Tag Archives: Humor

Dinner with February

Posted in Misguided Musings by

Christmas is over and packed away.  January is winding down and the dreaded month of February is rearing its ugly head.  NO ONE likes February.  There is nothing magical or lovely about it.  Oh sure, there’s Valentine’s Day but that’s brief and fleeting and overly annoying.  February is fraught with unpredictable weather (at least here) and blue moods, and muddy porches and dirty windows and bone chilling cold.  What exactly is there to like?  Even the dog can’t stand February.  It’s too cold to go outside to pee, she is cranky that she can’t get in her walks, and she gives me that sidelong look when I try to get her to play.  At all.  It’s like she’s too tired to even lift her head from a pillow and why would I even suggest she chase that stupid ball?!  

DON’T YOU KNOW IT’S FEBRUARY?!  

It’s like I’m being ridiculous for even mentioning life goes on and it’s worth trying to make the best of it, isn’t it?  

NO. NO IT ISN’T.  IT’S FEBRUARY.

The least favourite of the more popular months, February is like the annoying relative that nobody likes and dreads him arriving to any family gathering.  It’s like the other 11 months are sitting around the dinner table all reveling in their own positive energy, and then HE walks in. 

  December is sitting merrily at the table holidaying it up and drinking eggnog.  January is still recovering from ringing in the new year while December happily hands him water and Ibuprofen, all the while Jan tries to keep up with all the resolutions he said he was going to make but didn’t bother because there was just. Too. Much. Wine.  March is sitting stoically playing with his green beans because he is both feared and loved.  The older generation is adhering to the “Beware the Ides of March,” bullshit and the younger ones are readying the beer kegs for March break.  Duuudddde. April is laughing hysterically at the other end of the table about the first day for all the foolish pranks, the rain that will undoubtedly ensue and the whole Easter Bunny thing that brings both chocolate AND trauma to children’s lives. Then he turns to May and starts talking smack about how one affects the other.  “There would be no flowers without my showers, you idiotic twat!”   May sits and laughs because there’s Queen Victoria’s birthday and the traditional May 2-4 weekend which brings yet another camping extravaganza.  Duuuude.  June is warming up to July and August who all sit glowing in their inner warmth and bestowing happiness and rainbows to September, who has hit menopause.  Her hot flashes give way to cold snaps.  One minute she’s too hot and the next she needs a sweater.  October is chillin’ it and scaring the crap out of November with a Jack-o’-lantern he just carved while eating a turkey leg and November resumes her knitting of a beautifully multi-coloured blanket of red, gold and orange.  There they are sitting waiting for HIM to walk in.  Finally, the door swooshes open with a blast of wintry frost and in strides February, soaked with freezing icicles dripping from his nose, his face blue with depression and a random red cinnamon heart stuck to his chest.  He takes a seat, his hands shaking from the cold.  

Everyone stops what they are doing and stares.  “Oh.  You’re here” they say.  “Yeah.  What’s for dinner?” says February.  And then he starts, “Hey, Janus are you STILL hungover?!  HAHAHA!!   Pass the beans, March, don’t hog them.  Hey, October that’s one ugly whattya-callit?  A Jack-O’lantern? Who’s Jack anyway? What a stupid name for a pumpkin. Couldn’t you come up with something a little more original, like Febrarius? That’s a great name!” 

“Why would I name something after you?” October flushes with a crimson hue and stabs his fork into his corn.

“Because I’m lovely. The loveliest of all the months. I’m the month of love. Everyone LOVES me, hehehe.” 

“Love is a strong word…” mumbles November, who continues knitting and pulls her shawl around her shoulders. February throws her a dirty look, smiling through his obvious irritation. 

“Thought you were gone turkey shooting or something down south. Don’t Americans love you?” 

November shrugs off the comment, with a, “it’s their month,” taking a bite of her pumpkin pie. 

February continues down the table. 

“Geezuz, JuneJulyAugust, can’t you three stop all the happiness and sunshine and rainbows bullshit?!   IT’S A BIT MUCH DON’T YOU THINK?”  

“We think you could use a bit of sunshine your way, Feb. You are blowing a lot of unnecessary cold air around the room. We’re doing our best to keep our friends warm,” says July, her Canadian flag encompassing her chest.

