Let’s Pretend Reality is Really Real

As I get older, I find it harder to keep up. Keep up with the ‘kids’, keep up with the work around the house, keep up with the bills, keep up with exercising, keep up with the ever moving ever changing world we live in. I suppose that’s normal and something everybody has to deal with, but that’s not the image people play out on social media.
If one was to believe everything according to Facebook, everybody is living a perfect well-balanced, harmonious life void of any pressures of keeping up, or staying fit or feeling great or being successful. Life According to Facebook is a veritable wonderland of rainbows and unicorns. The happiness meter is on bust and the world is one great big giant playground where all the kids are having fun and playing nice and laughing hysterically…not maniacally. That would be creepy and Facebook doesn’t do creepy. Does it? 

 Well, kinda when you think about it. That’s the premise of Facebook. We gander and peruse others’ lives. We look at the pictures. We see the posts. “I had a great time eating my lunch today.” REALLY?! How is eating lunch equal to having a good time? UNLESS, there was alcohol and a lot of friends thrown in there where you didn’t have to go back to work and the food was free and the sun was shining and….see, there are parameters about how having fun eating lunch can actually occur. Who am I to judge whether someone had fun simply by eating his/her lunch? I’m not. But if somebody puts it out there for the world to see, the world will invariably judge because, duh, that’s what human beings do.  

We judge.

We compare.

We analyse.

We decide what is good, what is bad, what is tasteful, what isn’t. It’s in our nature to simply make decisions on first impressions, be all judgey about it then move on.  

Or, like me, make fun. It’s how I roll, but then I expect the same in return.  

The perfectionist in all of us wants to post the BEST of us on Facebook for the world to dissect and analyse and examine in some sort of twisted voyeuristic play, but that’s not real life.

Nothing on there is real. Really. Not EXACTLY reality, sort of a mixed-up “let’s pretend” kind of thing.  

Image is what is being projected. Someone’s likeness to the real human underneath the pouty smile or the posed stance next to the car. No one’s life is a perfect sequence of magical events all coming together in one symphonic interlude.  

But we sure as hell like to think it does. “Hey, I got a smile from my dog. Post that!” I have done that. I do that all of the damned time and then think, “Why the fuck did I just post a picture of my snarly growly tyrannical dog who actually looks like she’s smiling for once and not ready to tear the head off some random kid walking by our house?” WELL, BECAUSE MY SNARLY GROWLY TYRANNICAL DOG ACUTALLY LOOKED LIKE SHE’S SMILING FOR ONCE AND NOT READY TO TEAR THE HEAD OFF SOME RANDOM KID WALKING BY OUR HOUSE! That’s why. Because it made me happy to think she was actually happy and I wanted the world to think my dog was happy and in turn, I was happy.

Because happy is good.

AND WHO DOESN’T WANT TO BE HAPPY?!

So post happy!

As long as everyone is under the general anesthetic knowledge that NOTHING ON SOCIAL MEDIA IS REALLY REAL, only kinda sorta real then we’re all good.

So, Truman on folks.*  

Fake is the new reality. Not to be confused with the ever-nauseating phrase ‘fake news’. Pleeeeeeaaasssse. No.

Here is a picture of my snarly growly tyrannical dog who actually looks like she’s smiling for once.


I hope it makes you happy.

*[For those of you old enough, this is a movie reference to the Truman Show. Jim Carrey. Ring a bell? No? Ugh. Nevermind….]

We Need A Dumbledore Right Now!

To say that I am dismayed and disheartened by the events in the upcoming U.S. presidential election would be an understatement.  More like appalled, disgusted, throw in some terror-induced exclamations of  “OH MY GAWD WHAT IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE!” and then back to disheartened.  I’m on a roller coaster of emotions ranging from broken-hearted to horrified.  AND, I’m not alone.   I’m hoping Canada will respond with some mad wall-building and sarcasm aimed at He Who Shall Be Named Asshole.  Seriously.  How is this even happening?  I’m thinking the Americans must think it’s all a big joke and he will go away with a wave of a Dumbledore hand and his magical wonderful wand.  It’s getting so that every time we look at a news outlet, he is screaming out some obscenity or random idiot remark with a fist raised in ire and terror.  Gee…I seem to remember seeing some shit like this before in history books and news reels from say, 1939-1945???

