Things I Learned While Drunk-Walking My Dog

Yes, drunk-walking…what?  Oh, like you’ve never done that.  Stop looking at me like that.  It happened to be a lovely summer evening with little breeze and the moon out in full glorious glow.  I had a few glasses of wine on my front porch and with Hubby inside watching some soccer match or something that kills all my brain cells just thinking about it, I thought taking Magalicious for a walk before her bed time would be a totally fantastical idea.  Yeah.

I learned a few things during this walk.  First, I can’t walk straight if I’m drunk. 

Second, everything is fucking hilarious.  Maggie was walking happily along, or pulling along, and I thought “Oh My Gawd that’s so funny!”  The neighbours probs was about to dial 911 when seeing me laughing hysterically at nothing while stumbling behind a 10 pound puppy at 11 o’clock at night.

Third, I was expecting Freddy Krueger to pounce out at me at any given time, so I was ready with my vicious dog all decked out in her bad ass polka-dotted bow.

GAH! Get ye away, Matey!

GAH! Get ye away, Matey!

  Yeah.  We be bad, yo.  I was ready to sick her on his ass as soon as he darted out from the neighbours’ bushes or darkened garage.  In my mind, he had a pirate’s accent and would be all “Arrgh, matey’s.  What ye be up to this fine evening?” and then show us his Kruger-like fingers with the stabby knives and shit.  Maggie would bark and scare him away and we would return home all happy that Freddy got scared of a little girly puppy with a red polka-dotted bow.  Awwwww…..

The terrifyingly cute Mags...that bow is scary, people.

The terrifyingly cute Mags…that bow is scary, people.

And THIS  is why I should not drunk-walk my dog….

My Cover Letter/Email Thingy

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.

 

 

 

Happy Canada Day!

canadian-flag-heartThe following was taken from the website: http://members.shaw.ca/kcic1/canisms.html.   Thanks to Miss H for the tip about the website and enjoy.

Happy Canada Day everybody!

The pics are from Cape Spear, NL the eastern most point in North America.  Hubby and I ventured out there yesterday and I snapped a few.

Cape Spear

Cape Spear

You know you’re Canadian if :

You stand in “line-ups” or “queues” (in Victoria, BC) at the movie, not lines.
You’re not offended by the term, “Homo Milk”.
You understand the sentence, “Could you please pass me a serviette, I just spilled my
BOWL OF POUTINE” !
You eat chocolate bars instead of candy bars.
You drink pop, not soda.
You had a Prime Minister who wasn’t fluent in either of the official languages (English & French).
You know what it means to be ‘on the pogey’.
You know that a mickey and 2-4’s mean “Party at thecamp, eh?!”
You can drink legally while still a teen in some provinces.
You talk about the weather with strangers and friends alike.
You don’t know or care about the fuss with Cuba, it’s just a cheap place to travel with very good cigars.
When there is a social problem, you turn to your government to fix it, instead of telling them to stay out of it.
You’re not sure if the leader of your nation has EVER had sex and you don’t WANT to know if he has!
You get milk in bags as well as cartons and plastic jugs.
Pike is a type of fish, not some part of a highway.
You drive on a highway, not a freeway.
You know what a Robertson screwdriver is.
You have Canadian Tire money in your kitchen drawers.
You know that Mounties “don’t always look like that.”
You dismiss all beers under 6% as “for children and the elderly.”
You know that the Friendly Giant isn’t a vegetable product line.
You know that Casey and Finnegan are not a Celtic musical group.
You drive with your headlights on during the day (since 1989, all new cars have been fitted with “daytime running lights”).

IMG_3138

You wonder why there isn’t a 5 dollar coin yet.
Like any international assasin/terrorist/spy in the world, you possess a Canadian Passport.
You use a red pen on your non-Canadian textbooks and fill in the missing ‘u’s from labor, honor, color. etc.
You know the French equivalents of “free”, “prize”, and “no sugar added”, thanks to your extensive education in bilingual cereal packaging.
You are excited whenever an American television show mentions Canada.
You make a mental note to talk about it at work the next day.
You can do all the hand actions to Sharon, Lois and Bram’s “Skin-a-ma-rinky-dinky-doo” opus.

