Come Out Of The Shadows Jesus

I don’t normally do this but this video showed up on my Facebook feed and I watched it and then I had a lot of questions.  One sentence in the video, in particular, had me confused.

“The Christians will finally come out of the Shadows.”

I had no idea there were Christians hiding in Shadows.  Exactly what Shadows are they hiding in and where are those Shadows?  Are there schools and hospitals in these Shadows where they can be educated and receive medical care?  Do they have Garbage Disposal?  Because it might get kind of nasty in the Shadows if the garbage starts piling up.

If real Christians are hiding in Shadows then who are the people that are claiming they are Christians but aren’t hiding – like the ones that go to the church across the street from me, or the ones on TV or the FaceBook groups?  Are they fake Christians?  Are they just pretending while the real Christians are residing in some horrid Shadow?

Why are the real Christians hiding in the first place?  Who are they hiding from?  We don’t allow Lions in arenas full of Christians anymore, do we? That would be fucked up if we do and I’ll start writing Protest Letters to the UN immediately if that’s the case.

Are these Hiding Christians in Canada too? Does this explain Andrew Sheer, Jason Kenney and Brian Jean?  They aren’t hiding so does that make them fake?  How can I tell the real ones from the fake ones?  If I see a person hiding in my shrubs should I assume it’s a real Christian and offer them chocolate and a blanket?  If I suspect someone that isn’t hiding in my shrubs is a Hiding Christian are there identifying marks or secret handshakes that will let me know what they are?  Are they dangerous?  This guy is talking Civil War and that sounds kind of dangerous to me.  Is there a Hotline I can call if I have suspiciously identified one of the Civil War-causing Hiding Christians?

Are there nice Hiding Christians?  Should we be working on Safe Houses for them?  I would donate some food for them if I know where to send it all.  The Shadows might be a big place and I wouldn’t want my donation disappearing to other things that hide in the Shadows.  And speaking of food, if the Christians that are not hiding (fake Christians) don’t mind me Bar-B-Quing, should I immediately stop Bar-B-Quing in case the real Christians are repelled by the smell of roasting meat?  You know… Hell?  I ask because if the Christians I see all the time are not real Christians then I have to question everything I know to be true.

There are so many unknowns now.  I’m asking myself “What would Jesus do?” but I’m drawing a blank.  I suppose if Jesus was around the real Christians wouldn’t be hiding, right?  Or maybe Jesus would be in hiding too, waiting for someone to impeach Donald Trump so he could come out of the Shadows with all the other real Christians.

So, if I have this right, if the Americans impeach Donald Trump, Jesus can come out of the Shadows with all the Hiding Christians.  And maybe there are enough nice Hiding Christians to stop a Civil War that the not-so-nice Hiding Christians want.

That sounds totally plausible to me.

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Just Listen Already!!

People don’t listen to me.  I talk and they nod like they are listening and then they go and do as they damn well please!  Like I hadn’t spoken at all!  I believe in doing your own thing and being your own person but when I’m paying for something I’d like them to LISTEN!

I just got home from the grocery store and I’m still a little annoyed.  Safeway sells wonderful collapsible square bags that are actually boxes that stand on their own, can handle a lot of weight and are easy to carry – I have many of them.  So when I got to the cashier, I placed the box in front of my groceries and moved down to the other side where she was packing the box.  She put in a six pack of canned flavoured water and I said….

“Just leave both six packs and the jugs of Cranberry Juice out of the bag.  I won’t be able to lift it if there’s too much weight.”

Her:  I was going to put all the light items in a plastic bag and the heavy stuff in the box.”

Me:  I don’t want a plastic bag.  Just leave the heavy items unbagged and I’ll hand-bomb them into the car.”

She put a six pack of the flavoured water in the box.  I reached in and took it out and put it loose in the cart.  She scans in the second six pack and puts it in the box!  I take it out and put it beside the other six pack in the cart and said….

“Don’t put the Cranberry Juice in the box.  I would like it loose and unbagged, please.”

She scans in some cereal and the fresh produce and deposits them in the box.  Then she scans the Cranberry Juice and puts it in the box!!!  What. The. Fuck?!  She pretends I’m not even there!

I just gave up at that point. I paid for my damned groceries, muttered all the way out to the car and came home.  If that was the only example I wouldn’t have much to complain about, but it’s not the only one.

About 6 weeks ago I went to the dentist and it was a total shit show and the ultimate end product was an incredibly painful TMJ issue.  I went back to the dentist, he took an x-ray and said my TMJ was just fine.  So I went to a physiotherapy clinic and they recommended I see Anne, the Traditional Chinese Massage Expert.  I told her what the issue was:  the entire right side of my face is killing me and the pain shoots up from my neck, through my jaw, up through my temple and across my forehead.  I explained that the dentist said it wasn’t TMD so it must be from the huge lump on the back of my neck.

