Tag Archives: Give me a break

Adventures in Puppy School

Posted in Doggie Diaries by

This week we have embarked on a new and wild adventure.  Bad Girl Puppy School for the one and only Mags.  Her behaviour isn’t as crappy as her You-are-my-human-and-will-bend-to-my-will attitude.  Yeah.  So, in getting the Magster to bend to OUR will, we have decided to take her to some puppy training to get her used to dogs…and other human beings.  She tends to get highly offended at the mere presence of another human of whom she has not yet approved waltzing into her house.  It’s all very dramatic.  Here are a few things I learned at Bad Girl Puppy School thus far:

There are more messed up hounds than mine

The trainer trains the humans, not the dogs

Treats are the best way to learn something new…works for dogs too.

Drunk-walking your dog is apparently not a good way to teach proper leash technique. Who knew?!

It’s a good idea to have a witness with you in attendance for Bad Girl Puppy School so that when you get home your family is not giving you the you-are-totally-shitting-us-with-this-messed-up-clicker-crap look and think you went to the bar and had a few whiskey sours and met up with some hobo (are there hobos around anymore?  Is there such a thing as a hobo?  This is a whole other post)  who insisted you take the 99 cent clicker he found outside of Pet Smart so you took it to appease him and shut him up instead of going to puppy school.  Which I totally think would be awesome if the puppy would sit quietly so I could enjoy a few at the bar, but that’s the reason the puppy is in puppy school in the first place.  She can’t sit.  Apparently, I’ve done everything wrong up until now and so should not be in charge of any living creatures that have more than two legs.  They’ll probs call social services and remove the kids as well, since they have trouble sitting too.  It’s all ego-bashing and eye-opening at the same time.  I’m confused.  I’ll probs be leashing the boy and trying to take him for a walk while incessantly clicking the fucking clicker in his face instead of taking Mags , who by the way, is afraid of the stupid clicker thingy.  Awesome.

The best dog name I’ve heard so far: Benny.

He’s a messed up cross between a cocker spaniel and a pit-bull.  He’s fucking awesome and barked at everything that moved.  He was about to take down a huge boxer but the boxer wimped out.  Made our Magalicious look sweet and innocent by comparison.  Bad Girl Puppy School is making Maggie look like we won the puppy lottery…until we go home and see her with other well-behaved dogs.  Then we revert back to ‘we suck as puppy parents’.  It’s a vicious cycle, really.

We go again on Monday night and we have a few ‘assignments’ to complete in the mean time.  So far Mags has learned the sum of a big fat zero.  On the positive side, she loves her treats!  I shall keep you all updated on her progress, but I’m not guaranteeing any results.  If I can get a snap of Benny, everybody’s fave wild-mad-dog, I shall post if his puppy parent agrees.

It’s all fun and games until someone loses a treat…and gets a detention at Bad Girl Puppy School.

Maggie after a hard day at Bad Girl Puppy School..."That Benny is one crazy puppy!!!"

Maggie after a hard day at Bad Girl Puppy School…”That Benny is one crazy puppy!!!”

My Cover Letter/Email Thingy

Posted in Misguided Musings by

It seems my strategy for becoming independently wealthy whilst maintaining a hip and glorious exterior, just may be a pipe dream destined for a new plumbing job.  I continue to badger folks about ma superb ability with wordy wordiness and drawn-out explanations of how shit works, but I keep getting responses akin to crickets sounding off in the distance.  It’s a tad disheartening and ego-busting at the same time. 

I wrote a requested ‘creative’ email to one company in Vancouver who were looking for a blogger.  “Hey!” I thought erroneously to myself, “I blog.  I can so do that”.  The requirement for said email was to be ‘creative’.  Probs a bad proposition to plop in front of a long-winded blogger who thinks the word ‘fuck’ is in the dictionary and should be used as often as possible.  I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking, “But, KJ.  You didn’t ACTUALLY use that in your ‘creative’ professional email, did you?” 

Let me be clear.

When one requests a ‘creative’ email, one receives ma personal version of ‘creative’….no, I did not use the ‘f’word in my email…but I was reeeeaaalllly tempted. 

I did, however, manage to ramble on about stuff that said company may or may not have found amusing.  Here’s the goods in its not-so-professional-not-so-entirely self:

 

“In response to your advertisement regarding a blog writer, you requested a creative email.  The parameters for ‘creative’ seems vague, so I’m just going to go out on a limb here and say that it’s pretty much open to interpretation.  I’m thus, interpreting ‘creative’ as saying anything I can in a not-so long-and-drawn-out manner as to bore you into flinging pencils at the wall or pretending to read when really you’re thinking about the hockey game last night or the episode of The Walking Dead that was awesome.  I don’t really watch the show, but apparently it’s great.  I’m more of a Big Bang Theory or Crime-show-without-the-pretentious-attitude kind of girl.  Information you can store for later.  You. Are. Welcome. 

 

As for blog writing, I have a new and improved site.  I recently just revamped my entire blog, giving it a fresh new look and feel.  It’s like a spring cleaning without all the dust and annoying window-cleaning.  I hate window-cleaning about as much as I am opposed to Celine Dion singing in front of an audience.  Anywhere.  

 

If you’re still reading this email and haven’t thrown your screen out your window, I applaud your patience and obvious need for closure.  It could be an OCD thing or you just really have a lot of time on your hands.  Either way, I’m grateful and a little blushy from all this attention.  

 

You really want to know why I think I write good blogs?  Mainly, because I have the ability to entertain, enlighten and cause traffic jams in one full run-on sentence.  I can also levitate and balance my puppy on my head whilst singing Oh Canada.  It’s a gift.  

 

Thanks for your attention and happy reading!” 

 

How can they not hire me??!! 

 

I think cover letters and professional emails could be me next on my list of “shit I should stay away from”.

 

Thoughts?

 

These are all my words ready to use...kinda.

These are all my words ready to use…kinda.

 

 

 

You Know You Should Call It A Day When:

Posted in Misguided Musings by

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  

 

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

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…