Tag Archives: Humor

Snowy Days

Posted in Misguided Musings by

charlie brown shovelling

Our first snow-fall of the season and I’m exhausted.  With Hubby out of commission, (knee surgery..again. )  I decided to command the snow blower in order to move ma lovely car…so I could get to work on time.  Students were awaiting ma arrival to begin their exams!  I needed to sweep in there and make sure all were taken care of in a super-human and wonder-womanish like manner…kinda.  So at 6 am I head out to the man-shed and

…stood there looking like an ass.

I had no idea how to open the blessed doors…then I couldn’t find the light switch.  Hubby came hobbling out on one leg to show me how to turn on the light (the switch on the right hand side should have been my first clue. Duh) and how to start the snow blower…apparently, you have to plug the bloody thing in.  Who knew?  Last time I ran it I had to push a button.  He changed it up on me.  The thing is old, so it’s necessary to do a series of steps after it’s plugged in and before you start it.  I had to do a bunch of hand signals, push this, pull that and it magically started…I looked like that pretend sign language interpreter dude at Mandella’s funeral.

Only he’s a bit taller and he wasn’t wearing a parka.

The snow blower started and away I went…I almost took out the gate and part of the fence but the thing was moving!  I was so proud…until I hit the first drift and almost stalled the thing out.  Hubby comes hobbling out again…”You’re making my snow blower sound funny”..  “No I’m not!  That’s how it sounds!  It’s not like it’s supposed to speak whale or something, is it?!”

He takes it from me and proceeds to push it through the first drift…on one leg.  We start yelling at each other.  Me telling him to go back into the house and he trying to direct my snow blowing techniques.  Pretty soon, it was a full on “YOU LOOK RIDICULOUS! GO AWAY AND LEAVE ME TO DO THIS BEFORE YOU HURT YOURSELF”  and he “I WILL AS SOON AS YOU DO THIS RIGHT!”  I’m surprised the neighbours weren’t calling the cops and having them cite us for disturbing the peace. All I needed was one good push and hubby would have been like a turtle on its back in the snow…No, I wouldn’t do that…

Where everyone could see me.

 He relents and hobbles back into the house while I continue to get rid of the snow.  It wasn’t perfect, but I was able to blow out a major portion of it in front of my car and D1’s car. Of course, there were a few tense moments when the blower got away from me and D1’s front end almost had some festive green paint and a lovely little dent added to it. Perfect holiday effect.

  Yay me!

Of course, then I had to put the thing back into the shed…which he watched me do from the kitchen window.  I wanted to ram it into the fence but changed ma mind on account that it would just give him something to yell at me about AND I would have to re-stain the whole fence after he fixed it in the spring…so really, it was about saving work for me.  I wheeled the blower in perfect rotation into the shed.  Then I couldn’t turn it off, dammit.  I forgot the magic sequence of hand signals and turny knobby thingys.

I yelled.

He yelled back.

I turned it off.

All done.

I rock.

Kiss ma ass, snow.

I Was a Directionally Challenged Pirate Named Kevin in Ma Previous Life. True Story.

Posted in Misguided Musings by

Bestie’s on tap to redo ma ‘do tomorrow night which is a good thing.  I haven’t seen so much grey since dude at the Halloween party dressed as Fifty Shades of Grey.  Lame costume, BTW dude.  I can paste a bunch of paint swatches to myself and proclaim it a costume too… in fact I do that almost on a daily basis.  It makes for a fun and interesting conversation piece.  You should try it. They love me at work.  “What’s that colour  you’re wearing today, KJ?  Ecru?  What’s that?”  and then I have to explain the colour palette and the colour wheel and what colours go with others…it’s all very artistic and shit.  Totally worth the hour it spends duct-taping those swatches to ma pants.  What?  OH, you thought I would tape those to ma shirt?  Most people look at the asses of others.  True stat.  Look it up.  So, I tape the swatches to ma ass.  There’s more space… It’s like the size of Quebec down there, so pahlenty of swatch taping room….

Not only is he wearing the costume...he's showing attitude. Work it!

Not only is he wearing the costume…he’s showing attitude. Work it!

Christmas is coming!  Only 28 more days, in case you were all wondering and didn’t have a calendar handy and can’t count.  I’ve done all the work for you.  Consider it your Christmas present.  Merry Christmas!  You. Are. Welcome.

I know there are those who walk among us who loathe Christmas and all it stands for, but I am not one of those people.  I fucking love it.  I love the music, I love the lights, I love the decorations and I love the excitement and shit.  I’m not down with the whole ‘Christmas Magic’ b.s.  That’s not me, but Christmas day is the BEST day.  I guess because the kids are older and we all just hang out in our jammies and put the fire on, play Christmas music, down all the chocolate one can eat in an hour and then eat turkey and pie and drink wine. Well, I drink the wine while I cook the turkey.  It’s amazing we have a dinner on the table at all. 