Her:  Your face hurting but problem isn’t face.  Your face like computer screen that not working.  You think the problem is screen but it not screen.  It hard drive or software.

Me:  Oookay.

Her:  Lay down face up.  Show me where the pain is.

Me (laying down, face up, waving my hand all around the right side of my head):  Everywhere but mostly in my jaw and temple.

Her (poking my jaw):  Here?

Me:  OMG!!!  Yes!  That fucking hurts!

Her:  Ah!  You see?  Like radio.  You hear radio but radio not here.  Is over there.  You have to follow wiring.

She carried on talking about computers and radios and cars and other shit I wasn’t listening too.  I wasn’t listening to her because 1). She’s using her hands to point at the invisible computers/radios/cars, and 2).  I can hear the ticking of the clock and every tick is another minute I’m paying for while Vanna White is NOT fixing my problem!

The next appointment I said my face was feeling well enough for me to feel the lump on the back of my neck stabbing into my brain.  She shook her head at me and said….”Not neck.  You feel pain in neck but neck is not problem.  Your neck like computer screen that not working.  Not screen problem.  Software problem.  Blah.  Blah.  Blah.  Blah.  Blah.”

And she tortured my face some more.

Next appointment – my face is still hurting and now I can’t even touch it because she’s bruised every muscle on my entire head!  AND my neck is really hurting from the big lump.  I take her hand and push her finger on the lump.  Right there!

She smiles and nods.  “Lay down face up.  Neck not problem.  Like radio.  You hear radio here…….”  Blah, blah, blah, blah BLAH!  And she tortured my face in between her Vanna White impressions.  I go for 4 appointments with her not listening to me.  She would torture my face for a little bit, but then she decided to torture my left leg because I have nerve damage and walk with a limp!  What. The. Fuck?!  That’s the furthest place from my neck that she could possibly be and I’m almost certain my damned leg isn’t making my face/head/neck hurt!!

Two can play at this game, you know!!

The next appointment I said my face feels wonderful!  No pain.  It’s very good now.  She showed me a demonstration of how my jaw joint works.  She asked where the pain is and I said….”I have a terrible headache.  It is the back of my head all the way over my skull to my forehead.

She smiles and nods.  “Lay down face up.  Forehead not the problem.  Forehead like computer screen.  You think forehead is problem but it not the problem.  No.  You have hardware or software problem.”

And she finally worked on my neck like I wanted in the first place!!  Gawd!!

And then there’s The Damned Viking!  He only listens to the first 3 words in my sentence, decides what I’m about to say and then starts hollering, like he’s a fucking Clairvoyant!  I stop talking and make the universal sign of WTF by turning my palms face up in front of me with a confused face.

Me:  So, I was thinking that I should get……


Me:  I was thinking that I should get busy doing the…..


Me (sighing heavily):  I was thinking that I should get busy doing the laundry.  Your dirty clothes corner is almost touching the ceiling.

The Viking:  I’m almost out of underwear.

And then there are the cats.  They don’t fucking listen either, unless I’m shaking the treat container and then they are listening so hard I’m tripping on them.

I don’t think I’m asking too much for people to fucking listen when I’m talking!  I’m becoming more and more convinced all the time that cranky old people are only cranky because no one would fucking listen to them and they’ve had enough!

I don’t need my cane to walk anymore but I’m thinking of taking it with me anyway, just so I can poke those non-listening fuckers!  And maybe I’ll sharpen the end into a point.  A nice sharp point.


Geocaching – Friday Fictioneers

A couple of my friends post in Friday Fictioneers once a week and I thought maybe I should give it a try.  I have to come up with a short story – no more than 100 words – about the above featured picture.

So, here goes:

They stood side by side, surprised and confused.  His jacket still had the price tag dangling from the left sleeve.   

“This can’t be right!”  Steve said, frowning at the GPS in his hand.

“Are you sure you put in the correct coordinates?” 

“I’m perfectly capable of putting coordinates into a GPS, Cheryl!” he snapped.

He compared the numbers to the ones in a notebook.

“Yes! This is exactly the right place.”

“Well, Steve, since Geocaching was your idea, you dig it up!  I’ll be waiting in the car.”  Cheryl stated sarcastically.  “Hand over the keys.”

The lovely photo prompt for this week is provided by Liz Young.  Thanks Liz.  If you would like to see more stories, click the button below.

