The Dog Ate My Homework (and other excuses)

Working for a road construction company has its benefits. Winters are magnificently slow and we have the pleasure of crossing paths with some interesting characters throughout the busy season. Sometimes these guys get past our loose screening procedures and they end up gracing us with their presence for a few weeks or months. Others are odd enough upon initial consultation that red flags are raised, torn up, and burnt to the ground.

We had a bright gem who worked with us for a few months last season. Not only did he call in sick every other day, but the days he decided to show up, he was chronically late. This gentleman listened to Eminem on his iPod while wielding a flag paddle, trying to direct traffic. When approached by his Supervision about the danger of not being able to hear his surroundings, he explained why it was kosher for him to continue his antics.

“I know Eminem’s daughter.”

Supervisor: “How do you know her?”

“I met her once and we keep in contact. Actually, we dated for a while.”

Supervisor: “I don’t believe you.”

“Well we did, and I met her Dad.”

Supervisor: “That definitely didn’t happen.”

No. Kidding.

Since we do not perform pre-employment drug and alcohol testing, this is one of the things we screen for during the interview. We are not allowed to directly ask someone if they have an addiction, but we can casually mention pre-access testing as a job requirement . . . and wait for a positive or negative reaction. One cool cat said he could pass a “piss test”, but last time he almost failed.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, people were doing drugs in my building and I went outside to have a smoke. I was close to it so I almost failed the test for coke.”

“Hmm.”

“I have never even seen coke before.”

Bull. Shit.

There is no such thing as ALMOST failing a drug test. Sometimes preliminary testing has to be sent away to a lab because results were “inconclusive” for a number of reasons. But when it comes down to the results the worker receives, it’s pass or fail. You either did drugs or you didn’t. You didn’t just walk by someone “smoking coke” and now you’re unsure of your ability to piss clean. Something’s not adding up for me here.

This guy is probably sitting at home wondering why he hasn’t been offered a high paying executive position somewhere. His next excuse will be he “lost his licence because someone hit his truck out of nowhere.” He was “completely sober and parked safely in a parking lot.”

Maybe the dog ate his homework too?

YOU sir, are not a good candidate for this position.

YOU sir, are not a good candidate for this position.


Annoying F’ing Robin

The robin that repeatedly knocks himself silly on our window. ON PURPOSE.

The robin that repeatedly knocks himself silly on our window. ON PURPOSE.

We have a new friend. His name is Annoying F’ing Robin. Each morning and evening (at the crack of dawn and prior to sunset), Annoying F’ing Robin struts up to the basement window well and stares deeply into his own eyes through the reflection of the window. He then proceeds to either peck the SHIT out of the window or fly into it over and over, and OVER again.

When Jack first alerted me of the bird’s presence, I momentarily worried his paranoia had escalated. After a discussion about mental illness and sleep deprivation, even Jack could not confirm the bird existed. This comes from the guy who made me second guess myself on our mother-f’ing HONEYMOON after I was absolutely certain someone had stolen my earrings from our room. He then forced me to report the stolen property to the front desk who assured me they would be tearing our room a new a-hole to look for $18 fake diamond earrings whose disappearance was faked by yours truly -because I want the poor housekeeping staff to get their asses fired. Shut up.

The bird is real, but Jack deserved to second guess himself for the earring incident.

Maybe the bird is bad ass and wants to prove his strength to all the women. Or maybe Annoying F’ing Robin lost his sanity in a window accident and has never recovered. He needs to stop replaying that fateful day in his mind (and in real life) before Jack gets a cat to remedy the problem. And we all know if Jack gets a cat – Jack spends the weekend in the dog house. And if Jack does what he REALLY wants to do with the bird, our neighborhood will be up in arms (or without them) because most people just don’t identify with rednecks.

So my friend, Robin:
Stop being you.

Stop fighting your reflection – you will not win.

And most importantly, stop shitting in my flower beds.

Cozumel: The Amsterdam of Mexico

Coconuts Beach Bar on the "Other Side" of Cozumel.

Coconuts Beach Bar on the “Other Side” of Cozumel.

Cozumel Island is like the Amsterdam of Mexico, albeit a little more aggressive. One of the few enjoyable days on our honeymoon included our day trip to Cozumel. For me, it was special because Jack has come so far from our first trip to Mexico where taking a cab into the closest town to go shopping was a complete nightmare for him. His “every day has the potential to be the zombie apocalypse” attitude (paranoia) results in massive anxiety whenever I mention leaving our cozy resort. This time he was actually pumped to take a ferry ride, rent a car, and hit the road for an ADVENTURE OF A LIFETIME!