We need a Dumbledore right now.

Dumbledore

Be gone, He Who Shall Be Named Asshole! 

And with all of the shittiness with the economy and declining oil prices and the stories of horrendous treatment of girls and women in India with another gang rape, and ugh…it goes on and on.  The atrocities of society are starting to outweigh the goodness in all of the media.

We need to turn that around.

Let’s bring some goodness and humanity back into the world.

First, He Who Shall Be Named Asshole must say ‘Adieu’ to the political landscape…I don’t care how, I don’t care where…just go.  And while you’re at it, take all of those people who are called your ‘supporters’ with you.  AND, take the men of India who think women are dirt, down the mountain on a bumpy and ball-slamming ride on a flat inner tube.  AND, take all the murderers, gun-toters, baby killers, puppy-millers, kitten-haters and general dregs of our society down that same mountain in flat inner tubes with the rest of you!  There. That’s better.

Now, the rest of us peace-loving and generally good citizens of the world will do what we do best.  Smile.  Say nice things to make people’s days go better.  Take care of the sick and wounded, help old ladies cross the street, feed the puppies and kittens and the starving children and work for world peace, ‘CAUSE DAMMIT THAT’S WHAT WE ARE SUPPOSED TO DO.

Pug froggies

Because, who doesn’t love puppies dressed as froggies?  WHO?!

Now, if you don’t mind we have a lot of work to do.  So stop distracting us good people with your words of hatred and abominable rhetoric and take off, eh!

My head hurts.

bunny

Cuteness.  You. Are. Welcome

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shit I Did This Weekend

Played The Board Game from Hell

I think my family is expecting a post about the perils of the game Trouble.  Then again, I think my family expects more from me in general, anyways so, here.  Don’t say I don’t do anything for you guys.  Geesh, stop bothering me will ‘ya?  It’s like having Erkel around all the time.  GAAAAAWWWWWD. What’s wrong wit…sorry. Babbling.  Okay you can start reading now…orrrrr now.  Now?  Yeah, now. 

The devil's invention that sends me into fits of swearing and air punching. I commend thee!

The devil’s invention that sends me into fits of swearing and air punching. I compel thee!

Have you played this raunchy-when-I-play-it- over-the-top not-for-little-kids-mutha-of-a-game?!  One minute into the throws of punching that plastic bubble in the middle and I was calling my sis-in-law a 6-whore and demanding a replay from my niece.  My poor 79 year old mother-in-law must have thought I was possessed or have been negatively influenced from living in the city too long.  She stayed quiet while I fiercely pounded the bubble as the dice inside REFUSED to turn over to a number 6. The number 6 is necessary to even begin the game.  You know, 6…Devil, Beast, Asshole…(If you’re a Trouble virgin like I was, I’ll give you the condensed Kayjai version of the game.  You. Are. Welcome.

You have 5 game pieces who are safely ensconced in ‘home’ position.  The object is to get your 5 homies into a safe house, but first you have to wander aimlessly around the neighbourhood, but watch out!  The crackheads are out and gunning for your ass, so it’s survival of the fittest.  You get them, before they get you.  You nail their asses before they have a chance to say “I need a fix!”  Got it?   It’s probs. not supposed to have ‘crack’ references or raucous swearing and bouts of fist-flinging…or insulting commentary, but I was trying to bring it to a level most people relate to.  Not that you relate to crackheads…or strangers chasing you down and calling you names in your neighbourhood.  Or maybe you do. I don’t know…I don’t know where you live…anymore.)