Special thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for her weekly photo challenge Friday Fictioneer.

Why Aren’t You Electrocuted?!

Over the weekend, The Viking and I – mostly The Viking – had to replace our Garage Door Opener because it inconveniently and selfishly died.

We took down the dead and useless Door Opener and then began assembling the new unit.  It was all very straight forward, no big surprises, until The Viking went rogue.  He threw the instruction manual into the corner and began fiddling with electrical wires.

Me:  Why aren’t you electrocuted?!

The Viking:  What?  There’s no power to these lines.

Me:  The wires are coming right out of the ceiling, the breaker hasn’t been flipped, so why aren’t you electrocuted?!

The Viking:  These wires get their power from the garage door opener brains, not from the building’s power supply.

Me:  Stop talking in Sorcery!  The brains are plugged in!  I can see the power cord plugged into the power plug!

The Viking:  Relax!  Take it easy.  I know what I’m doing.

Me:  …….

Me:  …….

Me:  …….

Me:  I will never understand electricity.  It’s terrifying.

He carried on with his Warlockery and I watched him.

Me:  I can’t believe I’ve lived for this long without understanding electricity.  I stuck a knife in an electrical socket once because my mother told me to never do that.  Ever.

The Viking:  And so you did.

Me:  Of course I did.  You can’t just tell me not to do something without telling me why.

The Viking:  Well, you obviously didn’t die.

Me:  Exactly.  It hurt, but I didn’t die, and my curiosity was gone.  My parents could have spared me that.

Me:  I also stuck my head in a plastic Drycleaning bag because there was a warning on it that said to never do that.  Again, they never said why.

The Viking:  Seriously?

Me:  Yes.  And I didn’t suffocate.  Now that I think about it though, I think the warning did mention ‘Suffocation’ but I was like 6 years old and didn’t have a clue what that meant.

The Viking:  …..

Me:  My best friend found a box of wooden matches once.  They looked harmless but apparently they were ‘extremely dangerous’ and children should never play with them.

The Viking:  Let me guess….

Me:  See?!  You know already what needed to be done!  We tried to light the wooden fence on fire but it wouldn’t burn.  We tried to set the grass on fire too, but that wouldn’t work either.  The only thing that actually did work was burning our fingers.  And then I got a spanking, like having burned fingers weren’t punishment enough, because Darcy apparently didn’t know how to lie.  I couldn’t be friends with him after that.

The Viking:  Hahaha!

Me:  And pull cords on blinds.

The Viking:  You didn’t!

Me:  Actually, yes.  I did.

The Viking stopped what he was fiddling with and looked at me with an odd expression on his face.  “You sound like your daughter.”

Me:  That’s impossible because I made certain that I explained things to her.  Don’t put a knife in an electrical outlet because electricity, through sorcery, will enter the knife, travel through your arm and straight upward because of gravity or something and blow your head completely off your body.  And guess what?  She never stuck a knife in an electrical outlet.

The Viking:  That’s not how electricity works.

Me:  Does it really matter?  The point is that she never electrocuted herself because she listened to me.  Unlike you who will die at some point this afternoon because you keep touching electrical wires.

The Viking:  I’m not going to die today.

Me:  I feel like a kid when my Dad took me to work with him and I had to sit around doing absolutely nothing for hours because there might be bears around.

The Viking:  …..

Me:  There were only so many times I could be interested in what was in the glove compartment.  And without the truck running fiddling with the radio buttons was less than satisfying.

The Viking:  …..

Me:  I did find a magazine full of naked women behind the seat.  Dad took it away from me and then made another worker take me home.  He said he had an emergency to deal with but I didn’t buy it.

The Viking:  …..

Me:  He did explain the perils of playing with the gear shifter when the truck was running but he never left it running.  He must not have trusted my judgement.

The Viking:  …..

Me:  There were old pallets at Dad’s job and he wanted to take them apart and use them for something else.  He gave me a hammer and told me to get all the nails out but I accidentally stepped on a nail as I was pulling a nail from another piece of wood.  I didn’t even get a tetanus shot.  Oh!  And one time I had a really, really sore throat so he painted my tonsils with MercuroChrome.  It’s toxic to the environment but not tonsils I guess.  I’m lucky to even be alive!

The Viking:  …..

Me:  Hey!  Did I ever tell you that I know how to pick a lock on an interior door?  So if you were to lock the bathroom door and then accidentally faint I would be able to pick the lock and save you.

The Viking:  I never lock the bathroom door.

Me:  I’ve just noticed that when I get bored my mind has a tendency to wander a bit.

The Viking:  You think?