It’s awesome.

 Now that D1 is over the legal age for consuming alcohol, I don’t feel so awkward handing her a glass of white wine to toast at dinner.  Not that I’ve let that stop me. A couple of years ago, her bestie’s mom had a hissy fit with the news that I ‘allowed’ my daughter to have a glass of wine at Christmas dinner.  No shit.  She went Bat shit crazy.  She must have had some issues around alcohol to have a fit about ma kid having a bit of wine at a family dinner that she was not a part of and had no business commenting on.  Maybe she was drunk when she said that. Or had some bad crack. Some people can’t handle their liquor. Or their drugs.  Maybe she took the drugs BECAUSE  she was drunk…apparently that’s all the rage now.  AND, making ranty videos WHILE you’re drunk.  I think I should so do that.  It could make me a more famous drunkard that what I already am.   Either way, we kinda don’t talk…it’s a good thing.

I’ve been having conversations with myself all day, and it’s pretty freakin’ scary.  Most of the discussions have been religious based (not sure what that’s about) and I tuned in to watch Long Island Medium last night just to see the whole scam at work, when she was going to do a ‘past life regression’ session with her ‘spirit guide’.  I think I want to do that.  I wanna see what awesome past life I can reconnect with to freak people out at parties.  Maybe I was a saloon girl in the Wild West and helped Billy the Kid shoot up a couple of towns. Or maybe I was a business tycoon on Wall Street and was murdered because of my totally bad ass money making skills that resulted in the downfall of the Russian mob. Or maybe I was a spy that got turfed into the ocean when divulging secrets to the Americans and got caught by the mean Italian mafia who decided instead of shooting me, they would see if ma swimming skills were up to par.  Probs not.  Or, maybe I was a pirate.  Yeah!  That would be way more exciting and more accurate given my penchant for eye patches and alcohol.  Hmmm….

Yeah…maybe I was a directionally challenged pirate named Kevin and got lost out at sea and floated aimlessly for months, dying from starvation, scurvy and yukky sea gulls pelting at me, while I was searching for the lost treasure of Red Beard and his Angry Band of Asshats.  Excellent. 

Totally worth it if there’s a treasure map involved…I’ll let you know if I regress far enough to remember the map.  Of course I’ll get lost trying to follow the damn thing….

BEST PIRATE EVAH! Maybe me and Captain Jack taking on the high seas and Read Beard. AWESOME

BEST PIRATE EVAH!  Me and Captain Jack taking on the high seas and Read Beard. AWESOME

Growing Pains

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My postings have taken the proverbial nose-dive…it’s not due to anything specific, just time and energy.  It seems I am lacking both these days.

Life is marching on and with it comes kids becoming awkward young adults.  Case in point, D1 and her purchase of her first new car.  After listening to her pleading and begging, three years of it to be exact, we took her out Saturday for ‘car shopping’.  A somewhat daunting task that had us juggling dealerships and models and bi-weekly payment schedules.  In the end, she bought the car she liked the most or in her immortal words ‘the car I’ve always wanted’.   The white car shall take a place in ma driveway whilst my little Toyota shall be relegated to the street…tossed aside and left to wonder its fate as the daughter’s car, all shiny and bright, gets admired and awed over like a…well, new car. Daughter is thrilled, however, her new life as a bill-payer is also becoming a weight that we warned shall be hers forever more.  Don’t wish to grow up too fast, dear one.  It ain’t all it’s cracked up to be….

It’s been a busy time, me adjusting to life as a mother to adults living all under the same roof and subjected to daily musings of ‘do you need help seeing that mom’?  or ‘Did you forget I told you that already?’  Ugh.  I’ve caught myself singing their baby songs in the morning, remembering that a song could settle even the middle one on a restless night (which invariably lasted for four years) and could bring a smile to a bouncy baby boy.  Now the babies are practically grown (or are grown) and I’m left feeling empty-nested, but without the empty nest.  When did that happen? I can still see them settled next to me for Chapter One of the new book that’s all the rage, Harry Potter.    I insisted that when the last one came out, we would be reading it together.  Big dreams die hard, and that one fell to an awful fate of “Mom, we are too old to have you read to us.  We think we can read that ourselves” and “I’m waiting for the movie.  I’m not reading all that” (D1)  Ugh.

How I see ma little girl…good commercial.

Nursing school, University schedules, junior high school yearbooks and new cars are taking the place of Harry Potter stories and baby songs.  I’m lamenting my new role as Mom, The Chief Food Supplier and Educational Supporter.  Give me a good book surrounded by pajama clad kids and a round of You Are My Sunshine, any day.

This growing up stuff, sucks….

