Tag Archives: Musings

The Post Birthday Aftermath Mashup

Posted in Misguided Musings by

What a great title.  I have no clue what it means, but what a great title.  I hope I can live up to all of your expectations after reading that. 

Yeah, so yesterday was my birthday. I found it to be quite…meh, at first. I went home to grumpy children, a messy house and an incessantly barking dog.  Awesome.

After that, the evening was much better.   Out to dinner and friends for drinks.  Can’t be depressed with alcohol, feuding dogs and besties in my house.  AND cake.  Fudgy icing…the. Best.

Birthdays are one of those occasions where coming up with something original and fun to do is kinda old hat by the time you hit your…older-years.  I’d rather just kick back with a glass of wine, eat good food and visit with friends.  That’s perfect.  Sorta like a DH night Spectacular only happening mid-week.  That’s what I’ll do next year for ma birthday.  Get all the ladies together mid-week for a DH Special Edition…I’ll remember to get the next day off of work so it should be spectacular.  Only 364 more days to go!  Rock on, winos…

I’m drinking a coffee from yesterday that D2 bought me, but I was too full to drink.  Is that bad?  It tastes okay…just a little funky.  Probs should have tossed it, but couldn’t bring myself to toss a perfectly good coffee.  If I get sick, I’ll be sure to post something of my untimely demise…or get one of ma family members to do so.  I’m sure they’ll be all “If she just hadn’t have drank that day-old coffee, she could still be here drinking yukky wine instead.  She bequeathed me this here blog, so I’ll be the one writing here from now on.”  (I imagined one of ma family members talking like a southern redneck…not sure how or why they would spontaneously become southern…maybe it had to do with the fumes from the day-old coffee.  Turns peeps into rednecks…you have been warned.)  Good luck with that, kids….I should try to stay alive to save you from hearing about D2’s rowing and constant living at the boathouse and how she tragically missed ma birthday supper; or son’s escapades on the golf course with 80 year old men who threaten to sue him because he hit a line drive and almost hit an old geezer who was just about to finish on the green; nice;  or D1’s attempts at securing her own car whilst working two jobs and whining incessantly about all of the above; or Hubby lamenting about his job and the knee surgery he’s about to undergo in the fall and how it really is tragic and sad that hockey isn’t a year round sport.

  It really is awesome being me.

  Just think, by keeping myself alive, I’m saving you from all of that shit.

 You. Are. Welcome.

So here are a few fun facts to keep you entertained and enlightened on this auspicious day:

·       25 – the number of times I’ve said ‘fuck- off’ in my head today.  It’s only 9:30 am.

·       3 – the number of  times Mags bit me on my ear to try to wake me up at 5:30am to go out and pee.  Most of the above bullet could be from the Mags episode alone….

·       A Year and A Half – the amount of time it’s going to take me to read Under The Dome by Stephen King that one of my Besties gave me last night and I’m dying to start.  It’s friggin’ huge.

·       10 – the number of glasses of wine I WANTED to drink last night

·       3- the number of glasses of wine I ACTUALLY  drank last night

·       29 – had I been turning 29 yesterday, that would have been the number of candles on my cake

·       74- The number of candles Hubby actually put on my birthday cake.

·       5- the number of pages in the divorce package

Miss H, had I voted on your ‘who’s the couple most likely to be divorced first?’ question last Saturday night, I would be able to say “I WIN!”…ugh.  I kid, I kid….Hubby still wants to be married to me, and vice-versa…despite the candle explosion.

There you have it, some enlightening numeral facts that you all should be proud to know.

 I live for this shit….

Apparently, this describes me quite accurately...ugh.

Apparently, this describes me quite accurately…ugh.

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.

 

 

 

Parlez-Vous Joey?

Posted in Misguided Musings by

So, Hubby sent me these attachments to read and ‘get to know’ on an intimate level regarding pensions and shit.  After the first page, I started reading this:  A pension under the…blah, blah, blah, annuation perpetuates by a 2% blah, blah, blah….fuck-it-all-and-move-to-Figiblah, blah, blah….

Yeah.  I’m not sure how much ‘getting to know’ and ‘intimacy’ myself and this pension plan has.  There will be no candle-lit dinners involved in THAT relationship…

We have booked an epic journey to New York departing Montreal following the Canada Games row-a-thon that D2 will be commandeering.  Should be a hoot.  After a week of forcibly attempting to speak ma Joey-French (to those of you who missed THE ENTIRE NINE YEARS OF FRIENDS AND IF YOU DID, I’M NOT SURE IF WE COULD STILL BE  CONSIDERED FRIENDS, Joey-French was the mysterious French- language-interpretation that Joey thought he could speak and get away with.  Unfortunately, that did not work out very well for him. HOW COULD YOU HAVE MISSED THAT ONE?  SERIOUSLY. GO WATCH IT SO WE CAN GO BACK TO BEING FRIENDS.) 