 I finally made it out onto the actual playing board and when I did I was gunnin’ for 6-whore and whoever else got in ma way.  I think I obliterated my mother-in-law a few gagillion times and inspired a mob mentality by getting my niece to chase after her momma with ire and determined fury.  Yeah.  I think the Devil was having a grand ol’ time watching me morph into some evil-crazed sociopath looking for a little payback and attacking any innocent bystanders who may be present.  I was half expecting the arrival of a priest to hose me down with incense and holy water. I think I caused my mother-in-law to fall into immediate prayer and beg for my salvation…we played two games.  Niece had to go to work…pfft…LIKE THAT WAS IMPORTANT. WE WERE PLAYING TROUBLE FOR GOD’S SAKE!  WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU!  Anyway, they said I had to let her go, so after my final head-spin, I think I won the second game…AND, I wasn’t even the slightest bit drunk.  Ha!  I WIN! 

 

Played Card Games and ‘Borrowed’ A Truck

I played mother-in-law in two games of cards before suggesting we go to the next town a half-an-hour away for lunch.  Incidentally, I won the last game.  AND, I wasn’t even drunk.  Ha!  I WIN!  The kicker?  You know that Hubby bought a nice shiny brand new truck in November, right?  You know that I have never driven nice shiny brand new truck, right?  You know that he so BLATANTLY left his truck keys on the counter, PURPOSEFULLY pointing out to me where he left them while he and son and his bro went fishing.  AND, it was mother-in-law’s birthday..so of course I had to treat her to lunch.  In the next town.  And invite sis-in-law and her crew.  AND HOW WAS I GOING TO GET HER THERE???!!  Dat’s right…the nice shiny brand new truck that I have never driven before, of course!  Duh….

What?  I texted Hubby…

AFTER I had arrived at lunch and parked said nice shiny brand new truck FAR AWAY FROM EVERY LIVING THING IMAGINABLE, lest there be denting or scratching or heavy breathing on it. 

See?  Everything was fine. 

Observe:

Me:  I took the truck to take YOUR mother out to lunch since EVERYBODY ELSE IS GONE.

Hubby: K. Where did you go?  And have you reached your destination?  (he thinks everybody is watching him and reading his texts, so he remains formal like he’s met me maybe once in his whole life…unless he’s pissed at me.  Then he feels the need to speak like a sailor.  Bastard.)

Me: We are meeting sis and Niece at Gibsons for lunch in GFW.  We are here now.  The truck drives itself!!  I don’t know why I haven’t driven it before!

Hubby:  YOU DROVE MY TRUCK TO GFW??!!!!!!

Me:  YOUR MOTHER wants to know if she needs to get the frying pan ready.  (subtly trying to change the subject)

Hubby: You haven’t driven my truck because I don’t want you to.

Me:  Why not?  I’m like RainMan.  I’m an excellent driver.

Hubby:  EXACTLY.  Please be careful with my truck.  I luvs her right.

Me:  Well, maybe you should marry it then.

Hubby:  What?

Me: Ugh…never mind…

I’m so mature….

 

 

 

 

 

You Weren’t Sleeping, Were You?

Since allowing our precious puppy to sleep with us, we have encountered a plethora of interesting late night/early morning goings on that can only equal that of a crack house during peak operation.  Here’s a little rundown of last night’s exploits:

10:30pm – Magilicious takes up position at the end of the bed and begins digging.  She’s a digger.  Don’t ask me what she’s digging, I don’t’ know. 

10:31 –  I promptly replace Mags on her cushy brand new orthopedic bed with chew bones and toys and say the command ‘stay’.  Which she does.  I then secure myself in under the covers and set the tv up.  I’m all comfy and cozy.. 

10:31:03 – I’m suddenly pounced on by a seven pound mound of hair that thinks my face has been dipped in bacon.  After I extract her from my face I again, replace her back on her cushy brand new orthopedic puppy bed with the command  ‘STAY’.  She looks at me like this:

Really?  Yeah, right.

Really? Yeah, right.

