Tag Archives: Where is ma chocolate?

Expiration Dates

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Based on my level of joy over the return of refrigerator operation in my kitchen yesterday, I’m thinking I will pee myself with over-the-top excitement at the prospect of finally having my fireplace fixed with actual heat emanating from it.  The downward spiral of malfunctioning household equipment started with an expired water heater (it expired all over my basement floor), then the blower in the fireplace refused to blow any heat (it was like it was on strike or something) and culminated in the all-out total short-out and horrible death scene from my fridge. After a few sparks flew, it finally said ‘fuck this’ and quit.  No ‘good bye’, no ‘see ya around’ , no ‘it’s been nice, but I’ve had it’ tirades, just a few sparky moments and total blackness.  Thanks, Fridge.  Nice knowin’ ya, too.

The speedy repairman only took 30mins to fix what was wrong, but it took 2 weeks for the replacement part to arrive at my doorstep.  I love efficiency!

 That should be it for the malfunctioning appliances for a while…I hope. I remain ever optimistic at the prospect of having everything in working order simultaneously without short-outs, leaks, weird grinding noises or agonizing deaths by electrical sensors for the next couple of days at least.  I hope I’m not TOO optimistic…come to think of it, I take all that back. I don’t want to entice the Universe into fucking with my car or D1’s car or have son spontaneously combust or have a random window pane randomly become loose and fly across the street and break on the neighbour’s cat (wait…).  That could happen…I’ll shut up now.

I’ve been ranting about son’s hockey fundraising, hockey practices…just hockey shit in general, for the past few months.  It bothers me.  Seriously, I have a disorder about hockey.  It’s kinda scary, really.  I know very few people who suffer from Hockeyphobiatitis, but I have that.  I know I do.  It’s like a tumor that seeps into your brain and every time somebody mentions the word ‘hockey’ one goes into spasms of sweary-filled tirades of ire and physical convulsions that rival a dance-off between Carlton (from Fresh Prince..old show) and Elaine from Seinfeld.  It’s like the Tourrette’s squirrel with more sweariness and less cuteness…

I’m lucky that only one of my children participates in that sport, otherwise, I would have to find a good therapist and invest shares in a vineyard somewhere so I could get a discount on my alcoholism…seriously.

The hockey season is coming to a close…by April, I’m hoping.  So until then, you won’t find me at a rink near you, but if you do, I’ll be the one with the bottle of booze wrapped in the paper bag while singing “Oh Canada” and yelling obscenities at the referees…at least, I think that’s what everybody else does.

MY KIDS LOVE ME….

 

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

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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

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….

The Post Birthday Aftermath Mashup

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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.

My Cover Letter/Email Thingy

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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.