 The poor people of Quebec will be so confused at my version of the French language they’ll ask that I switch to sign language.  OR they’ll just think I’m high all the time.  OR that I have some disability that makes me speak in tongues.  So, they’ll ask son to speak on my behalf.  Thanks Montreal. 

New York is looking like a sand trap for tourists who revel in getting tragically lost at every turn or high from the exhaust fumes from all the traffic.  SOUNDS PERFECT.  Hubby is not thrilled with this choice…he wanted sand. And sun. And blue water.  SUCK IT UP, DUDE.   AND, we could be forcing him to sit through a Broadway show.  I can’t wait to see his face after an hour of singing and dancing. HE’S GONNA DIE!!!!  (This is the antagonistic asshole part of me. You. Are. Welcome.)

After scouring the internet for days on end, repeatedly pestering Bestie and D regarding our impending Journey into The Great Beyond, I have nailed down exactly NOTHING. Nada. Zilch.  Fucking zero, people.  City pass or Explorer Pass?  Museums?  They have a gagillion.  Statue of Liberty?  You gotta take a fucking boat to get there!  Jeesh, I live on a Goddamned island and I GOTTA TAKE ANOTHER FUCKING BOAT?!!  Ugh…I got the swearing down pat.  AND, I’m working on ma New York accent…FUHGEDDABOUDIT…eh?  Sort of a cross between a young DeNiro and an old Carol Channing with a Canadia twist.  I SAID I WAS WORKING ON IT. 

It’s all confusing and exciting at the same time…great.  Now I’m sounding like a Taylor Swift song. 

As for the Father’s Day gift that I bought for the father of my children, the bread winner, the all-around-great –guy.  He arrived home from work last night and saw it sitting in the living room.  His reaction: “What’s that?  Why did you get that?”  He then continued to tell me I should have spent the money on myself, to which I replied something like this:

“dlkskjieooiwj…and lsiie tet fusi- place un baiser sur mon ass maintenant fblahmuthaslsoifuskcier” 

YOU WOULD TOTALLY UNDERSTAND THAT IF YOU KNEW JOEY-FRENCH.

For all my DH ladies who made the effort to come to the blog to read something different, my apologies.  Your emails are now fodder for blog posts. 

Now get back to watching all NINE years of Friends…

Adventures in Cyber-Walking

Posted in Misguided Musings by

Topping the headlines for today in Kayjai-land, the new telephone books have arrived. Swathed in plastic wrap with the scent of new paper circling the stiff office air and the blinding yellow cover sending peeps searching for their Ray Bans, those volumes of weighted paper overwhelmed the office hens, making them high on the fumes.  They couldn’t wait to ink in the new front pages with forgotten phone numbers that went out of date with the ark.   Yes, out with the old, in with the new…books of wonder and awesome that lay abandoned and neglected, their information outdated by the time it goes to print and no one with neither the time nor inclination to look up shit.  That’s all online now, peeps. 

In other awesome headlines, Kayjai and kin shall be making the most epic of epically awesome trips to New York City this summer.  Lock your doors kids, Kayjai will be in town!  I have spent hours on Google street-view cyber-walking the streets in search of some semblance of direction.

"Stand in the place where you live, now face North..." North?! Where the fuck is North?!

“Stand in the place where you live, now face North…” North?! Where the fuck is North?!

 I have none. 

Getting lost has never looked so appealing!  Every way my yellow street-man turns, I find a new building to ogle over and yet another food-cart.  I should weigh close to three hundred pounds by the end of this trip.  Yay me!

 Do you know how many tours there are happening in that city?  And the stuff one can see…wow.  I’m abound with glee and wonder.  I’ll probs. get so tired by all the walking and mugging, I’ll land face first into a pitcher of beer at a bar whose name no one can pronounce.  Fucking awesome, I tell ‘ya.

Hubby and son will have to paste posters with ma picture on it saying “have you seen this woman?  If so, approach with caution and hand her a map with a big yellow dot indicating where her hotel is and the dive she is currently sitting at swigging back a few pints.  OR, just hand her a GPS and shove her out the door.  Sort of like ‘blind man’s bluff’ only she’ll be blind-drunk instead of blindfolded.  Then sit back and watch the fun!”  

A GPS would be great since I have trouble reading maps.  It’s all very linear and complicated for me.  At least the GPS lady talks at you.  She’s annoying as shit, but the condescending tone reminds me of someone from home, so it should send me into a homesick-laden lament worthy of all the consummation of beer that had landed me in no-man’s land to begin with. 

As it happens, Bestie and her fam will already be in the city that never sleeps, so we will hook up for some drinky-drinks and a tour…or just drinky-drinks.  You never know what can happen when a bunch of folks from Newfoundland get together in a big crowded city full of other tourists and residents fucking hoping all these tourists would get permanently lost…CONGRATS!  I SHALL BE THAT TOURIST! I’M YOUR FUCKING DREAM COME TRUE, HOMIES! 

You all owe me…