Me:  I’m seriously bored.  I didn’t think it would take this amount of time to replace a door opener.  I would have brought booze and a book if I had known.  Maybe a pillow for a nap.  And a fuzzy blanket.  Or binoculars.  That might have amused me for a little while.

You’re not even listening to me anymore.

Damn You Benjamin Franklin!

Welcome to Coffee.  You weren’t hoping I would be all bubbly and chatty, were you?  Cause I’m less bubbly and chatty and more dozy and dumb.  I’ve been this way all week long.  If my eyes roll back and my head flops to the right don’t worry, it’s not a stroke, I’ve just fallen asleep.  If clearing your throat loudly doesn’t wake me, try poking me with your spoon.  Coffee has done nothing to alleviate my exhaustion; apparently caffeine isn’t the guy for the job today. Maybe a cocktail of energy drinks with extra strong caffeine shooters will do the trick.

I have nothing to report in the way of interest this past week.  It’s all a blur.  However, yesterday I did have to muster up some form of energy because I had some errands to run/schlump.  Thank goodness for automobiles, even if I probably shouldn’t have been trusted behind the wheel.

A group of pimply-faced high school students pushed the cross-walk button but I was already too close to stop and too tired to give a shit. One of them waved his arms at me so I rolled the window down and yelled “DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME!!”

I dozed off reading the label on a can of soup in the grocery store and a guy said “You gonna buy that or what?” My eyelids creaked open and I scowled at him. “Daylight savings time. And no, I’m not going to buy that because the sodium is too high but I can’t make my arm lift it back to the shelf. Here, you do it.”  I pushed the can into his hand and shuffled along.

Later, when I was home and shouldn’t have been expected to interact with anyone besides The Viking, the doorbell rang and two young guys were smiling beatifically, badges from Vivint on their jackets. “Hi! I see you have an SAI Security System sign in your garden. That can’t be right because they don’t exist anymore.”

“So? Not many criminals keep up on corporate take-overs and share prices.”  My left eye wouldn’t open so I had to rely entirely on my right eye.

The tall one hesitated but managed to come back before I fell asleep on my feet. “Do you have an alarm system now? Are you protected by a different company?”

“Yes. And before you go any further…..Daylight Savings Time.”

“Pardon me?”

“Daylight. Savings. Time. I’m too tired to listen to you.”

They both looked uncertain and just as my eyelid was crashing shut the tall one said. “Okay. Thank you for your time.”

Kidney Clothes called to see if I had anything to donate. I said no, I didn’t have anything to donate but the woman said “Not even an old blouse or sweater? We could really use some sweaters.”

“Daylight Savings Time.”

“Pardon me?”

“Daylight Savings Time. I’ve lost 7 hours of sleep this week and by tomorrow it will be 8 hours of sleep. I haven’t got the energy to clean out my closet today. Call me next month.”  Yes, that was a little rude but I only had so many words in me and I used them up quickly.

“Um. Okay. Thank you for your time.”

I’ve fallen asleep twice on the toilet this week and once at my desk – The Viking caught me that time but he was more envious than cranky, especially when I offered to spoon with him if we went to bed right then. His sense of ‘work before play’ kept him from acting in his own self-interest though.

I also sucked in a cat hair when I was yawning and do you know how difficult it is to get a cat hair out of your mouth? It’s ridiculous. I suppose I should be grateful that it isn’t fly season yet but somehow I can’t muster up the effort.

I know who is to blame for this and this definitely needs to be blamed on someone! I need someone to heap curses on and a name to shout when necessary – and this week it has been very much necessary. “DAMN YOU BENJAMIN FRANKLIN!!”

Okay, to be fair, he didn’t actually invent Daylight Savings Time, he just came up with the idea. Probably when he was drunk. It took some other nefarious individuals to implement this evil, but I’m too tired to list out all the people involved.

So Benjamin Franklin will be receiving all my angst and curses. At least until I’m not a walking/schlumping zombie or a danger to the public at large when I’m behind the wheel of my car.

Daylight Savings Time never used to bother me at all, but for the last few years it’s been kicking the shit out of me.  The Viking is in the same boat.  Do we live our lives on the razor’s edge of competent functioning?  Is a single hour of sleep all that separates us from Sloths with the ability to drive?

If I had a Time Machine, I would go back to Benjamin Franklin, rip that pen right out of his hand and tell him not to even think it because some asshole in the twentieth century will think it’s a great idea and ruin humanity forever.  Or at least a week.

So, did DST kick the shit out of you too, or is it just The Viking and I?

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going for a nap. A seven hour nap.

Thanks to Nerd in the Brain for hosting Coffee this weekend.  Cheers.

