Category: Funny Woman Blog

That’s No Way To Treat Girl Guides!

Dear Dare Foods Canada Ltd.,

Let me say, to begin, that I appreciate your work with Girl Guides of Canada.  Any corporation that gives back to communities and supports organizations for children should receive praise.

So, just for you, WooHoo!!  Great job!

But then yesterday a young Girl Guide rang our door bell and asked if I would like to buy a box of cookies for $5.00.  She didn’t seem overly enthusiastic in her sales pitch, but I really want to support youth programs so ignored her lack of animation.  I gave her the money and received the cookies which I placed on the kitchen table.  With perfect timing, The Viking (my husband) showed up, almost like he has a sixth sense that zeroes in on cookies like a Surface to Air Missile.  He smiled hugely.  “Cookies!!”

We each took a cookie – chocolate for me, of course, and vanilla for him, because he’s just that kind of a husband who gives his wife chocolate – and took a nibble.

Sweet Baby Geezus!!*

 

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What in the whole wide world IS this crap?!*

We both ran to the sink and started spitting out whatever this horrendous concoction was supposed to be.  Thank Gawd for double kitchen sinks – we would have been in a real pickle if we only had a single sink.  I’ll just leave you with that image.

DARE FOODS…….you can’t call that a cookie!  It tastes like you mashed cardboard and sugar together then packaged it.  It’s horrible!  Now I know why that poor girl was so unenthusiastic!  What kind of a company gives a youth organization terrible food and then expect them to raise money?  As I’ve already stated, I want to support youth programs, but if we can’t eat what they are selling, what’s the point?  Sure I could buy the cookies and then throw them in the garbage, but we have world hunger and environmental responsibility to consider.

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When you are providing garbage, you can’t really claim you’re supporting communities and youth programs, now can you?  You are more of a hindrance than a help, methinks.  Once upon a time, Girl Guide Cookies were great, but the Yumminess has been in serious decline for many years.  And you can’t claim you aren’t making enough profit and have to squeeze additional revenue from fundraising causes because I checked.  You’re making MILLIONS in revenue every year.

In the age of Truffle Oil, Tapas and Amuse-bouche, I’m sure you can come up with something edible for the girls to sell.  It’s like you aren’t even trying.

It’s great that the cookies are peanut free and have no artificial colors or flavours, but maybe a bit of flavour could have been left in them?  Any kind of flavour?  How about Caramel?  Caramel cookies are delicious!  Look how easy that is.  It took me, literally, 12 seconds to think of a better cookie for Girl Guides of Canada to sell.  You’re welcome.

Now, I realize I’ve been a little hard on you, but I don’t want you to feel like a total failure.  The packaging isn’t too bad, and the nutritional information is easy to read, and the pictures of girls are cute.  You see what I did here?  Yes, The Sandwich Method.  Good feedback, bad feedback and good feedback again.  You can take this directly to your next shareholder meeting with complete confidence and I’ve done 50% of your new product development.

It’s too late to help the Girl Guide’s fundraising this year, so you should just hand out some cheques to make up for your terrible product.  Next year, though, is the perfect time to roll out some delicious new cookies.

You can do it, Dare!  I know you can!

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Sincerely,

Mrs. Completely

*I’ve skipped the profanities in case your company is easily offended.

My Finger Is Fucked. And Also my Brain.

I believe I’ve passed my ‘Best Before Date’.  I’m not one to worry much about getting older; in fact, I actually like the person I’ve become.  It didn’t come easily though, there were very high hills and very deep valleys that needed to be traversed, but it shaped who I am and that’s fine by me and, apparently, The Viking because he still sleeps beside me every night.  The down-side of getting older, of course, is a body that can’t – or won’t in this case – keep up with my big ideas and crazy dreams.  Or even get out of bed in the morning without a bunch of whining.

I noticed, the other day, that my left pointer finger is evolving, adding an extra lump to the first knuckle below my fingernail.  After rubbing it and poking it and staring at it there was only one conclusion to be made:  my finger is fucked.  Thankfully, the fuckage doesn’t include pain which is great news considering what’s going on elsewhere in Lori Land.