“Yeah, well it’s a little hot in here. Maybe you could cool it a little, then people wouldn’t be so down on me for keeping the temps at a nice frosty dampness. Grey is the new yellow, you know,” he scoffs and stuffs a forkful of potatoes into his mouth. 

“Hey little brother, I can’t wait to see what nonsense you bring this year! Got any snowstorms or torrential rain in your pockets?” February snarls, slapping March on the back. 

“We’ll see…” says March ominously, side-eyeing April with a wan smile.

“Nope,” says April. “Not playing your game this year, March. I’m thinking a smooth transition with warm temps and light winds…” April closes her eyes and visualizes a harmonious month. March scoffs and throws a pea at her face. It ricochets off her forehead and lands with a thump on her plate. Appalled, she throws a handful of green beans that fall flat against his face, smearing his cheek in butter. She smiles and resumes her visualizing techniques. May jumps up.

“Stop that! How crude! Can’t we have one dinner where we are civil to each other?” She stands admonishing Feb and March for being disruptive and April for responding to their childishness.  December takes that as an invitation and tosses a spoonful of mashed potato smacking May squarely in the face. 

“Bullseye!” shouts February. What ensues next can only be described as a food fight for the ages. Months were covered in various amounts of mashed potatoes, butter and even cranberry sauce that dripped conspicuously from November’s chin. Not a surface was left untouched. February was delighted by the fight and did the most damage. May remained beside herself with disgust at the behaviour of all the months and vowed to dispense a random snowfall if they all didn’t get themselves together. February scoffed.

“Yeah, like that’s news. Come on May, we were just letting off a bit of steam. Lighten up.” 

“I assure you February, I am light enough. I’m leaving. You all can clean up this mess. It won’t be me.” They all startled at the slamming of the door behind her. 

February laughed and began picking up the plates. November organized the cleaning of the table and JuneJulyAugust set in washing dishes. Soon, the mess was cleaned and the kitchen was organized. They left one by one.  When it came right down to it, they were family.

  “Gaawwwdd, did you guys SEE the amount of ICE I brought to the party??!!  It’s EPIC!” February exclaimed as he shut the door behind him.   

Tales of an Epic Vacation

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Who Loves Ya, Baby? 

Part 2   Santorini, Greece

                  We spent time in various locations and islands in Greece. The first two days in Santorini, then a ferry to Naxos where we spent four days, then we headed to Athens for a night, catching our cruise the following day.  While on the cruise, we also visited the islands of Paros, Rhodes, Crete, Kos and Syros.  In summary, all the islands were beautiful, but our four days in Naxos was my favourite. We had more time to spend to experience more of the island. The cruise ports were more highlights and tastes of Greece than actual in-depth experiences. 

                  We first landed in Santorini after our whirlwind in London of sightseeing and zombie-walking. A great opportunity to experience some of London, but something we should return to because friends are there now and just posted a picture of an Agathie Christie statue AND NOW I HAVE TO GO BACK TO SEE THAT UP CLOSE BECAUSE DAMMIT.

 Our time on the plane from London to Santorini was more like an episode from Coronation Street, than any trip I’ve ever encountered. A bride and her three kids plus groom and mothers and future in-laws were trying to figure out seating arrangements, dress storage all the while battling it out with passengers trying to pass them in the aisle to get to their seats. It was so ridiculous we had dibs on streaming season two, because damn, what a show! Would the bride make it to Greece? Would she still be getting married to Joe seated away from her and the three kiddos, in the front row? Because Girrrllll, drink all that Prosecco. You have all your shit together with the kiddos and their snacks, tablets, and headphones calmly sitting by the window gazing out at the sunshine. He was ready to throw Mama from the plane with all the “conversation” over who should be sitting in the front row with him and questioning the dress situation WHICH BRIDESMAID ALREADY TOOK CARE OF SO SIT YO ASS DOWN! Seriously, hope they had a nice wedding. Hope season two will be streaming soon.

We had the pleasure of staying at Nevma Suites in Santorini. A cliffside hotel, with breakfast and our own patio overlooking the water. Lovely.  Our first night we ate at a beautiful restaurant a little jaunt down a cobblestone pathway. The wind was gusty, but the stars were out. It was a lovely dinner. We stopped for beer and wine on our way back to our hotel at a store that was officially closed, but the owner took pity on us and let us in because a bunch of Canadians needed their beer to end their first evening in Greece. So nice! 