No Good Lousy Day!

I slept badly last night, dreaming the whole night about asshole guys running into my car, stealing my groceries and throwing random things at me.  It looks like I’ve been hit between the eyes with a hatchet! And my head is throbbing! And my neck is stiff and sore! Gawd!!  Why am I even out of bed?

And what in the hell is up with the fucking cat?! Teddy has taken over my office chair! He was eating his breakfast and then before I could hit the power button on the coffee maker he was in my chair!

When I got up to get a cup of coffee…..

When I went to open the family room curtains….

When I went to take a pee……

When I went to get another cup of coffee…..

He says he’s just keeping it warm for me but if that were the case he would be easier to dislodge; he wouldn’t be digging his claws into the fabric which necessitates a damned wrestling match every single time! As soon as I get his front claws unlatched, his back claws catch the edge of the seat. And he’s had the worst farts ever lately so every time I squeeze him in the middle he emits a noxious cloud of poo gas. It’s so bad I have to check to make sure it isn’t actual poo, and then more poo gas seeps around my face while I’m checking.

And he leaves gobs of his hair on the seat! And he and Izzie were playing with the stupid hair remover brush thingy and broke it! And now I’m going to have a hairy ass everywhere I go today!

Izzie isn’t any help either! While Teddy is rubbing his hairy body all over my chair, she’s taken residence on my keyboard. Or on my mouse. Or standing in front of the monitor.

I’ve loved you both up already! Can’t you see I’m in a bad mood? Stop looking at me like that! Why aren’t you harassing The Viking?! He’s not in a bad mood!  As a matter of fact, he seems to think my bad mood is fucking hilarious!


And now I’m out of coffee and it’s only 11:40 in the morning. Fuck!  I suppose I may as well run some damned errands with my hairy ass. I’ll go get more of the good cat food so Teddy doesn’t smell so bad. And I’ll get groceries – and I swear to Gawd if even one guy tries to steal them in the parking lot I’m going to lose my shit!

And then I think I’ll get myself a Caramel Apple Cider at Starbucks. With whipped cream. And a piece of Banana Bread.

Because I deserve it.

Scared Shitless

I’m kind of tired today but come on in anyway. Coffee is exactly what I need right now. And a cinnamon bun.

So, how’s life treating you? Well, I hope.

Me? I’m fine and would be wonderful if I hadn’t scared the shit out of myself last night.

I was lying in bed with my eye mask on to mute the bedroom light I had kindly left on so The Viking could see what he was doing when he came to bed. As usual I was wandering around in my personal Happy Place. I love it there. It’s a big cave with a hot pool surrounded by crystals that bathe the cave in dancing light. There’s a huge fireplace that magically never burns down to bare embers and a large bed covered in the softest furs created by witchcraft and not by the slaughter of innocent animals.

I built this place to help quiet my mind. I thought this was meditating, but I recently learned that I am meditating all wrong! From what I understand, I’m supposed to imagine rolling a boulder up a hill or imagine my soul is floating above my body or try to empty my mind and think of nothing. None of these things make me particularly sleepy and probably would just piss me off, especially the last one because my mind hates empty spaces so every random thought rushes in and creates beehives of chaos making it impossible to sleep.

So whatever! I don’t care if I’m not meditating within the strict International Meditating Guidelines. Who wrote the dumb rules anyway? Besides, the Meditation Dictators will only know I’m doing it wrong if I tell them and I don’t see any need to consult at the moment.

I also have a forest home where no bugs live, a secluded and deserted beach, and a glass hut on top of a mountain. If building these Happy Places aren’t technically considered ‘meditating’ well who cares? Right?

Okay, where was I? Oh yes, I scared the shit out of myself last night. So while I was lying in my furs, all warm and comfortable and pain-free, this hideous bellow interrupted my peace. It didn’t last long but it was deafening. I shook it off and hastened back to my luxurious nest. But then just moments later there was another horrific grinding sound, like rocks slamming against other rocks! WTF?! And a few minutes later another blaring trumpet followed shortly by a sound like someone sucking the bottom of their milkshake through a straw, only very, very loudly.

I was officially annoyed and irritated now!

Suddenly a thunderous, rolling growl erupted and my entire body jerked awake. Adrenalin gushed through my brain as I ricocheted upright.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT NOISE?!!!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. Whoever is making these noises had better knock it off, tout suite! I suspected it was Mim because she was physically closer to my room than The Viking, who was out in the office. Even though she’s a spawn of my loins I was fully prepared to beat her bloody if she didn’t stop with the noise.

Mim called from the spare room, “I don’t hear anything.”