My Pre-Menopausal Timeout

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Last week, I went through my first foray into pre-menopause.  Okay guys, if you want to look away, I’m with you.  If I could look away, I would too.  We all hit the age of no return and it seems that I’ve hit that age.  With a vengeance.  My emotional state has been anything but stable.  By the time Saturday night hit, I was just coming out of what I can only refer to as my HOLY-FUCK-WHAT-THE-HELL-IS-WRONG-WITH-THE-WORLD time.  It was like I became possessed. I couldn’t understand why everybody around me was so totally insane!  You want to borrow my car??!!  Why is there bird shit on my car?!!  What do you mean you can’t control the birds?!  Where’s the guy with the bb gun!  Let’s get him to shoot the birds who shit on ma car!! Yeah.

 AND, that was just ONE day.  I was Grumpy Cat, but without the fur.  I was sure there would be a knock on my door any minute and I would open it to find a priest with incense and Holy Water summoned to give me an exorcism.  Yes, it was that bad.

Kinda what I felt like that week...ugh.

Kinda what I felt like that week…ugh.

I’m a pretty even-keel kinda girl.  I can go with the flow and am pretty affable and easy going most of the time.  Last week, I was not that girl.  I moped, sulked and generally went through a “woe is me” kinda week.  Everybody has those days, BUT A WHOLE WEEK??!!  Come on…ugh.  If somebody asked me to do something for them they got a look…a stare down.  A ‘WHAT ARE YOU ASKING OF ME YOU LITTLE PLEEB?  CAN’T YOU SEE I’M HAVING A PISSY DAY AND WOULD RATHER SUCK LINT FROM THE DRYER HOSE THAN DO ANYTHING FOR ANYBODY RIGHT NOW??!!’ look.  Sometimes, I would reply a tad sarcastically.  I remember saying at one point “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOUR LEGS?  YOU GET HIT BY A CAR AND NOT TELL ME OR SOMETHING? CAN’T YOU GET IT?”  Yeah.  MOM OF THE YEAR is surely to be on a coffee mug destined to be thrown at my head any day now.  The fact that my family hasn’t moved out yet, is a testament to how much they love me…or how much they can’t do for themselves and know how fucking good they have it and need to stay because, afterall, who would MAKE SUPPER FOR THEM?!  See?  *breathe*

I began researching pre-menopausal symptoms and I’m pretty sure my face will be right next to the title of ‘MOOD SWINGS FROM HELL’.  I’m now the poster child for uncontrollable ups and raging-irate-crazy-mom downs.  My kids are so proud.  I’m sure they’re out telling all their friends how totally awesome I am. If anybody in my family survives this whole ride into craptastic-raging-

hormonal-shit-crappy-poop (now the official title.  Learn it. Use it. Embrace it) it’ll be because they don’t wish to starve and they are enjoying the witty banter that will surely ensue when something awesome happens to set me off like the dog chewing up a new piece of furniture.  Then they would be forced to watch in horror as I fling her out the back door to eat grass and yell “CHEW ON THAT FOR A WHILE!”   and then bawl because I was mean to the puppy and get all blubbery and mopy for the rest of the day.  Yes, that’s how it goes.  The dog will look at the rest of the fam like “That bitch be crazy, yo”  (because we all know that Mags talks like she is from the ‘hood) and the kids will nod sadly in her direction.  It’ll be like a scene from Les Mis From The ‘Hood.  This is working out to be epic, peeps.

After a weekend of wine and a lot (is that right, Archon? Not allot, or alot but, a lot? Yeah. I READ!!) of sleep, I think I’m on track to becoming back to semi-normal.    Or at least not ready to pitch puppies out a window and yell at babies for sleeping too loudly.  My kids on the other hand, may want to continue to tread lightly….

Cleaning The House 50’s Style

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Angry-50s-Housewife-Butcher_0236C2C0

 

Inspired by H’s FB post asking for a good tip for a window cleaning agent.  I’m more worried about WHO will clean my windows as opposed to WHAT will clean them. 

Since I’m not the let’s-spend-the-entire-weekend-cleaning-the-house-top-to-bottom type, I’ve decided to do a little time traveling and ask an expert on how to keep a house super dee duper clean and tidy, without spending a wad full of ma precious wine-drinking time doing it. So meet Mave, the 50’s Housewife Domestic Goddess Trainer Extraordinaire. She has graciously agreed to come into the future with me and give me cleaning tips for the new-aged housewife that are designed to save me time and money. 

Session 1, the kitchen.  

 

 50’s Housewife Mave: Trying to get the grime off the oven? 

Me: Why? 

50’s Housewife Mave:  Because you can’t have people looking into your oven and seeing dirt. It’s disgusting and not very domestic-goddesslike.