Our view at dinner
Our view on the cliffside from our hotel

The next day we travelled to Oia for the scenes and views and crowds…oh the crowds. When the cruise ships are in its hordes of people trampling up and down the cobblestone paths and alley ways. The sun was hot, and the winds were high. We stopped at the ruins of an old church to take some pics and wonder why we stopped at the ruins of an old church.  We took a break for lunch at a restaurant named, wait for it, the Blue Dome. By the time we had returned to our drop-off point the crowds had dissipated and it was less like the herding of cattle and more like a regular crowd on George St. Only, a little less drunk. 

Beautiful Tia

Dinner that night was at the Wine Bar. Ohhhh, the trip to the Wine Bar was an adventure to end all adventures. Wind, sun and an astounding uphill climb for THIRTY MINUTES.  I shit you not, GET A TRANSFER PEOPLE. We dressed in all our pretty dresses but sensible shoes because, “It’s a thirty-minute walk,” but THE PART ABOUT IT BEING COMPLETELY UPHILL MUST HAVE BEEN WHISPERED. I didn’t catch that. UPHILL? Fuck.  Did we take breaks? Nahh, who needs a break? We are hearty Canadians!  I did stop to admire the ladies who were getting their photos taken with the long dresses in the whipping wind over the cliffside. Probably a good idea I did not partake in such an event. One inch too far and KJ would have been decorating the side of the cliff with the dress left whipping behind.

Buh-bye KJ!

Better to be on solid FUCKING UPHILL ground. So, we trudged on. By the time we got closer to the restaurant, I was sweaty, sweary and ready to sit on the side of the road waiting for someone to take pity on me and carry me back to the hotel. Again, we are hearty Canadians, and we made it to the bar. It was small and we had a big table outside overlooking the water to see the sunset over the cliffs. Amazing. Then, the wind came up. The sun went down.

Oooohhhh beautiful sunset, can we start the bonfire now, because FUCKING COLD. Seriously, cold in Santorini?  It was more, KJ and the neighbours sitting on a patio watching the sunset with the 100km/h winds on the edge of Signal Hill, Newfoundland than heat-soaked Greece. We sat through our appetizers huddled in blankets and hoping the wind would fuck-off, but I think it got worse. We were then shuffled inside at the bequest of our newfound friend and organizer of the Wine Bar affair, whom I love and mean no harm in the above sarcasm and am eternally grateful for getting us a cozy spot inside to eat our meal and not be blown to shit in the wind. Our pics are great, by the way, especially of our hair blown about and looking like we just had a beat-down with a rabid raccoon, or was that just me? Ugh. 

So cozy!

                  We got a TRANSFER BACK TO THE HOTEL BECAUSE THANK FUCK where we proceeded to pack and get ready for our next adventure to Naxos the following day via ferry. The ferry in Greece operates a lot like Mario Brothers on crack. You play chicken with the cars that are loading AT THE SAME TIME YOU ARE TRYING TO WALK ON THE BOAT so don’t walk the wrong way or Mario can’t save the princess and he loses a life that they don’t give a fuck about so just keep dodging traffic, and people and hang on to your luggage for fuck’s sake and look out of the way. Yeah, like that.   F.U.N. 

Who loves ya, baby?

Tales of An Epic Vacation  

Posted in Misguided Musings by

Where’s the Loo?  

Part 1 London

The title says it all, doesn’t it? A vacation to end all vacations, we travelled abroad and were able to see red telephone booths (What? I like them!), drunk dancing, ancient ruins and camels with questionable behaviours that would rival any current president. Yeah, I went there. Let’s get into it.

Since the airlines in Newfoundland have decided to take pity on us, again, we have a few options to go across the pond without first travelling three and a half hours in the opposite direction, only to turn around and head back. Now, we can get a direct flight from St. John’s to Gatwick, or to Dublin. No going backwards first. Thrilling for us islanders and we took full advantage of it. 