Then it could only be The Viking but I didn’t want to come right out and accuse him in case the noise was coming from outside the house. “I AM GOING TO SLOWLY ROTISSERIE THE PERSON MAKING THAT NOISE!!”

The Viking arrived in the bedroom. “What’s the matter?”


“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Well someone is making noise and it had better stop because if I have to get out of bed to physically execute the culprit I am going to get cranky!!” All this yelling was totally ruining my Happy Place.

“What kind of noise was it?”

“It was like a grinding….something…..I don’t know! It was just loud!”

Except there was a sneaking suspicion in the back of my mind that I did know what all that noise was. Because I was fully awake and logic was happening now.

“Maybe you were dreaming?” he said reasonably, kindly, sweetly.

I settled back on the mattress and pulled the eye mask into place. “Yes, that’s probably what it was. I was just dreaming.” I rolled over and pulled the covers up to my chin. “Sorry.”

He closed the bedroom door quietly, humming a soft lullaby, while I returned to my cave with the fur bed, the hot pool, the shimmering crystals and the fireplace.

Because I don’t snore.

Two Cats, One Week – A Review

Hello!  Come in!  We don’t have to huddle in my bedroom this week and can have our coffee at the kitchen table like normal people do.  Muffin?

First things first, we finally settled on a name for poor Kent: Teddy Bear. Because he’s quite literally a fuzzy, sweet Teddy Bear and since he’s already a year old I can’t see him outgrowing it. He looks bigger than Izzie but that’s because his fur is ridiculously fuzzy. It’s like he’s wearing Chinchilla pajamas.  There’s no other way to describe the way his fur feels. So, while he looks bigger than Izzie, she actually weighs more.

Mim approved of the name, The Viking liked it and, best of all, Kent came running when we called the name.  So, ‘Teddy’ it is.

The first couple of days were….well….hair raising. The profanities and curses were completely out of control. I had no idea cats could be so precise, eloquent and long-winded in their opinions and the blizzards of slapping were, to be honest, appalling.

But that was then and this is now and the situation has calmed down significantly. Izzie has transformed from Indignant, Profane, Furious Feline to Resigned, Defeated, Slightly Confused and Excited Feline.

And while the household has eased back to normalcy, there have been complaints.

“Something is playing with my toys. Make it go away.”

“A turd was on my Castle and now it has The Stank.”

“You touched it and now you have The Stank.”

“A very large hairball is in my tunnels and I like it not!”

“It touched my tail! My TAIL!”

“The Turd put a turd in my litter box! I can never use it again. Ever!”

“The Hairball ate all of my food and now I’m starving to death.”

On several occasions she didn’t bother with complaining at all but took matters into her own paws.

Me: Is that some of Teddy’s fur between your toes?

Izzie: Maybe.

Me: Stop slapping him! He just wants to be your friend!

Izzie: ……

For his part, Teddy is just happy to be here but he’s not above disturbing shit.

“Hey Izzie!  Look! I’m sitting on your precious Mama!”

“Oh! Oh! I’m touching your castle!! “

“YooHoo! I’m in your tunnel! Ha HA!”

“Are you going to finish that? No? Perfect! I’m still hungry.”

And it turns out that Teddy isn’t too nice after all and is quite capable of defending himself, as evidenced by a few well-placed slaps of his own.  However, as the week progressed, the slaps lost momentum until now it’s more poking than slapping.

They are experimenting with chasing each other at the moment but there seems to be some tricky negotiating going on. Apparently Teddy got too close for comfort once……“Whoa!  That’s my Lady Parts, Buster!  Back off!”…….and then Izzie was just a little too enthusiastic for Teddy’s taste…….Holy Shit!  It’s just a game!  Dial it back, Sister!”…... so there is a flurry of shouting, cursing and name calling.  Playing has never been so complicated. A short burst of Spontaneous Patty Cake went surprisingly well though.  I call it a win.

And then, there was ‘The Incident’. While Izzie was taking a nap on my keyboard, Teddy figured out how to get on top of the fridge and invaded her Secret Place To Sleep. He settled himself comfortably and then called:

“Izzzzie! I’m in your BE-ed! It’s so nice I think I’ll sleep here forrrrr-evvvvver.”

Izzie launched herself off the desk and onto the window sill, behind the curtains and then a big jump onto the fridge. Every bone, sinew and muscle was ready for battle. Except Teddy wasn’t easy to push around anymore and he was settling in for a good, long nap.




Which necessitated another complaint.

“Mom, we need to talk about Hairry. He has to go. Seriously. He has taken over my bed and now I won’t be able to sleep ever again.”

Obviously, I had better get another bed. Pronto.

