Showing posts with label disaster. Show all posts
Showing posts with label disaster. Show all posts

Thursday, 6 March 2014

I am an Emotional Masterpiece

Just call me Picasso

 
I've decided I'm an emotional masterpiece, because it sounds so much better than unbalanced. I'm like Picasso, but without the wang...and with breasts. And maybe with my eyeballs in the right place.
 
So I'm like Picasso but BETTER.
 
Fucking A.
 
Not like a Da Vinci-ette, because let's face it - that guy made sense. I'm more all over the map lately. Creative, emotional, and ACCIDENTAL.
 
My sons went on a ski trip with their school. They come home absolutely soaked through, so I "empty" their pockets and throw coats and snow pants into the washer...then the dryer. I do the little quotesy things on "empty" because it wasn't as empty as empty should have been. It was less "empty" and more "holy shit, what the Hell is THIS?"
 
THIS is how you accidentally tie dye two pairs of snow pants and add decorative splotches to winter jackets...with wax crayons. So it's nice and waterproof. And won't come off.
 
Less Da Vinci and more Picasso, right?
 

Just HOW Sick are You?

 
It was Family Dinner Night...for those of you who don't know - this is night when disaster and or hilarity strike in equal measure (usually when I screw something up). However, for once THIS was the exception...HA! Because we didn't even get there.
 
My brother sent my Mom a text saying they all had Parvovirus or Tuberculosis (or possibly were just sick...I didn't actually read the text) and they couldn't make it to dinner - so they cancelled.
 
Don't worry, we all blame him. It's what we do.
 
"Paul says they're sick and can't make it tonight," my Mom announces in the living room.
 
"Wait! Uncle Paul is sick?" my oldest son asks.
 
"Yes, sweetie."
 
"Did he get too old?"
 
Oooh the restraint I demonstrate sometimes...you're welcome, Paul.
 

It Tastes like What?

 
We recently added a Boston Terrier puppy to our madhouse. By "we" I mean "me" because I just can't get enough of cleaning up puddles of pee and I suffer from...something horribly wrong with me. And if I try to share the blame I will get the hairy eye.
 
His name is Spock and he is insane. My sons adore him.
 
"Spock's eating his foot!" Kaelan shrieks happily one morning.
 
"It's probably itchy," my Mom explains as both boys bounce around the puppy.
 
"I bet it tastes disgusting," Reece announces as he leans in to inspect the action.
 
"It probably tastes like chicken. Everything tastes like chicken," I tell them.
 
"I bet that's it," my Mom agrees.
 
"Or dork. Most likely it tastes like dork," I suggest.
 
Just a guess.
 
 

Monday, 25 February 2013

They're my Undies and I'll Flash if I Want To

How to NOT get a Discount

 
It was a dark and stormy night...NOT. Okay, honestly it was a sunshiney day filled with potential - until the water wasn't draining out of the tub while I was having my shower. Not a good sign.
 
I was having a good panic (can you call a panic good? I'll have to look that one up...), BUT then the water went down and like any good procrastinator I chose to IGNORE IT. Good call (feel free to read the sarcasm here).
 
When that no longer existed in my mind, I did some laundry (because I'm awesome) and that was when it happened... STUFF started to burble up out of the tub like in a horror movie. I was freaking out! What WAS this stuff? Was it shit? YUCK!
 
So I had to lean in and check it out (gross and BADASS - and you're kind of glad you don't know me in an "I can smell you" kind of way, yes?). Well, relax - not shit. It was LINT. And it was NOT going away.
 
So I plunged and plunged and plunged that motherfucker - and it STILL would NOT drain. CRAP!
 
Then, the unthinkable happened (but only if you're like me and have NO IDEA about plumbing), the toilet filled up.
 
This was the day from Hell.
 
I ran to THAT hole and plunged and plunged that motherfucker, too - but my wussy plunger kept going INSIDE OUT, so I was making NO progress whatsoever. I'd say shit, but thank God, there was none of that.
 
The toilet overflowed, just missing the catbox and I go storming off to the hardware store for a new ("heavy duty") plunger and some Liquid Plumber. I'm cranky and on a mission.
 
I get back to my disaster and pour the chemical on each drain and plunge and plunge away to no avail. My NEW plunger keeps going inside out  ("heavy duty" my ass!) - so I keep having to fix it. The chemical is BURNING my hands. Now I'm saying shit anyway - even if there isn't any.
 
My youngest son is walking around in rubber boots and bright yellow rubber gloves in case the germs are sneaking around the house waiting to get him.
 
So I give up... We call a real plumber.
 
Before they arrive I clean up the bathroom making sure all the laundry is taken care of and nothing embarrassing is lying around. I tidy up the basement so they don't know how messy we really are (because I'm sure the guy dealing with the shit in the pipes REALLY cares).
 
The real plumbers arrive to snake out some giant pipe in our furnace room and they are the friendliest two guys you'd ever meet. They set up their equipment, do their grindy thingy in the pipe (that's the technical term by the way - grindy thingy, write that down) and make a million trips back and forth to the bathroom to make sure it is working.
 
The plumbers are SO SMILEY through this all. Really, I'm amazed at the perkiness involved in a roto-rooter type job...
 