Me: Shut-up, really?!  Dammit.  I don’t think anybody wants or needs to look into my oven.  Seriously, who wants to see the grime in there?

50’s Housewife Mave:  That’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you.  Anyway, you can clean the grime with a little elbow grease and spray oven cleaner.  Make sure you use your rubber gl-  HEY!

Me:  Okay, first off I have a self-cleaning oven so no spray oven cleaner crap.  Second, WHO HAS TIME FOR THAT SHIT?!

50’s Housewife Mave:  You have a WHAT?!  That thing cleans itself??!!  Well!  Okay.  AND, remember.  A lady never swears.  That’s for –

Me: So are we cleaning or giving me etiquette lessons?  Just so I’m clear…

Mave: NO need to be so rude.  Jeesh, are the women in this era so rude and crass?  Because…

Me: Ugh…I’m sorry, okay?  I’ll try to be more…demure.  How’s that?

50’s Housewife Mave:  Thank you.  AND why are you not wearing a dress? A woman always must look her best.  You never know when your husband is going to bring the boss home for dinner!  You should try to look your best at all times.  Can you please do something with your hair?

Me: Not so fast, June!  ‘Hubby’ is NOT going to EVER bring his boss home for dinner since technically he does not HAVE a boss.  It’s complicated, okay?  AND…A DRESS??!!  Seriously??  These yoga pants ARE dressy..at least for cleaning!  AND if Bestie was here, she would so totally agree with you but this is a discussion for another day.  Can we get back to the cleaning thing, please and discuss my grooming habits another time? Like when you’re no longer here….

50’s Housewife Mave: Hmph!  Who’s June?

Me:  Cleaver…you know, Leave it to Beaver.

50’s Housewife Mave: OH!  I love her! 

Me: Figures.  Now…the kitchen?

50’s Housewife Mave: Yes. Right. Well, since the oven takes care of itself magically, that leaves…WINDOWS.

Me: Really?  You get ‘windows’??  I would NEVER get windows. Floors maybe, even cupboards or the refrigerator, but NEVER windows.

50’s Housewife Mave:  We could do floors or that big thing you call a refrigerator if you want to..

Me:  NO!  No, this is uh, your show so let’s get to it.

50’s Housewife Mave:    Okay, so let’s get to those windows. Since the oven can clean itself don’t tell me those windows have automatic robot arms and spray and clean by themselves.

Me: No, unfortunately, those we have to do ourselves.  

50’s Housewife (looking a little too pleased with herself if you ask me): GREAT! Something I can sink my teeth into!  Now, take a bucket-

Me: A BUCKET?!   You mean the plastic one that I use to catch the kids vomit when they’re sick??!! Ewwww….I thought we were cleaning here.

50’s Housewife Mave: Uh, well preferably you have one that is for just cleaning…

Me: *silent confused look*

50’s Housewife Mave:  Ok.  Forget the bucket we’ll just use the sink!  So, grab some vinegar and mix in some water and a squeeze of a lemon and you have the perfect mixture to get those windows and all your glass sparkling!

Me: Man, you are just way too into this.  *sigh* Okay, great. Now the dog will be licking all the glass all the time.  Anything for dog-spit?

50’s Housewife Mave:  Animals should be placed outdoors in their doghouses.  Why is that, that, thing in here?!  No wonder your floors are a full of paw prints!  *takes a broom and starts to shoo Mags the Wonder Dog outside who thinks Mave is playing with her and begins to bite the broom.  A struggle ensues with Mags barking and chasing Mave around the kitchen like a kid chasing the ice-cream truck.*  GET THIS DOG AWAY FROM ME!!! 

Me:  HAHAHAHAHA…that’s the funniest fucking thing I’ve seen all day

50’s Housewife Mave:  GET HIM OFF ME!!

Me:  Uh, he is a her and if you stop running, she’ll stop chasing.  Besides…you’re messing up your hair and your dress is getting all askew. 

50’s Housewife Mave: *stops and brushes her hair out of her eyes and smoothes her dress.  Mags pants and waits for another game of chase the lady with the broom* Why are you laughing?  IT’S NOT FUNNY! 

Me:  Yes it is! Aww..poor Mave. You look stressed.  *gets the wine and pops it open and pours two glasses*  Here, drink this.

50’s Housewife Mave:  Wine in the afternoon?!  A lady never drinks before dinner!

Me:  Right now, Mave we aren’t ladies.  Just take a sip and breathe.

50’s Housewife Mave:  *eyes the glasses suspiciously*  Okay, maybe just a little sip.

Me:  Yeah.  How’s that?

50’s Housewife Mave:  *drains her glass* Fuck the windows, let’s have more wine!

Me: *pours another glass*  Mave, I like you. 

We clink glasses and finish off the bottle…a little dog spit never hurt anybody.