They are greeting each other with nose touches and Ring A Round The Sofa is a success. Teddy has taken to The Viking and The Viking has taken to Teddy. It’s a Bromance. Just two guys hanging out, watching TV. In the meantime, Izzie curls up with me, just a couple of girls hanging out, making fun of the two guys hanging out and watching TV.

I am cautiously optimistic at this point.  Izzie is learning how to give Love Eyes that don’t look like she’ll kill me in my sleep and Teddy has learned that a collar isn’t the end of life as he knew it.  The only problem left then is that our desks simply aren’t big enough……

Perhaps The Queen of Mean has met her match.

PS:  The cover photo isn’t mine – I found it on the Internet.  All other photos are actually Izzie & Teddy.


How My Boobs Won Crib

Yeah! Coffee time! Come on in for some Tim Hortons brew and a doughnut. What’s not to like about that? I hope you had a good week. I can actually say that mine was pretty darned good, too.

Last weekend The Viking made me dinner. I love it when he cooks; it’s always delicious and I feel spoiled. After dinner we decided to do something really wacky and play Crib instead of sitting in front of the TV.

The thing about playing any game with The Viking is that he always wins. Always. We are talking about a guy who can roll 8 Yahtzees in one game. Granted, it’s selective winning because he’s shit at the Lottery, but when there is nothing more than my pride at stake, he wins. I don’t play Strip Poker with him unless the heat is turned up because I’m the only one sitting there naked. I dress in several layers for any game beginning with the word ‘Strip’ so the game will last longer than 5 rounds, too.

So, when The Viking suggested Crib and not Naked Crib, I was willing and completely prepared to lose. I promised myself to be a good loser and not throw anything at him. Instead, I would focus on chatting and enjoying my Parfait Amour while being trashed on the Crib board.

But this time it was different. Sure, I was leading after the first couple of hands but that means nothing. The Viking is one of those guys that lures you in so he can trounce you when you think you’ve got the game in the bag. I had to admit though that I was doing very well and the space between our pegs was increasing with every hand.

He moaned when I was half way around the board and a good twenty points ahead. I said, “Stop complaining, you’ll come from behind and win as usual”. That’s just how the universe works. Just when you think you’ve got him, Odin steps in and ruins everything.

I was starting to pay attention now though. Could Odin be busy? Was I on the verge of achieving the impossible? Not only was I far ahead but he was becoming concerned that he might not make it over the Skunk line. A bubble of excitement formed in my stomach, battling the certainty of failure for space.

Don’t get all giddy yet; this is exactly what he wants. He’s playing with you. Don’t count your chickens before they hatch and all that. Manage your thoughts so your disappointment isn’t too keen when he does charge from behind and win the final peg hole. Remember he did that last time you played. He beat you 5 games in a row!

Try to distract him!

So I said: “I bought these new bras and they are super comfortable but they don’t have a lot of support. See?” And I bounced in my chair a little bit and my boobs started jiggling at him. It worked! He was mesmerized! So I kept bouncing while I pegged my points (not an easy feat). I lost his focus for a moment when he pegged his miserable 4 points but I bounced harder and higher and that seemed to get him thinking less about his cards.


He was still quite a distance from the Skunk line; he would need to get a 20 point hand if he had any hope of avoiding the dreaded Skunking. When I picked up my hand I felt the thrill of triumph! He can’t catch me! I’ve won! I’ve beaten The Viking! Sweet Geezus I’ve pulled it off!! I will never complain about my boobs again! All that remained to be seen was whether he could make it over the Skunk line.


I tried to be gracious while I was doing the Strutting Turkey Winners Dance. “It was just a bit of bad luck. You have killer Crib skills. Don’t let it get you down! Ha! Ha! Ha!” I couldn’t help myself. This was unprecedented.

He played it cool though; pretending it didn’t bother him. He shrugged, “I don’t give a fuck if you won. Will you stop dancing and deal the cards? Please?”

I sat down and shuffled the cards. “You’ll beat me this time. I’m sure of it.”

He grunted, “Whatever. Deal already.”

And I really believed he would beat me. I really did. You don’t just beat The Viking at something and then not expect him to annihilate you the first chance he gets. I thought I’d be lucky to be simply Skunked and not Double Skunked.

Unfortunately for The Viking, Odin really wasn’t paying him any mind at all. Maybe he’s a Boob Man, too. Who knows? The first few hands were sort of even – he was ahead of me at one point. I was encouraging and helpful all the way; I didn’t even laugh. But I won again! Not by a lot, but I still won, and if we had played another round he most certainly would have gotten me. But he had Jet Ski Races to watch and I was spared.