I woke up one morning last week to the shrieks of my left shoulder.  I said, “What the hell?!”  It said nothing but stabbed me in the neck just for spite.

“Oh, come on!  You have to do this now?  I was going to paint the entire house tomorrow!”

……

“……okay….I wasn’t going to paint the whole house, but it still isn’t the most convenient time to have your meltdown.  I need both shoulders at the moment.  If I had known how picky you were going to get I would have exercised more!”

…….

“…….okay…..I probably wouldn’t have exercised more, but that is no excuse for getting cranky.  It’s not like you’re really old yet!”

We eventually had to agree to disagree.  Shoulder was complaining about carrying the weight of the world and I was insisting it was being a big old baby.  It gave up two days later but gives me a twinge every once in a while, just to remind me that it’s still there and not especially happy.

And then the thumb on my left hand……

Gasp!  WAIT A MINUTE!

It’s the finger on my left hand, the left shoulder and the left thumb!  I was working with the theory that random body parts were acting out, but this appears to be a pattern.  A left pattern!  Maybe it’s my entire left side that’s fucked.

Just a minute…..I need to check on something…..another possible theory….

…..

…..

…..

…..

This is what Brain Made Simple has to say.

The left side of the brain is responsible for controlling the right side of the body. It also performs tasks that have to do with logic, such as in science and mathematics. On the other hand, the right hemisphere coordinates the left side of the body and performs tasks that have do with creativity and the arts.*

I am right handed and I’m famous for my logic so maybe my left brain is hosting a sloppy protest about the amount of feelings going on, but only a few body parts want to participate.  Or, it could be my hippy, feel-y right brain is bullying my nerdy left brain for being such a party-pooper.  OR…..maybe it’s the whole brain having tiny hissy fits hosted in random body parts.

Maybe I need some vitamins or something.  I looked up ‘Food that’s good for your Brain’ and found out that I should be eating more of this:

  • Fatty Fish – Yuck! I prefer fish that doesn’t taste like fish.
  • Coffee – Yum!
  • Blueberries – Meh.
  • Turmeric – what the fuck is that?!
  • Broccoli – Meh.
  • Pumpkin Seeds – okay.
  • Dark Chocolate – ummmm….I prefer Milk Chocolate but I suppose I could go with the dark in a pinch.
  • Nuts – Is this a good recommendation for someone who is already a little bit nuts?
  • Oranges – can I drink the juice to avoid all the hassle of the peel? It gets under my fingernails.
  • Eggs – YUM!
  • Green Tea – only if it doesn’t taste like Green Tea because that shit is nasty.**

Sigh.  I suppose I need to take steps.  It seems that my brain has a mind of its own and being reasonable isn’t its forté.

So, brace yourself Brain!  I’m about to dump all sorts of good shit on you.  Lots of eggs and coffee, the occasional orange juice, a couple nibbles of dark chocolate and a pumpkin seed with a blueberry chaser.  You may have won concessions with food, but there is no way in hell that you’ll take away my Lemon Gin & Tonic.

Seriously.  Don’t fuck with the Lemon Gin & Tonic.

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PS:  While I was searching for brain pictures I came across something  Disturbing   and before Brain intervened, Finger clicked the link.  I mention this because I should have a written testament that I was not looking for ways to get a new brain, legally or illegally.  If people start losing their brains in my general vicinity it is a total coincidence.

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*This is a fact, so you might have learned something.  Please accept my apologies.  This blog is supposed to be a total waste of time. 

**Additional Apologies for the additional learning (if you didn’t already know about this, of course).

The Viking’s Stabby Sport

When it comes to recreational activities, I choose them carefully, based entirely on the potential for humiliation or injury.  And in the age of smart phones with good cameras, my humiliation won’t be limited to just a few lucky by-standers but could be posted to Youtube before I get finished dusting my pants off.