Okay so it wasn’t that much of an adventure. I almost puked on the ferry ride there. Our second turn out of the car rental place almost ended in us getting t-boned due to a dumb tourist trying to make an illegal U-turn and us (other dumb tourists) trying to turn left onto the main road behind her. Other than that, the most dangerous part of our trip was renting a vehicle from a place called Rentadora Isis.

Jack felt very much in his element driving in Cozumel. In Canadian standards, he’s an effing a-hole to be reckoned with on the highways. But here, aggressive driving behaviour is the norm, and suicide passing tourists – a favorite pass-time.
We drove the main boulevard south and then to the east side of the island where Jack accidentally took the beachfront bike path (in Canadian terms – “service road” or “goat trail”) in the Sentra rental. Several minutes of sheer panic and one roadside bathroom break (with a view) later, we were reunited with the real road. From there, we ate lunch on a cliff at “Coconuts” Beach Bar watching the turquoise waves crash against the rocks. For me, this was the most memorable part of our trip; and my stomach will ALWAYS remember the heat intensity of that delicious pico de gallo!

Jack and I on the highest point in the world. Maybe just the highest point on Cozumel Island.

Jack and I on the highest point in the world. Maybe just the highest point on Cozumel Island.

Because Jack and I have short attention spans (for adults), this was the end of the road for us. We drove back the way we came (minus the goat trail) and visited Playa Corona for a quick Corona on the beach. Like true tourists, we bought our Kaluha and vanilla at the Mega mart on our way to return the car and rushed to the cigar bar by the ferry terminal for a quick goodbye drink (or 3 in Jack’s case) before setting sail to the main land.

Corona at Playa Corona. We are lazy and didn't go - but I hear there is good snorkeling at this beach.

Corona at Playa Corona. We are lazy and didn’t go – but I hear there is good snorkeling at this beach.

You may still be wondering how Cozumel and Amsterdam relate. I have never been to Amsterdam, but have heard that weed (marijuana) is easily obtained over there. Jack and I are not certain, but we are pretty sure we witnessed a top secret “exchange of assets” go down at the ferry pier in Cozumel. This would not be something out of the ordinary if the suspects shouldn’t be arresting themselves (if you know what I mean). And, Jack really hopes you don’t know what I mean because in his mind, it’s a conspiracy. And you can never be too careful.

If you ever get the chance to go to Cozumel, GO! It is one of the most beautiful places I have visited, and the only thing cheaper than the booze (and maybe the mary-jane) is the vanilla!

I’ll Drink to That

Men are proud beings.

They take pride in their work, and bask in the glory of completing a task by standing beside said task and bullshitting about it with their buddies. There have been many times any combination of Jack, my Dad, brother, and brother-in-law have done just that. The project doesn’t have to be lengthy, costly, or even manly to qualify for post-project celebration.

One such instance was the building of our wedding archway. The girls were inside the house getting tipsy on jello shooters prior to the stagette, and the men were hanging out in the Quonset conversing about the most architecturally sound design for the reclaimed barn wood arch. As far as I could tell, this banter lasted approximately two cosmopolitans before the work commenced. In no time, a beautiful piece of art emerged from the darkest shadows of the shed; while the wedding angels shone down from above.

Of course, I did not get to examine the arch until the next day when those cosmopolitans were resurfacing, and the aura around it could have potentially been a migraine.

What I know for absolute certain was the boys drew straws on who had to come pick us up from the stagette and I’m guessing it had to do with one of the following scenarios:

Project Supervisor: “That was hard work. Let’s have a beer.”

Project Co-Supervisor: “Look at how the pieces of wood fit together so perfectly. We deserve a beer”.

Project Co-Co-Supervisor: “We nailed it, now let’s get hammered.”

Boys, I’ll drink to that.

I am in love with our DIY barn wood wedding archway! I'll drink to that!

I am in love with our DIY barn wood wedding archway! I’ll drink to that!

Nice Lift Kit

I guess there is such thing as a lift kit for bicycles. Now we know.

I guess there is such thing as a lift kit for bicycles. Now we know.

I don’t know what I did before dry shampoo. I know I couldn’t bear to live without it now. It would be much like living without a cell phone. Or clothes. I start appearing a little greasy, get the aerosol out, chlorin-fluorinate the atmosphere, and I’m good as new. Of course, a woman who uses dry shampoo can spot a fellow dry shampooer from across the room. Her roots look lifted, less greasy, and SLIGHTLY more blonde.