When they are finished, I'm cleaning the bathroom (from the grossness of our overflows) and what do I see hanging in all it's glory?
 
The ONE thing I didn't see to put away... A nice, fancy, hot-pink bra hanging at eye-height.
 
Oh. My. God. No wonder they were so friendly.
 
Too bad it didn't get us a discount... Maybe I need better undies.
 

Modesty at it's Finest

 
"Boy K, you're pretty lucky to have a brother like me," Reece informs his brother after handing him a glass of water at the supper table.
 
It's so nice to know that self-esteem is NOT an issue at our house.
 
The response from the lucky brother?
 
"Hey, Tasha's pretty cool!"
 
This was what AMAZING feats the cool dog was up to:
 
 
I suppose self-esteem might be an issue sooner or later.
 

How a Holiday is Born

 
I make my son's breakfast this morning. It's peanut butter toast, banana slices and a glass of milk. Since it's our week off school I figure why not have a picnic breakfast in our livingroom downstairs with cartoons?
 
I call the boys to the top of the stairs to play waiter and grab their plates.
 
"Oh, yay! Breakfast downstairs K!," Reece calls over his shoulder on the stairwell.
 
I hand Reece his incredibly fancy breakfast, "Oh WOW! Thanks Mom!"
 
"You are SO welcome!" Man, I love kids - so sweet (and not to mention easily impressed).
 
"Woo hoo!," squeals Kaelan, "Happy Breakfast Downstairs Day!"
 
Awww!
 

Show me Your GRRR Face!

 
Kaelan and Reece are playing Rayman Origins on the PS3 and it's getting pretty intense. The pushy-shovey starts, so I call a halt to the festivities.
 
"Okay guys, time for a break from the game."
 
This was not a popular call and as with all sports, everyone hates the referee.
 
"I guess we're grounded," Kaelan mutters grumpily as he gets up and stalks to his room.
 
He shuts his door, opens it - sticks his head out and yells:
 
"Come back with my heart or don't come back at all!"
 
 
 
 
 
 

Monday, 14 January 2013

Going to Hell and NOT Feelin' the Love

Burning in the Pool of Love

 
I went to college for Advertising and Public Relations. A requirement was Speech class.
 
We gave a lot of speeches, mine usually were critiqued by my professor as being very "tongue in cheek." Sad to say, I had to ask her what she meant by that... She replied that maybe I should go into comedy instead. (Way to start my Advertising/Public Relations career off with a bang...not.)
 
One day our professor informed us we were to critique a speech in public. We had two weeks to complete this assignment. This was to be a major portion of our final mark.
 
The problem: there was a serious lack of public speakers in our area at that time.
 
So, I came up with a  "brilliant" solution. I decided to ask my Grandma if I could go to church with her, then I could critique one of the speakers there.
 
Oh, it sounded like SUCH a good idea...
 
My Grandma was SO happy! She attended a church where they start bright and early (have to have Bible Study first, I guess not EVERYONE gets that day of rest on the seventh day).
 
I sat and listened to the speakers - and it was NOTHING like what I expected.
 
I thought it would be one person giving a sermon...but nooo. There were many "brothers and sisters" - and it was PAINFUL. I felt so GUILTY (I'm sure it didn't help that God was watching). These were young teenagers stuttering out their sermons (they were trying SO HARD!) and I'm filing it away in my mind (picture my horns growing here), knowing that I am NEVER going to tell my Grandma why I'm here...EVER. Or God will get me.
 
Hours pass - literally. My bum is numb when we finally get to stand up. I'm all - YAY! It's over! But, no... My Grandma leads me away to something called Relief Society (like a ladies league).
 
Many ladies are gathered in this room, lined up on chairs to listen to one lady talk. The topic of this talk was how we were all connected in the "Pool of Love."
 
Then the speaker passed around a bottle of hand lotion.
 
"Each person will rub a tiny bit of lotion onto the hand of the person next to you to represent how we are all connected in the Pool of Love," she says.
 
I admit, my mind is drifting by now. It's been a long morning, I'm hungry...and I kind of wish there was lunch served on the deck by the Pool of Love. So, I'm not paying the BEST of attention.
 
The lotion bottle reaches my Grandma and I can smell its perfume. She starts rubbing a tiny bit onto my hand and I can feel it start to...burn. She's gazing lovingly at me with shining eyes, so happy - as my flesh is starting to melt off my hand.
 
I'm on FIRE in the Pool of Love and I'm terrified to say anything in case I get cast as a heathen and burnt at the stake!

I smile back at my Grandma, with tears in my eyes. It's a touching moment for her - and I'm trying desperately not to bolt to the bathroom to wash The Love off my hand.
 
I survive - not only through Relief Society (ironically with no relief) - but the gauntlet of visitors following (who also blocked the bathroom access). And my hand now has a red hole growing in it.
 
Grandma and I make the drive home and I have NEVER been so grateful that she drives 30 km over the speed limit before IN MY LIFE. I bolt from her truck, race to the house and SLAM into the bathroom.
 
"How'd it go?" asks my Mom.
 
"It was lovely," says Grandma enthusiastically.
 
I get out of the bathroom after GENTLY rinsing my hand. My mom looks at it and asks what happened to it.
 
"I don't think I belong in the Pool of Love."
 
*I did get an awesome grade...