So, when The Viking first mentioned how much he enjoyed playing Darts I was, understandably, alarmed.  Playing Darts involves stabby things and that’s never a good idea for me.  You would think The Viking would know this by now – we’ve already established that I shouldn’t play with fire, automatic weapons, or knives.  As much as I would love to Fence, we all know that I would fumble the Foil and fall on it in a weird kind of Japanese ritual OR fumble the Foil and accidentally stab an observer.  It’s just in everyone’s best interest to keep stabby things out of my hands.

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that a Viking would like a Stabby Sport because it’s kind of in their genes, along with boating activities and looting churches.  To be fair though, I haven’t heard of any recent looting or even pillaging, so everyone should stay calm.

Anyway, The Viking hung up a Dart Board, gave me a Gin and Tonic*, handed me the stabby things and said, “Let’s play!”  Obviously, his enthusiasm for the sport over-rode his better judgment.

Of the first 6 Darts I threw, 3 missed the board and stabbed the wall, I dropped one which nearly impaled my right foot, one bounced off the cabinet and almost stabbed the cat, one stabbed my left boob and one hit the Bullseye.

I gave The Viking a look.

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Truth be told, it went better than I anticipated.  By the time we closed the cabinet there were only 6 stab holes in the wall, the cats were happily unstabbed, and the wound to my Jugular Vein was only superficial.

It’s still a good idea to have the First Aid Kit handy though, in case The Viking wants a rematch.

 

*What the fuck?!  The potential for a catastrophic event triples as soon as you give me booze.

Good Luck With That Prostate Exam

WARNING:  The views expressed in this blog do not necessarily reflect the blogger’s opinions or beliefs – we just find it funny. 

The Viking is a proud guy and he has every reason to be so.  He makes no compromises when it comes to things he does and believes in, has a soft squishy heart under all that cursing and shouting, and he comes from a long line of heathens.  He’s particularly proud of his heathen-ness and Danish-ness.

There is just one little thing – he’s half English……‘God Save the Queen, a stiff upper lip, adorable taxis and double-decker busses’ English.  It muddies his Danish bloodline and is the root cause of his every ailment…..in his opinion.  It doesn’t matter that every English person has a healthy dose of Viking & Saxon, it only matters that his hemorrhoids are English.

The reason I’m telling you this is because his Doctor is a lovely English lady who finds it charming that I accompany The Viking to every appointment so there aren’t any translation and diagnosis misunderstandings.  And the reason I’m telling you this is because The Viking had a Doctor’s appointment on Tuesday morning.

He needs a thorough health check-up and we wanted to talk to her about his heart murmur*.  He is 60 years old, after all, and one can’t be too careful given the amount of cursing and shouting he does.

The appointment was going great – his blood pressure was a little high, but he had been out of meds for a week or so, and she assured us that the problem Erik had with blocked arteries was an entirely different thing from The Viking’s heart murmur.  Then she started talking about cholesterol and that’s when the train jumped the rails and careened, out of control, into the Medical Clinic, taking out 1 patient, a receptionist, and 14 old magazines.

The Viking:  All my sisters and my brother have high cholesterol.  And they aren’t even fat.

Doctor:  Then you really need to start taking those meds I prescribed two years ago.

The Viking:  I started them a couple weeks ago.

Doctor:  Great!  Keep taking them.

The Viking:  It’s that shit English in me.  All my problems are because of my fucking English genes.

Doctor (slow blinks as she processes what he just said):  ….

Me (eyes widening and lips pulling back in a grimace):  ….

The Viking (staring at the floor):  ….

Doctor (looking at me):  …..

Me (looking at everything else in the room other than her):  ……

Doctor:  Okaaaay, let’s go get you weighed.

Later that day, The Viking comes in from the garage and grumbles about his knees hurting from kneeling on the cement to work on a snowmobile.

I collapse into a heap of laughter.  “Are your knees English, by chance?”

The Viking:  Yes!  Fucking shit English knees!

Me (tears have started rolling down my face):  You do realize that your Doctor is English?

The Viking:  I don’t care!

