring has sprung and kids have already begun to get lost, I suggest the following to keep the kiddies safe and the mommies sane:

 

* have a GPS locator installed on your kids’ shoes.  It saves a lot of texting, calling, yelling, screaming and crying.  AND, it’s kickass to have a GPS installed in your kid’s shoe.  True Story.

 

* Circulate a map of the area with the areas highlighted where the bodies may be buried with instructions that the kids stay away from there.  Then, because we know our children so well, have zombie-like mannequins buried in very shallow graves so when they do look for them, they will have the shit scared out of them.  Then they can come running home and you can all say what all mothers have been destined to say for centuries “I told you never to go there!!  Listen to your mother!  I know what I”m talking about!  Now get upstairs and put on clean underwear!”  

 

* Post signs for a non-existent neighbourhood watch program and install fake video cameras at every lamp post.  It’s creepy and the kids will be ominously looking skyward and waving at the cameras.  Visitors to the street will wonder what the fuck is wrong with these kids who are randomly waving and looking at the lampposts.  They’ll call city hall and then city hall will inspect the street, find the name-withheld-for-obvious-reason’s in violation of every lawn infraction imaginable and evict them.   Perfect. Solution. 

 

I could so solve the world’s socio-economic problems if just given half a chance and some alcohol…

 

This is why I get invited to DH every other week.  I may actually do some of this shit!

Fart Dreams. What Else Is There?

Posted in Misguided Musings by

The voices in my head that reverberate incessantly are retaliating in the most resourceful way they can by imposing the oddest dreams imaginable during my REM or whatever it’s called, sleep.  Last night I dreamt about snot and farts.  No really.  The epitome of class and the higher echelons of elegance.  Snot and farts.  My dreams are awesome. 

At one point in the dream, I had a huge booger that was in my nose and the only way to extract it was with tweezers.  When I did, it was a green ball with spikes. Not that I usually pick my nose…or use tweezers for that purpose.  BUT A SNOT BALL WITH SPIKES?!  Who dreams up that shit?  Apparently, I do.  Twelve year old boys everywhere want me as their mom. 

Later in my dream I am participating in a ritual dance of sorts where I am prancing and flailing around as if to dance in procession when suddenly “SQQQQUUUUUEEEEETTTTTT” goes my ass in rhythm to the music.  I stop.  The AUDIENCE, yes, AUDIENCE, withdraws into silent disgust in my abhorrent display of gassiness.  With little choice but to look elsewhere in bewilderment as to the source of the fart, I blame it on a young faceless girl behind me.  “Oh, no that was all you princess” somebody said…I turn to a giggling audience and walk silently offstage, the blond girl following haplessly behind me only to hear, once again a “SSSQQQQUUUUEEEETTTT”.  That was her and I look appalled and not at all impressed that she had the absolute gall to copy me.  I am mortified that she just farted in front of MY AUDIENCE.  Wait…didn’t I just do that?  Yeah, but it’s okay for me.  I was dancing.  Totally justified.  And maybe a little fucked. up.

I’m not entirely sure why these dreams are haunting me in a most peculiar way.  There were other nuances to the dream that I can’t describe just for the mere fact they were so bizarre that I probably would not be able to do them justice.  I mean, when one dreams of spiked snot balls…it’s all a little weird isn’t it?

I’ve had weird dreams that involve people that have been dead for years.  The creepiest one was the other night.  I dreamt I was at my brother’s funeral again. He died in 1986 in a motorcycle accident.  I dreamt that I was at his funeral, but it wasn’t HIS  funeral.  it was different with different people and my boss was there.  There was nowhere for family to sit as our seats were taken and I kept saying “This isn’t my brother’s funeral. That was a long time ago.  This isn’t it” and then the dream ended.  I found out last week, one of the DH lady’s cousin died tragically in a motorcycle accident the day after I had that dream.   Kinda creepy, huh?  As I learned more about him, he closely mirrored my brother….

So, I’m hoping my dream tonight isn’t a tragic one.  I’ll also take one without the spikey snot balls and farts, thank you very much. Maybe one involving Johnny Depp and chocolate???  Hmmm….

 

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

What I said after all my dreaming…