An overnight six-hour flight and we landed in Gatwick tired, cranky and sounding like any true Brit! Fake accents, smelly travel clothes and whining about the train ride we were about to take to get into London. We dropped our bags at the hotel and hoped no one was interested in an overstuffed backpack blazoned with a Canadian flag and weighed closely to that of a small child. That was my idea of ‘packing light.’ It came back to bite me in the ass when we trudged up a hill in Greece in thirty-degree Celsius heat to get to our hotel because, “it’s only a short walk.” Fuck you, it was a LONG WALK UPHILL AND I SWEAT AND SWORE THE ENTIRE WAY.  But I digress…

London. We landed at Victoria station and tried to decide the best way to see everything in five hours or less without falling asleep standing up or being run over by wild taxi drivers or double-decker buses. So fun! We headed right, because we saw a sign that said Buckingham Palace with an arrow, so we followed that. Canadian ingenuity at its peak! There was also discussion about where to stop for lunch, since we were hungry and who wants to encounter a group of hangry Canadians. We might tell you to move out of the way instead of saying, “Excuse me!”  Totally unacceptable behaviour. Anyway, we followed the arrow, then the signs then got momentarily distracted by the multitude of pubs along the way and stopped and admired the beer, then finally got to the palace. We stopped. Took pics. See?  

Then we headed back the way we came, after some discussion about which direction that was, and then made it to a pub aptly named a Bag O’Nails.

Nice bar. Can I get the gps coordinates for the loo, please?
Yummy fish and chips because so hard to find in St. John’s!

Lovely. Who wouldn’t want to have fish and chips there? We are so adventurous!  Luckily, no nails were consumed, but there was beer. And an interesting trip to the ladies’ room which was situated upstairs and through a fire exit door, like WTF dudes?  We have to pee, and you think it’s fun to send us on a scavenger hunt to find the lady’s room? The men’s room was seriously, right across the bar. I felt a call to rise and protest, but who has that kind of time? And me without my sign. Dammit. 

We left the bar and headed in a direction I can’t remember despite my detailed notes. We did manage to find an old red telephone booth that I gleefully went inside to snap some pics and carefully sanitized my hands immediately following.

Because you needed to see me coming out of a phone booth!

And we managed to see some of the highlights like the London Eye, Westminster Abbey and a Palestinian protest. Bonus!   We convinced Hubby to move along lest he forgot he was no longer in the police force and decide to “help” the other members out. The protestors seemed quite peaceful for the most part, so we skedaddled out of there and kept on walking. And walking. And walking. Until we looked like the characters from the Walking Dead and thought getting back to the hotel would be a good idea. Yay!  Now, if only we could find that….

Westminster Abbey
Big Ben!

The tube! Great. Which way? No idea, I thought you knew. Nope, not a clue. Let’s ask. Asking. Oh, the other way. Found the tube. Found the express to Gatwick and fell asleep on the train. Got to the hotel. Ate, drank, then went to bed.  That was London. A very short extravaganza of evading protests, taking in sights and staying awake long enough to make it back to the hotel without ending up in some rando suburb where we would be forced to drink beer and recite our national anthem. Although, that does sound interesting now that I see it on paper…

It should be noted that the weather was cooperative. Sunny and warm but not too hot. No torrential rain or sleet to make us want to bury our heads and drown our sorrows in beer at a pub. That would not have been such a bad way to spend an afternoon. The next day we were on a plane out of Gatwick and on to beautiful Santorini built onto the sides of cliffs with the classic blue and white structures, and beautiful sunsets. And wind to rival any Newfoundland coastline. Glad I brought my sweater for the evening out of, “This feels like I’m on my back patio forcing myself to stay outside because it’s summer, dammit!” and my walking shoes because she was steep! 

Stay tuned for our Greece adventure and why I advise GETTING A FUCKING TRANSFER TO THE WINE BAR FOR FUCK’S SAKE. My glutes are fine….

Santorini. Built on kind of a big hill.

Pessimistic Parenting A Masterclass

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          I see all the advertisements for masterclasses on anything you want to learn whether it is acting, writing, painting, knitting, interviewing CEOs for that elusive job-you’ll-never-get to star gazing. There was even one on breathing. I swear, anything. With that in mind, I decided to do my own ‘Masterclass’ on what I call Pessimistic Parenting. I’m not sure these techniques would fly with the parents these days, but I’m willing to take that chance and throw out some tips that may be useful for the next generation of parents. Or not. You can have kids that turn out to be sociopaths, your choice. Here we go!