Personally, I think he hadn’t thought of that before the whole hot mess came out of his mouth but once he was in, he wasn’t going to back out. That’s his Danish stubborn-ness.

Me:  You also realize she’s the one that’s going to check your Prostate, don’t you?

The Viking:  Whatever.

The English half of his heritage is also responsible for his quick temper, foul language, buddha belly, sleep apnea, and bad back, but I’m hoping he won’t feel the need to explain this to his lovely Doctor.

And since I’ve known The Viking, his English genes have caught the flu 4 times, his English Appendix almost burst, his English neck glands became irritated and put him in the hospital for a week, his English finger got a really bad cut, his English heart has a murmur, and his English sinuses have caught 13 colds.

His Danish body parts are still going strong without the slightest complaint.  And that, my friends, is the single most important reason Denmark is the happiest place on earth.

*Since we ARE talking about The Viking, I will henceforth call it a Heart Shout.

The Vikings Have Left the Building

We dropped Erik and Annette at the airport on Friday afternoon.  Tears and hugs and promises to talk soon.  Before we all dissolved into puddles, The Viking and I got into the car and drove away, Erik and Annette waving through the rearview mirror.  We sniff and wipe tears but don’t speak for fear the internal howls of grief will escape.

When did they sneak into my soul?  When we picked them up from the airport, a mere two and a half weeks ago, I was surprised to feel my throat close up and tears spring to my eyes at the first sight of them coming through those sliding doors.  Their faces are as dear to me as The Viking’s.  I hugged them hard for longer than I should have, and they let me.  They must have known how much The Viking and I needed them.

There were joys and griefs, worries and fears to share.  We celebrated The Viking’s 60th Birthday, each of us thinking how the years left to us should be filled with love and support.  We plan future trips and things we’ll do.  It’s easy when you are in the company of these beautiful people.

We refused to acknowledge the looming date of their departure, none of us willing to put a shadow on our time together.  Instead, we drank and laughed and loved.  We went to a pub to watch a hockey game – Annette has never experienced Canadian Hockey enthusiasm.  We stayed in the mountains for a couple of nights despite the freezing temperatures.  The Viking took Erik to the Man’s Porn Store (Princess Auto) and we all wandered through a mall looking for deals.

Mostly though, we Hygge’d – enjoyed each other’s company for the brief time we had.  Someday, perhaps, we can spend more time.  Hopefully.  In the meantime, we talk on FaceTime and send messages of love on FaceBook.  That will have to hold us.

All our loved-ones on the other side of the planet know that we send them hugs and love every day.  Be safe.  Be happy.

And, since this has been a post filled with sorrow, I’ll end with the saddest music ever:

The Vikings Are Coming!

Well, so much for sleep – I’m too excited.  Erik & Annette* will be here this afternoon, dragging suitcases bulging with Danish candy and Akvavit.  We’ve missed them so much there is a very distinct possibility of a spectacle in the Kiss and Cry.

They’ve come all the way from Denmark to help us celebrate The Viking’s descent into Grumpy Old Viking-hood.  He’s been practicing for several years now and I think he has it nailed, just in time for his 60th birthday.

For now, I need to finish getting the house cleaned and I’m expecting shouting and crying and a loss of the will to live.  You know – the usual emotions that precede just such events.

I feel several stiff drinks in the works later today and Hygge.  Lots and lots of hygge.

Go ahead and leave The Viking birthday wishes in the comments.  I’ll read them tomorrow at the party!

*Erik is The Viking’s brother and Annette is his beautiful partner.

What the Fuck is That?!

The new season of Grace & Frankie is finally out which means The Viking and I are binge-watching!

I gathered all the standard Binge-Watching Necessities – water, chips, chocolate, licorice (for The Viking only) and the remote control.  After two episodes, I needed to fill up our water.  Two episodes later another refill and a pee break.  Two episodes after that the water needed to be filled again but I was so comfortable I didn’t want to get up.

If only there was a way to encourage The Viking to do the refill this time?

Me:  My water is empty.  Rock, Paper, Scissors – the loser gets the water?