I did have a word with the Gods explaining that I really wasn’t being a poor winner, I was just celebrating a rare win. Like David celebrated victory over Goliath. Or, more appropriately considering which Gods I was bargaining with, how Thor would celebrate a battle victory. And wouldn’t Thor use every asset at his command to win? Well, I have boobs and if they’ll help me win a damned card game once in a while I will definitely use them.

I think we’re good.

PS:  I probably will still complain about my boobs.  I’m not infallible.

PPS: A big thank you to Part Time Monster for the weekly Coffee Share.

A Primal Scream and Maple Brown Sugar Drop Cookies – Part 2

So, a few days ago, the Internet Gawds decided to fuck with me by rendering my website unresponsive. Google went all Schultz….




and Word Press kept saying “What? I don’t understand!”



Then one of the Lesser Internet Gawds said it was all Jetpack’s fault. So I fired off a frantic, Primal Scream on their Support Form who then said I would have to wait for 24 to 48 hours before someone could look at my problem.  Wait?!



Apparently my Primal Scream was a little less rational than I had hoped.  And then it turned out not to matter because the Internet Gawd that was fucking with me got bored and returned my website to me.  Yeah!  Right?  Wrong!  I had to ‘fess up to Paul at Jetpack Support that I may have over-reacted so I wrote an eloquent apology to him.


Here is the apology with Paul’s response in italics:


SIGH! So the next day I thought I would take a chance and the stupid site loaded without any problems at all! This is like taking my car to the mechanic because it makes a horrible squealing sound and then it won’t make the sound for the mechanic but as soon as I leave the shop it starts squealing again. Gawd! Of course, I have The Viking now so this is no longer an issue but still……. The truth is that I panicked, because I have no idea how all this stuff works together. The Internet Gawd pointed the finger at Jetpack and like a panicky beast with the Dumb I fired off a primal scream on your Support Form.

I believe you! I know how this feels, so no worries. It happens to all of us every once in a while.

However, we’ve both learned something in the past couple of days. I’ve learned that there is actually someone on the other end of the Jetpack Support Form. Too many online Support Forms are there only to give the illusion that someone gives a shit if you have a problem. Jetpack has Happiness Engineers though! That must be the best fucking job on the planet! Wait. You do get paid, don’t you? Because I’m a Happiness Engineer too except they call me a Wife or a Mother and I get nothing for wages. Or vacation. Or sick days. You probably aren’t paid enough either though, are you? Because Engineering happiness is hard work.

You’re too funny! Yes, we do care and we are taken care of. We hope you’re appreciated, too.

You’ve learned that Menopausal Women who don’t understand how this shit works can panic in glitchy situations. We’ve survived child birth and shopping trips with 3 children under the age of 4 and our husband getting a vasectomy and horrible in-laws and a whole slew of other crap but when our blog goes down for a day we lose our shit. You might want to put a button on the Support Form for ‘Menopausal Women Who Don’t Understand How This Shit Works’. And the automated reply saying you’ve received our Primal Scream could say things like “It’s okay, have some booze.” OR “We understand this is the last fucking thing you need today so we will hurry to help you.” OR “You’re not stupid. Just confused. Here’s a hug.”

We will look into implementing some of your suggestions, but we can’t make any promises 😉

Anyway, please accept my apologies for bothering you. I can send you Brownies as a consolation/apology gift if you’d like. I make amazing Brownies. Oh! Or Maple Brown Sugar Drop Cookies! They are delicious! Please ask for these so I have an excuse to make a double batch and eat half of them myself.

Sorry again. Thanks for your help. Have a great day.

This was the greatest response I’ve ever received, and I’ve been doing this for a while! You made my day, and we’re glad that your site is back on track.

If you ever need us again, we’ll be here 🙂


Paul C. | Happiness Engineer |



I was expecting no acknowledgement at all.  Or at best, maybe a turd emoji or a ‘Whatever!’  The Viking didn’t think I’d actually sent the apology so he was as surprised as I was.  At the end of the whole mess, I guess Paul C. won’t send me a turd emoji if I need help in the future.  Which is a relief because I hate getting turd emojis.

AND….just as I was about to publish this post I received an email from Jetpack wanting me to rate my experience.  I said it was GREAT!  They said:

Thanks for your feedback!

We love to hear what we can do to improve our support.  Would you mind taking a moment to tell us what could have gone better?

So I said:

“Nothing……short of Paul C. coming directly to my house and personally hugging me.  He deserves a raise.  And cookies.”

I guess there’s a moral to this story somewhere.  I’m not sure what but I imagine you guys will come up with a few.