You Suck, Kid

          All kids have behaviours that suck. That’s why they’re kids. They don’t know anything yet, so it’s our job as parents to teach them. You need to say ‘no’ occasionally often all the damned time for them to get the idea that throwing Cheerios all over the floor is not appropriate behaviour. Neither is crying in a store, stealing a toy from another child, or sticking their fingers up their noses. It’s all a big fat ‘NO.’ So get used to saying it. And mean it. It’s not enough to say, “No, you can’t have that brownie right now we are having dinner,” then hand over the brownie. You must enforce it, too. There’s a whole list of reasons why sticking to your guns is a good idea, but I’ll just cut to the chase. If you want to avoid your kid being a serial killer, a narcissistic jerk, or a social outcast, please say ‘no’ and mean it. Society thanks you.

The Use of Time Out or Mommy Needs Wine

          Is that a thing nowadays? We used it with our kids and boy were we good at it! But we did a variation called behaviour baseball. Three strikes, you’re out. I mean that was the last straw. To my recollection, it only happened once with my eldest daughter and it was a lot of work for us, but we felt it brought home the point. Remember: If you think you can laze your way through this shit, it won’t work. Just keep replaying Narcissistic Jerk and it will provide the motivation you need to see it through. These were our steps: Strike One: If the child did something after we told her not to, she had to sit on her bed and reflect. Then a discussion around the behaviour, why it was wrong and how to improve. Strike Two: If Step One produced pouting, refusing to discuss and anger, we moved on to her putting pjs on and sitting on the bed. NOBODY likes putting on pjs and sitting on their bed doing nothing. No books, no screens, nothing. Strike Three: If still no compliance it was stripping the room and continuing to sit on the bed in pjs. I mean I took every book from the shelf, every toy, all the bedding, EVERYTHING from the room. Took me a long time, but it was bundled up in garbage bags and removed. She sat there for hours, which gave me plenty of time to have a break, sip some wine and contemplate the reason we had kids in the first place. Then we talked about it, and she had to EARN her shit back. There. The end. We never reminded her of her past behaviours, we moved on hoping to never have to replay the stripping of the room because those books were a pain in the ass to put back. With her help, of course. Then I had more wine and felt like a good mom.

Source That Shit Out

          Oh, please we don’t know everything! But the kids don’t know that. So fake it. We do our best to ensure they’re safe, well fed and clean. The rest is a total fluke, so go with it. Do I know Math? Fuck, no but I don’t have to. That’s what tutors are for. Or Hubby. Do I know how to construct a 3D model of the Space Shuttle with little astronauts for props? Pffft…NO. But again, source that shit out. There is somebody in your ’hood who is DYING to do that, so find him/her and throw them a little gift in the mix. Done. Your job as a parent is to ensure your kid does his best to the best of his ability. Not to outdo the other guy and not to stress yourself out trying to learn what he must learn. I’ve already been to school. I don’t need to go again. Find somebody who LOVES shit like that and get them in there! It will save you from losing your mind. You. Are. Welcome.

Teens, An Adventure into the Abyss of Despair and Chaos

          This is a whole different stratosphere of shit, but to put it in basic terms remember only one thing: YOU ARE NOT THEIR FRIEND. You are an adult. The parent. The person who brought them into this world and can take them out. Limits, limits, limits. The only way. Sorry to have to break it to you, but if you don’t enforce shit, they feel unsafe and they can’t trust you and BOOM, retaliation in the form of anything they can get into. Communication is good. Yelling is pointless. Threats are empty unless you follow through. Taking away privileges is good like keys to the car, phones (you pay for that, right?), computer, tablets, sports, (you pay for that too, right?) social events, etc.  Anything you pay for; you can take away. It’s as simple and as complicated as that. Just wait for the slamming doors and loud music and parties…wow. Such an adventure. That’s why parents drink. That and Christmas, because shopping for everything, wrapping all those gifts just to see your creative yet time-consuming efforts thrown to the side in a heap, and assembling items at midnight, will have anybody reaching for the wine at 5am as junior unwraps the avocado he got from Grandma. Good times. If you manage to survive the teen years and wander aimlessly into adulthood, congrats! You have now managed to reach the pinnacle of your parenting while worrying if they drive safely enough, if they have a stalker who is out to kill or maim them and if they attain gainful employment so as not to return to live in your basement and eat your food. All valid worries.