Him:  Okay.

Me:  Alright.  One….Two….Three (I went for scissors)

……

……

Me:  What the fuck is that?!

Him (staring at his hand):  …..

Me:  Are you seriously trying to combine all three into one Super Tool?

He starts laughing so hard he can’t talk.

Me:  I can’t believe you’re cheating at Rock, Paper, Scissors!  Who does that?

He’s still laughing.

Me:  This is no laughing matter!  Rock, Paper, Scissors is the pre-eminent Decision-Making Tool worldwide, next to The Magic Eight Ball.  What if everyone started cheating?  Imagine the chaos this could unleash on the world.  You may have, single-handedly, brought about the end of civilization.  It’s shameful is what it is.  Obviously, you have to get the water.  Cheater.

Now, I have to find a new way to settle disagreements because apparently he can’t be trusted with such a powerful Tool.  Thumb/Pinkie Wars and Arm Wrestling gives The Viking an unfair advantage because he lifts shit all the time, so I’ll have to settle with Leg Wrestling.

This is what happens when someone fucks around with a good thing, Viking!

You’re Trash. Apparently.

So, my good friend Dale* has been trying to post comments on my blog for months and they always disappear.  We have been assuming that the gremlins who make this blog work were either punting them to SPAM file or just refusing to accept them.

We were both wrong.  Apparently, my blog believes her to be Trash, which is absolute and utter nonsense.  I found not only Dale but many other comments that I’ve never seen

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Geezus!!  The Gremlins that are supposed to keep the blog working are, evidently, goofing around and not doing their fucking job.

So.  If you are one of those people that I’ve been ignoring, please accept my deepest apologies.  Who knew that Gremlins were so Trash-Happy?  I thought that things only ended up in the trash when I put them there but, obviously not.  From now on, I’ll be checking it all the time.

So, please make me happy and send comments.

*You should also go and visit Dale at https://adelectablelife.com/.  You won’t regret it because she is an awesome lady and a great friend.

Ballroom Dancing And Mini-Skirts

So, it’s 2019, and despite all the optimistic memes and heart-felt blessings, I don’t have too many expectations for this year.  I find it cuts down on the disappointments if you aren’t overly enthusiastic to begin with.  You should probably write this down because it’s the best advice you’ll get all year.

I’m not being…..

…..I’m just being realistic.

Of course, I’ll try to work on my procrastinating tendencies, try to be less sensitive, and I’ll do my best to consume less fat and more vegetables and maybe I’ll attempt to manage my time more wisely – these are the standard efforts I begin every new year with.  Unfortunately, I never succeed.

But, if you think about it, success would make me UNBEARABLE.

I would be the perfect human being within 2 years.  By the end of year one, I’d be thin and the house would be immaculate, there wouldn’t be science experiments in the fridge and zero fur-balls floating around the house.  The vehicles would be clean inside and out, the garbage bags of cans and bottles would be at the depot where they belong rather than beside the back door.  An entire month of meals would be planned and prepared ahead of time so I wouldn’t have my head stuck in the freezer for 15 minutes every morning agonizing over dinner plans.  The Matterhorn of laundry in the bedroom would be non-existent and the pile of paper on my desk would have a home in actual files.  The base-boards would be spotless, the family room painted and you could eat off the floor under the stove.

Once I achieve that level of competence, I’m not sure I could contain the urge to judge everyone else around me.  I would have to start a VLOG so others could become just as perfect.  Comedians would start making jokes about me like they do about Gwyneth Paltrow and Martha Stewart.

By year two, I would be an extrovert who loves parties.  I’d chat with people in grocery stores and go to the movies by myself.  I’d take up ballroom dancing and wear mini-skirts……..  Wait.  I wouldn’t wear mini-skirts and not because they’re too sexy but because it gets cold here and I hate a cold ass……

…………

…………

…..if I was perfect though, my ass wouldn’t get cold so, Yes! I would wear mini-skirts!