I thought it was very artistic of me to photograph a barren picnic table.  Sadly, it just looks kinda creepy and like an empty picnic table.

I thought it was very artistic of me to photograph a barren picnic table. Sadly, it just looks kinda creepy and like an empty picnic table.

You can eat more than one maple sugar candy without feeling nauseous.
You were mad at the CBC when “The Beachcombers” were taken off the air.
You know who “Relic” is/was.
You know what a touque is and you own one and often wear it.
You have heard of … and have some cherished momento of … Bob and Doug McKenzie.
You still sing the “Great White North” theme song with pride … “coo-ooh-coocoo-coo-ooh-coocoo”.
You know Toronto is NOT a province.
You never miss “Coach’s Corner” during Hockey Night in Canada.
Back bacon and Kraft Dinner are two of your favourite food groups.
If you live in some of the colder Canadian provinces, your car has a cord and plug sticking out of the grill … it’s a block heater for those sub-zero (in Celsius) days.
You only know three spices: salt, pepper and ketchup.
You design your Halloween costume to fit over a snowsuit.
The mosquitoes have landing lights.
You have more kilometres on your snow blower than your car.
You have 10 favourite recipes for moose meat.
Canadian Tire Store on any Saturday is busier than most toy stores at Christmas.
You live in a house that has no front step, yet the door is one meter above the ground.
You’ve taken your kids trick-or-treating in a blizzard.
Driving is better in the winter because the potholes are filled in with frozen snow and slush.

The local paper covers national and international headlines on 2 pages, but requires 6 pages for hockey.
At least twice a year, the kitchen doubles as a meat processing plant.
The most effective mosquito repellent is a shotgun.
Your snowblower gets stuck on the roof.

You frequently clean grease off your barbecue so the bears won’t prowl on your deck.
You know which leaves make good toilet paper now that there are no more dollar bills.
The major parish fund-raiser isn’t bingo, it’s sausage making.
You find -40C a little chilly.
The trunk of your car doubles as a portable deep freeze.
You attend a formal event in your best clothes, your finest jewellery and your Sorels.
You can play road hockey on skates.
You know 4 seasons: Winter, Still Winter, almost Winter and Construction.
The municipality buys a Zamboni before a bus.
You understand the Labatt Blue commercials.
You perk-up when you hear the old theme from “Hockey Night in Canada”.
You pronounce the last letter of the alphabet “zed” instead of “zee.”
and …

You end some sentences with “eh,” … eh?

IMG_3142

Texts With Daughter

Texts with D2 as I wait to pick her up from rowing practice:

Me: Here

D2: —–

Me: Kinda no place to park so…

D2: —–

Me: You should maybe rush a little.

D2: ——-

Me: Still here

D2: ——

Me: Nice Police man drove by and I waved.  I think if he comes back he’ll make me move.

D2: ——–

Me:  Your response and caring are overwhelming

D2:  ———

Me: Waiting patiently kind of

D2: ———-

Me: People are mad at me for blocking traffic

D2: ——–

Me: They’re probably calling me mean and nasty names now

D2:—–

Me: Like yucky face and poo-poo head

D2:  ——

Me:  The police man came back

D2:——-

Me:  He’s now yelling at me furiously.  I probably shouldn’t have stuck my tongue out at him.

D2:———-

Me:  I’m now making a scene and he’s giving me a ticket.

D2: ——-

Me:  You’ll have to call your father for a ride home as I’m now in the back of the police car going to RNC headquarters.

D2: ————

Me:  Get bail money ready.

D2:————

Me: I see you’re stunned into silence by my behavior

D2:————–

Me: They let me go since I know *people*

D2:———

Me: Now I’m parked safely facing the lake.  It’s lovely.  So glad you care.

*I watch as D2 exits the boat she’s been in the entire conversation*

Me:  Ignore all my previous texts

D2:——-

Me:  Here

DSC00138

You Know You Should Call It A Day When:

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