I haven’t had to burden myself with a hair wash this week either, nice one!

So the fellow user and I end up high fiving with our eyes and dropping the subject.

This reminds me of bikers driving past each other on the road while reppin’ the low wave. I’m sure you have seen it before! The gesture looks less like a wave “hello” and more like a hand signal to turn, but the bikers are definitely acknowledging one other. I don’t think I would do well on a motorcycle. Naturally, I would be inclined to “big wave” (the exaggerated wave babies do when they are learning to wave) to every other bike passing by (bicycles included). I believe this is not only socially unacceptable, but it could cause me to lose my balance (which is questionable to begin with). Check out Broken Bicycle Dreams.

Similarly, you gotta KNOW a guy with a lift kit on his truck notices every other lifted truck, but he probably won’t say anything. Because he is jealous or embarrassed that his truck isn’t as big as his neighbor’s or his best buddy’s. Or his truck is bigger and he doesn’t want his buddy to feel bad. Or that they both spent so much money on something that couldn’t be more useless to human kind.

The same goes for hair and dry shampoo (except dry shampoo isn’t useless). Your friend’s hair looks freaking fantastic; even better than yours, and you don’t want to point that out because then you are going to have to have the long, awkward conversation about your “lift kits”. Which one is bigger, works the best, or gives you the most bang for your buck.

Dry shampoo – it’s like a lift kit for your hair.

I should be in advertising.

Redneck Love Letters

The apple of his black eye.

The apple of his black eye.

Jack and I had a fantastic wedding over the weekend with lots of romantic and redneck (at times) moments.

When Jack and I were getting back together, he did a heck of a job courting me. He bought me flowers and Midol when I was “under the weather”, made me some mean breakfasts (he still does this), and wrote me love letters on sticky notes.

Swooon, right?

Here are a few mildly romantic, and 100% redneck love letters I have tucked away. They STILL make me smile.

Profanity warning: I’ve married a sailor.

Redneck love letter 3

Yes, that IS a bow and arrow.

This is the card that accompanied the flowers and Midol. “Just because . . . you’re bitchy and crampy.”

Redneck love letter 5

. . . What the?

Redneck love letter 1

Construction Worker Syndrome: Jack likes to add emphasis with the “F” word

Redneck love letter 6

Never happened.

Redneck love letter 4

Again, I apologize for my husband’s lack of filter. He just really “F’ing” loves me, and I love him too!

Kindergarten-level drawing skills and all.


Undercover Decor

This is a dog dish. I don't have a dog.

This is a dog dish. I don’t have a dog.

Last week when I was assembling the lasagna and drinking my twisted tea, I was getting frustrated with the amount of clutter and mess going on in our home. The housekeeping at our place is definitely a health and safety concern.

Jack was on his way home from work when I mentioned my current lack of interest in Housewifery.

“You are going to get a surprise when you get home. A hurricane swept through here about an hour ago and the house is in shambles.”

“What? Did it rain there?”

“If tomato sauce is rain, yes it did. It rained red.”

“Huh?”

An example of my wittiness while I’m drunk.

To lighten the subject, I came up with a game (also while half cut).
The name of the game is: “Guess How Long That’s Going to Be There”. Don’t let the length of the name fool you; the premise is simple. When you place something on the counter, table, floor, or otherwise, take a moment to guess how long that object will sit there collecting dust.

When Jack bought his new iPhone I told him not to even bother getting it wrapped up because the box and bag would sit at the kitchen table for a month. I got an eye roll and that was that. When we got home Jack removed his phone to play with it and left the bag at the kitchen table.A month later I was finally able to rock out the “I told you so”. In this case, I’m not so pleased with myself and my obvious home neglect.

You see, it’s not exactly my fault. It’s no one’s fault really. We all fall victim to “Undercover Décor”. At first, something that doesn’t belong somewhere looks out of place, but it’s easy to ignore. As time goes on things start to go unnoticed and eventually, they become part of the décor.

House guests start reaching for compliments on your décor because they know you’re an obsessive-compulsive cleaner and there has got to be a reason why THAT’s, THERE. Maybe it’s a new feng shui-type fad?

“I LOVE your candy bowl, it goes perfectly with your kitchen table!”

“Oh, thank you.”

That’s the dog dish, and that’s not chocolate.