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And when I’m not ballroom dancing, I’d ride a motorcycle – a huge, fucking motorcycle and I’d wear leather mini-skirts!  Also, my huge fucking motorcycle would always be sparkly clean and have organizers in every saddlebag – I’d need saddlebags to store all my mini-skirts after all…..if I’m being perfect.

Okay.  I realize I’ve gotten carried away here.

Oh!  Just realizing and acknowledging that I’ve gotten carried away is a step in the right direction, right?  Look what I can accomplish without trying!  Maybe a lack of effort is the secret to Perfection.  Of course that theory flies in the face of every critic’s assessment of my faults and foibles.  On the other hand, their exhaustive lists and my valiant attempts haven’t made me perfect yet, so there is every possibility that my critics are full of shit.  Shitty Critics, if you will.

And now I arrive precisely where I started – low expectations for the coming year.  If I wanted to spend all my time cleaning and cooking, I would probably be doing it already.  If the idea of spending evenings and weekends in the company of People were appealing, I’d probably be doing that, too.  But I don’t, so I don’t.

2019 will just have to be happy with my half-assed efforts to eat better, procrastinate less, give fewer Fucks and the minimal efforts I give to limit my play time on Solitaire.  I’m not going to spend what little time I have left, after dithering most of it away, trying to meet ephemeral goals I don’t care about anyway.  Except vegetables – I really do need to eat more vegetables.  And less Toffifee.

You’re welcome, 2019 – go forth with low expectations and you won’t be disappointed on December 31st.  In fact, you might just be pleasantly surprised.

It’s Nearly Christmas….

It’s nearly Christmas, and I’ve noticed that there are literally thousands of articles listing Tips to make it through the Holiday Season with your sanity intact.  So I thought I would add my list to the Ad Nauseam because who doesn’t like Tips?

Tip 1.  Don’t knock over your tree.  And if you DO knock over your tree, blame it on the cat(s).  And if you don’t have a cat, blame it on good-looking, single neighbour (your partner will be distracted by you spending alone time with a good-looking neighbour and totally forget you knocked over the tree).

Tip 2.  Don’t get too drunk.  Nobody likes a sloppy drunk who pukes in the Eggnog Bowl and calls your Mother Chewbacca the Wookie.

Tip 3.  Never arrive at an Event empty-handed.  Storming out after someone insults your kid is more dramatic if you take the gift too.  Shout how expensive it is as you make your epic departure.

Tip 4.  Shovel the snow from your sidewalk.  Nothing makes Grandma crankier than wading through ankle-deep snow to get to the house and you definitely don’t want her calling you a Wanker all day long.  That’s the kind of name that sticks forever.

Tip 5.  Make your own Cranberry Sauce.  Nothing says Love like manual labour and nothing pisses off Aunt Cheryl as quickly as pretentious up-staging.

Tip 6.  Manage your outfit carefully.  Not too flashy or attractive because there are bound to be family members who will remember nothing of the day except the fact that you wore sequins.

Tip 7.  Bring slippers.  Some floors are fucking cold and by the time you can make your escape your feet may have developed frostbite.

Tip 8.  DON’T BRING LIME JELL-O SALAD!!  It’s gross!  Jell-o was never meant to hold vegetables, it’s a crime against humanity.

Tip 9.  Pre-drink.  Have a couple stiff cocktails before you arrive or everyone arrives at your house.  It never hurts to be half-tanked.

And finally……

Tip 10.  Help with the dishes.  Nobody is cheerful after stuffing themselves with 8 kg (17.5 lbs) of artery-clogging Christmas food and a bucket of booze.  All the safe conversations are over and now it’s time to bring up past humiliations, like the time you didn’t shovel the snow off your sidewalk for Grandma, and/or predictions of future fuck-ups.  Just help with the dishes and go home.

If you have other great Tips that help you survive, please let me know.  I’m working on a comprehensive pamphlet.

And now…..

May your Christmas be filled with love and laughter.  May you all be kind to each other because there are those who have no love or laughter.  Heal hearts, spread joy and think of your Beloveds that can’t be with you.

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