Thanks for reading my first Masterclass! I hope you enjoyed this episode.  

Good luck parents. Remember, there’s always another year!

AND alcohol.  

 Pretentious Golf Balls and Wayward Golf Carts Make Golfing Fun!

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Last week, we decided to embark on a golfing day. Well, Hubby and friends decided, I just tagged along. I have never golfed before, so I was more involved with cart-driving, than the let’s-hit-the-little-white-ball-into-Neverland kinda of thing. Really, I was the fan/heckler that propelled them onto greatness. Without me, they would have felt lonely out there on that little tee box. Who wouldn’t want to hear the shouts of the one lowly fan, “YOU SUCK!” before they hit the ball?  They whacked that ball so hard I couldn’t see where it landed. I was not so skilled.

I tried a couple of shots, but I was lucky if the ball managed to roll a few inches ahead of me. I lined up in front of the ball, my hands positioned like they told me (once we figured left from right. That’s part of the challenge.) took aim and swung. All I got was air. I lined up again, only this time my club nudged the ball and it fell off the tee. Fuck. I put it back on the tee and tried again. WHACK. Two feet. I swear to God the ball refused to move. It rolled off the tee like, “Stop it lady, you aren’t worthy of my presence. Get back in the cart and stop embarrassing both of us.”  I hate golf.

Sign? What sign?

Once we figured out if I was a lefty or a righty, it was a bit better. And by better, I mean I hit the ball a few inches. It didn’t pathetically roll on the grass like a toddler and stare at me sadly, waiting for somebody to save it from being ridiculed by the other golf balls. It spun out in front and landed with a thud, and I was momentarily proud, until friends took their turn and showed me up with their prowess. HOW? How can you hit the ball? And so straight? What magic do you know that I don’t? There’s got to be a secret to this weird ability to hit a little stupid ball so far. Is it a special club? A secret swing? I know, its that glove you wear on the wrong hand, like a Michael Jackson accessory, that allows you to take better aim.

FORE! Magic…

Golf etiquette is a thing I’ve learned. Shut up while people take aim, but once they swing, it’s all hail the shouting and jeering. At least, that’s what I did. And we drove the cart right next to where the ball landed so we didn’t have to walk, like we can’t bring ourselves to hike a few feet in wet grass to get the little ball, so let’s ride around in the cart and find all the golf balls and point to them so we can hit them again. So supportive of your fellow golfers. “Here’s your ball and since it’s way back here, you can hit it first, loser.” Nice. “Oh, look your ball is in this dirt pit. Chuck it out while we watch and try not to laugh too hard when the dirt flies up and temporarily blinds you.”  “Oh, your ball landed in the trees? Just take another one and drop it inconspicuously in front of you.” It’s like you’re in the mafia and nobody saw nothin’ and nobody knows shit. Best. Game Ever.

 Searching out the balls was the best. I was tempted to ask if we could do donuts on the course, but I thought we might get banned from the place, so I kept quiet. I wouldn’t want Hubby and friends to get kicked out on my behalf. Hubby wouldn’t let me drive the cart too much due to the winding cart paths and many hills. I guess off-roading with golf carts is frowned upon. I would think if people were out and had a few drinks in them, a few wayward golf carts were probably abound. We had the first tee time of the day, so no drinking at 8:00am, kids, we are a right proper sport. At least wait until 8:30am. Probably a good thing we were sober, and Hubby drove. There were a few bridges, and I could see me tipping that cart into the water. It would be interesting watching the maintenance guys drag a cart from the creek while Hubby tried to defend my driving. “No, really, she just drives like that all the time. Sorry, ‘bout that.”

The golf cart I was allowed to only drive on the paths. Boring….

All in all, a great day. The weather cooperated with no wind and a good temp. We had a few rabbits watching from afar, but generally an empty course. Probably why they let me take a few shots. Nobody would see me roll the ball off the tee and they wouldn’t have to explain my presence. “Yeah, we had to bring her.” Like when your mom made you take your little sister to the park, and you had to explain to your friends, but you would rather have lost her to the monster in the woods.

Kinda like that.

I admired from afar…and heckled a little bit.