 

10:34 – Magalicious cautiously creeps onto the end of the bed as if she’s sneaking up behind a masked villain stealing her doggy treats and she’s about to take him down.  She sees me eying her.  Her ears go down and she gives me that “What?  But I’m cute, right?”  I get up and move her AGAIN to her cushy brand new orthopedic puppy bed with her chew toy.  “ANNNNNDDDDD  STAY”  She gives me the stink eye.  I return to my comfy position.

10:45 – I feel a paw, then another paw, then another one caaarreefully walk on my ankles, then I feel a sudden ‘thump’.  I raise my head to see her walking in circles around my ankles in an attempt to get comfortable and plop herself right on beside my leg.   

10:46-  the door opens and Hubby walks in.  OH NO!  The dog is suddenly on high alert.  She’s standing at attention as if the president just walked into the room, her tail is wagging and in an excited flurry, she jumps down to her cushy brand new orthopedic puppy bed and retrieves her toy and brings it to him like it’s a gift for his majesty for gracing us with his presence.  Give me a fucking break.  Her ears are down, her tail is wagging and she’s just so damned excited she just may pee on her bed.  Which she does.  Great.

11:00 – Everybody is settled…ON OUR BED for the night.  Magalicious eyes me and is smiling smugly…I just know it.

1:00am – A flurry of activity has aroused me from a raucous dreams about Johnny Depp, helicopters and chocolate…dammit.  I feel my fingers being chewed off.  Then my arm is being used as a scratching post. I feel Magalicous climb on my head and try to chew my hair to its roots.  WTF?  I grab her and place her not so gently on the end of the bed.  I lay back down. 

1:00:03am –  A flying object with hair has inexplicably landed on my face and my ear is being chewed off and licked excitedly.   Ugh…I make the fatal mistake of standing up.  She thinks its morning and takes that as a sign we will be getting up now to play!!  “Yay!  Lets’ all go outside and run around and eat grass and bark at the neighbours!”  I grab her but not in time…she leaves a puddle on my comforter.  UUUUggggghhhh….

1:05am –  Magalicious is in her crate for the remainder of the night.  Hubby rolls over.

  “Where’s the comforter?”

  “The dog peed on it”

   “Oh.  Where is she now?” 

“In her crate where she’s staying” I say emphatically. 

“Aw, that’s a sin.  She likes sleeping with us” 

  “IN THE PAST TWO HOURS WHEN HAS SHE SLEPT?”

  “Huh…I didn’t notice anything

Yeah….

The Maggie Equation

Our new addition to our family is taking up a lot of time.  Not that we are resentful, just surprised at how much one little animal can impact a family.  Maggie is our new silky terrier and she is very cute…a baby in a dog body, this girl can woo you into babbling baby-talk in 0-60.  I went from being a semi-intelligent half-wit, to a babbling new mommy “Who’s a pretty girl?  Who’s a pretty girl?  Oh, yes Maggie is a pretty girl.  Ooooh” in no time flat…ugh.  It’s funny how your daily topic of conversation goes from the political arena of the province to how many times the dog peed on the carpet today.  I’m even calling home to check up on her.  “Did you brush her?  Is she sleeping?  Did you remember to put her favorite blanket in her bed?”  Ugh…I always thought dog parents were a bit nutty and now I know why.  When you have this face looking up at you on a minute-by-minute basis, how can you not be a gooey mass of a human?

Maggie and her best "Am I adorable or what?" face

Maggie and her best “Am I adorable or what?” face

Her sleeping habits are well…not really sleeping as much as ‘let’s see how I can get my human mommy to open my crate.  I’ll whine my head off and she can’t help but open up this damned door.  Sucker…’  and so it goes.   We’ve managed to get a few hours sleep and she’s getting used to us as the days wear on, but I fear this pooch is going to be so spoiled that come spring, she’ll be expecting us to buy her the little doggie booties so her precious paws don’t ever touch real pavement.  OR, putting little pink bows at the top of her head or going for doggie spa days.  I’m hoping it won’t come to this massive explosion of insanity, but never say nevah…she’s our precioussssssss.  See?  The Gollum-brain is starting to take over….Perhaps an intervention will be in order.

See?  It has begun...

See? It has begun…