Tag Archives: Humor

An Unnatural Nature Scene

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I bring you a moment from the wild one may never see again.  First, let’s set the stage.  Watch the intro to Wild Kingdom…

Are you ready?

The Newfoundland Hubby in His natural habitat doing something unnatural.

The Newfoundland Hubby in his natural habitat doing something unnatural.

I know that you are all as amazed as I am about this…I was lucky enough to capture the scene on my phone so you can all marvel in this bizarre and captivating experience.

HUBBY COOKING!!!

For those of you needing the details he is cooking fish n’ brewis.  (salt fish and soaked hard bread.  He prefers his fried.)

Until next time friends, keep your cameras at the ready and watch out for those wild animals.  You never know WHAT they’ll do next!

How Many Fingers Am I Holding Up?

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My lack of significant eye sight is becoming a challenge.  For all of us.   For instance, I misinterpret things I’ve read, I can’t quite make out a face in the distance and far too often I’m left squinting like Mr. Magoo.  I guess Father Time has decided to make me blind as a bat as well as physically uncoordinated and awkward in social situations.  Thanks for that.  That’s almost as awesome as having an allergic reaction to your allergy medication.   I’m thinking pretty soon I’m going to need a cane.  And a seeing eye-dog.   I walked out of Tim Hortons’ one day and I thought a sign on the door read Free WTF!  I LOVED THAT SIGN!!  I remember asking my husband if the Tim Horton’s company can legally put WTF!  on their doors without anybody complaining.  He looked at me a little weird until son spoke up and said, “No, mom.  IT SAYS FREE WiFi!!”  Ohhhhh….But I still wanted to try out the WTF sign on our front door, but Hubby wouldn’t go for it. I know, right?  Genius.  It would have been like, “WTF_________” fill in the blank, like “WTF are you here for?”; or “WTF is that shit on your head?”; or “WTF were you thinking knocking on my door without any bottles of wine in your hand?”  Yeah, all the missed opportunities are keeping me awake at night.  Or, when I thought D’s email wished Nurse Betty would ‘get some soon’ really she wished she would ‘be home soon’, or the time I thought my daughter’s text read ‘my ass is too boring’ when really it said ‘my dress is too long’ …I know.  Why would you think you have a boring ass?  Who told you that?  What are the qualifications of an exciting ass?  Is there a pass/fail grade curve the highschool put out on asses that I somehow missed?  I NEED THE WTF SIGN!!!

I just wrote the most awesome email to my friends detailing my week of trials and tribulations at work that at best can be described as The Eternal Fuck-Up.  Work, not the email.   It was an epic tale of good vs evil; right vs wrong; burger vs sandwich.  I wish you all could read it.  Jesus was even in there for a cameo.  Really, it was pretty damned good.  It’s a good thing they blithely look away after reading the shit with which I inundate their inboxes.  If no replies come rolling my way soon, I’ll have to send out warnings/threats of more emails to come that look more like spam and junk mail.  I’m shocked they haven’t blocked me or junked my stuff already.  Wait, maybe they have and I don’t know it yet.  Maybe they’ve all banned together like some little gangsta posse and decided to spam my ass behind my back, sorta like stabbing me in the face while I was sleeping.  Pfft….nah, they’re just waiting for a follow-up…I just know it….

Since this writing, most of my DH ladies have subsequently replied…they still love me…excuse me while I have a Sally Field moment….

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

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

The Allergic Hypo-Allergenic Dog

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So it seems Maggie is a hypo-allergenic dog that is allergic.  That is, she had an allergic reaction to a vaccine the vet gave her.  Of course, at the time she was having the reaction, Hubby and I erroneously thought the puppy was choking.  Which set off a chain of events that included panic stricken exclamations of “DO SOMETHING!  WHAT SHOULD WE DO?!  IS THERE SUCH A THING AS PUPPY-HEIMLICH?!  WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THIS DOG?!”   Of course there were multiple episodes of sticking our fingers down her throat to see if there was a foreign object lodged down there that we thought we could get out.  Something like a string, a penny (although where would she get a penny? It’s not like we’re throwing random amounts of change all over the floor and expecting her to suck it up like a vacuum cleaner) a piece of foam from her bed that she is determined to maul into chunks, a piece of my coach pillows which she has vehemently attacked, I’m sure out of sheer spite for me not allowing her to chew the baseboards…the list is quite endless so my death scenarios about my dog choking to her early demise were alive and well.