How to Build An Easel

Like a fine wine or the whiskey that shares his name, Jack gets better with age. As his beard grows longer and more fruitful, he adds to his trades and becomes handier. It is tough to fathom how his projects have such positive outcomes when he never plans and only measures half the time. I’m not necessarily talking about quality of workmanship, but he has a hell of an imagination, will get the job done faster than anyone I know, and is not afraid to spend a few more minutes hiding flaws and presenting his masterpiece as though it were professionally crafted.

Our detached garage seems to be stuck in a sink hole and last spring it was floating. To remedy the problem, Jack dug a small ditch last summer and installed eaves troughs on our garage a few weeks ago. Originally the eaves troughs were laid on the ground to catch the water, and a guidepost (that was in his truck from work) was attached to the end of the trough as an extension. Eventually, he installed the system properly, but I bet if I paid the garage a visit I would notice another impressive “McGuiver “ situation.
Jack is a solution man. I have been troubled by the logistics behind showcasing a piece of barn wood wedding artwork that Put-Put gave us for Christmas. I am lucky that Jack was feeling particularly crafty the other day, because not only did he throw together an easel for me, but he successfully solved my seating chart predicament.

How To Build An Easel
by Jack of Most Trades

1.) Cut down a tree with a chain saw.
2.) Cut tree into approximate 6, 3, and 1.5ft lengths. No, don’t measure.
3.) Make a letter “A” with the tree.
4.) Drill screws into wood.
5.) Hide screw holes with an entire roll of jute twine.
6.) Add tripod.
7.) Hold tripod up with more jute twine.
8.) Proudly present easel to your girlfriend as “rustic”.

As much as I joke, I was impressed with Jack’s throw together project this time. See?

(Note: he did not make the sign; he’s not THAT crafty)

Pretty! If you look closely, you can see the eaves trough in the background.

Pretty! If you look closely, you can see the eaves trough in the background.

So He Thinks He Can Dance

My Illustrative Rendition of Dance Monster "Jackerlake"

My Illustrative Rendition of Dance Monster “Jackerlake”

I have created A MONSTER!

At first, Jack wasn’t fond of the idea of having a choreographed dance as our “First Dance” and he has never been very coordinated. See the post “He Don’t Dance” for further details.

A few weeks of creating, practicing, and NEARLY perfecting our routine, and the guy now thinks he’s a professional choreographer for Britney Spears (I’m Britney Spears, I guess).

Last time we practiced our little gem, Jack became all kinds of frustrated (ie.Frankenstein, Hulk, etc).

The following sentences were uttered by an exasperated Jack:

“This is not working the way I’m envisioning it.”
“LISTEN to the music!”
“NO, that is not the right time to turn around.”
“I’m just standing here all awkwardly for you to come back.”
“I’m going to yell out “NOW” when I think you should do that part.”

If this was not humiliating enough to a former dancer, Jack proceeded to order me to sit down and watch him dance my part.

Me: “Can you just dance both of our parts at the same time so I can see how you envision it?”
“Show me that again, I didn’t really get it the first couple of times.”
Jack: “Are you asking me to keep dancing by myself so that you can make fun of me?”
Me: “I wouldn’t do that.”

And if you’ve been following the blog for some time now, you know it is out of character for me to not be making fun of Jack. But, I truly did not understand what he was wanting from me. Each time he showed me different timing and was confident he was doing it the exact same every time, and that it was the way it should be performed.

Jack: “WHY AREN’T YOU GETTING THIS?”
Settle down, Mr. Timberlake. Let’s take it from the top.

15 Signs I’m Drunk

Lasagna Interrupted

Lasagna Interrupted

  1. I just got a whole hell of a lot wittier.
  2. I started baking or cooking, but it didn’t get done.
  3. I forget what I was going to say now.
  4. People think I’m funny. I think I’m funny.
  5. I called my sister, my mom, my fiancé, and my best friend in an hour time span.
  6. I lost my phone in the laundry pile.
  7. Two twisted teas have mysteriously disappeared.
  8. In my mind I can drive, but I won’t.
  9. Someone is spilling their drink on me. Oh wait, that’s me.
  10. I’m a millionaire!! Shots for everyone!!
  11. I am amazing at pool and every other game that requires hand eye coordination (those in which I fail at whilst sober).
  12. Did I mention I was on the latest episodes of American Idol AND So You Think You Can Dance?
  13. I. JUST. CAN’T.STOP.LAUGHING.
  14. How many is that?
  15. Let’s take a picture!