I was then imagining having to tell the neighbourhood how we killed our dog through a choking episode gone horribly awry. I would have to explain how it all went down with the Mags playing with me one minute, then choking wildly on some accidental piece of (insert object here).  I would be branded the WORST pet mommy on the planet and banned from ever owning any kind of animal ever again. I would be ostracized by my friends and community, forced to move and never able to show my face in public again.  It was all so traumatizing.   And how did I manage to raise three children virtually unscathed, so far?  Beats the fuck out of me.  They have more sense than to eat baseboards or suck up an arbitrary cache of loose change, I guess.

I was quickly on the phone to the Animal hospital who patched me through to the vet, who coincidentally, I had just met for the first time that morning, and she said she would meet us at the Animal hospital in half an hour.  In my mind I was screaming, ‘HALF AN HOUR?!!  SHE’LL BE DEAD BY THEN, BITCH!” , but in real everyday voice I said “okay” and hung up.

We were there in twenty minutes and waited for the doctor to show.  Maggie continually pawed at her face and made that “I’m-fucking-choking-and-you-evil-humans-are-sitting-in-a-random-parking-lot-doing-nothing-important” face, along with that open-mouthed gagging crap.  It was all so dramatic.

 At precisely 8pm, the technician arrived and let me in.  She took Maggie to the back to where I was sure she was to be x-rayed and examined with laden tweezers shoved down her throat all in attempts to remove the multiple layers of change I was sure she had inexplicably sucked up off the floor like a Hoover.  The vet came out a few minutes later to tell me Maggie had an allergic reaction to the vaccine she had that morning and after her antihistamine shot, and her anti-inflammatory shot, she would be fine.  I sighed with relief.  I was given directions in administering liquid Benedryl to my doggie prior to future vaccines in order to avoid all of the dramatic allergic reactions and panic-stricken shouts of “HELP ME, MA PUPPY IS DYING, DAMMIT!!!!”.  They patted my head and sent me and my puppy on our way.

So it turns out, I’m not a bad doggie mommy after all…as long as I keep tabs on all that loose change littering the floors….

Maggie's not dead. Just sleeping. I know. Drama Queen!

Maggie’s not dead. Just sleeping. I know. Drama Queen!

The Print Behind The Basement Door

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I have a print that I bought when I lived in Toronto during my college days. It’s black and white with guys in a band playing their instruments on water.  When I bought it, my friend was with me and said “it’s you”.  So it became mine.  It adorned my walls from then (late 1980’s) until I got married.  It took up wall space in the first house, however, was relocated to spare rooms and basement dwellings since.  It has survived three kids, six moves, three provinces and random garbage purges where Hubby has threatened to throw it out never to be seen by anyone we know again.  I would always retrieve it and place it back in the confines of a secret hideout where I would hope Hubby would not notice it or try to remove it for a garage sale down the street.

  Hubby has, on numerous occasions, proclaimed it ‘inappropriate’ for visitors to see.  I thought it was awesome then, and I still think its awesome now.  I always take his lamenting over my 80’s print as verbal manifestations of a childhood lacking in fine art instruction and I immediately pooh-pooh his suggestions for trashing it.

It is currently sitting idly beside our refrigerator in the basement behind a door; hidden from view and any visitors coming in and giving him that perplexed “WTF?” look.  At least, that’s the look he thinks people will give him.  I, on the other hand, would expect expressions of  “Gee, that’s the best black and white print of guys playing instruments on water while jumping excitedly, that I have ever seen!” and “Where did you get such one of a kind art?” and the BEST comment EVER:  “That’s fucking awesome”.  Yeah, that’s what I expect.  I think the general public should be given the opportunity to comment on the complete awesomeness of my taste in musical art.  I have taken a picture of my print for your perusal.  Comment below.

IMG_9405

As for the visitors being hurt by viewing such a wonderful piece, I think it’s worth the risk.  My print should come out of the shadows and take a place prominently above my desk, you know for inspiration…and to piss off Hubby.  Yeah.  Great plan.  Make it so, number one!

When the print has taken its rightful place above my creative writing space, I shall take a picture and post it.  I can’t wait!!  It’ll be awesome.

Of course, there will be a fight about how I didn’t measure before I put holes in the wall and how it’s crooked/too high/too low/ugly as fuck…

Wow, the weekend is really shaping up!

My print sandwiched between the basement door and our old fridge. Nobody puts baby in the corner.

My print sandwiched between the basement door and our old fridge. Nobody puts baby in the corner.

“Be funny. You’re not being funny. We were expecting more. You suck”

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I was writing a blog post in my head this morning as I was making lunch and breakfast and smiling wanly at the dog who was looking up at me with expectant eyes like “You WILL drop something on the floor for me to eat, right?  ‘Cause that’s the only damn reason for me to be seated at your feet.  That and I feel the inexplicable need to bite your ankles every time you step away from me.”   Yeah.  The post was pretty good.  The only problem is I can’t remember it.  I didn’t have a pen and paper nor the inclination to run for one at that moment, so the post is long gone into the chasm of my memory…there must be so much shit in there that the filing system is completely fucked up.  Seriously, files marked “Shit I Need” are obviously misplaced and gone into the dark abyss of never- never land. The cabinet marked “Garbage That No Other Human on The Face of the Earth Needs or Wants to Know” seems to be correlated by date, time and the place they last washed their feet. Those files are easily accessible and ready at a moment’s notice.  Especially after several glasses of wine and someone proclaiming a trivia game would be awesome right about now.  Fucked. Up.

 So this morning’s blog post is lying somewhere between “Shit I Should Know But Don’t” and “The Most Awesome Facts About Boats”.

This weekend had me spinning wildly between a fun filled DH night with the ladies where it was demanded that I “be funny.  You’re not being funny.  Get her more wine” and D2’s grad.    I’m assuming by the previous DH statements, I wasn’t living up to my “you’re the fucking entertainment” part of my contract.  Maybe I should stop sending out my witty emails in my feeble attempts at humor and pithy attention.  It’s a well-known fact I suffer from Raj-syndrome.  I speak very little but hand me alcohol and I become a sarcastic wino who slings comebacks and insults with mega sardonic phrasing.  I hadn’t realized there were expectations around my verbal nonsense.  That’s a lot of pressure.  I need a drink…and some new material.

Speaking of drunkards, while at D2’s meet and greet portion of her graduation, Hubby and I were entertained by a sufficiently inebriated man who insisted on detailing a story about golfing in the United States.  The story involved an over- ended golf cart and wayward golfers. There was a few racial slurs and sexist innuendos all making that much more awesome for the eavesdroppers surrounding us.  He was going on and on about how only Baymen were the best workers and “I wouldn’t hire a townie to save me life”.   Onlookers were appalled.  Especially a lady who was all decked out in diamonds and an evening gown.  She was particularly insulted.  I was thrilled by her horrified expression and feeble attempts to move out of the way.  There was nowhere to go.  So Larry, tell me more!  We were happily obliging Larry for the next story.  Where the fuck were you last night when I was coming up short for stories for the ladies?  Hire Larry.  He’s available and we could pay him in Lamb’s.  I’ll be sure to invite the evening- gown lady…we probably aren’t going to be invited to any more meet and greets, anyways.  She’s probably on the Regatta Committee…and is disgusted by food fights…and doesn’t think possessing something as awesome as this is ‘appropriate’ for a mother of my stature.  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!  A dog that sticks it’s tongue out at you on demand is unworthy of attention??!!    If that’s the way you feel, I don’t want to go to your meet and greets.  I don’t want to have dinner with you and your fancy dress.  I don’t want to be in on the secret club meetings at the boat house…okay, yeah I do, but I can let that go if you can’t see how adorable that doggie is!!  Or her tongue!  It’s like she’s giving you the finger only she doesn’t have any fingers so she’s just using her tongue instead.  It’s all incredibly remarkable and awe-inspiring.

It's like she's saying "Fuck You" but in a cute puppy way...

It’s like she’s saying “Fuck You” but in a cute puppy way…

This post actually took me two days to write since I was looking for the perfect pic to go with it.  This may be a sad statement to make, but I have over 100 pictures of my dog on my phone.  100!!! I wonder how my kids feel about that…hmmm…I should be getting my Mother of the Year Award in the mail any day now!  My kids have come to the joyful realization that the dog takes precedence.

 Kid That Lives In My House: “Oh, mom did you remember to pick up my dress?”

  Me: “No, but I got the cutest little hair bows for the dog!”

KTLIMH:  “You forgot to pick me up after my practice…again.”

Me: “Sorry, I was out back playing with the dog.  You wouldn’t want me to neglect her would you?”

 KTLIMH:” THERE’S NO HOT WATER!!”

Me:  “Sorry…I had to give the dog a bath and mini-spa day. She needed to look pretty…she was getting all tangley and mangy looking. AND, you wouldn’t want her to be rejected by the other doggies in the ‘hood, would you?!  She’s got a rep to uphold”

KTLIMH:  *sigh*

Me:  Yeah.  Get used to it kid….