My Kids Don’t Live Here – Part 2

Who can we thank for this?

Who can we thank for this?

When I first spotted the black spray paint on the unwanted sign in our neighbourhood, I momentarily felt sorry for the passive aggressive individuals who thought it necessary to spend their hard earned money on a sign that would only be doomed from the start. All I can say is we didn’t do it, but as mentioned in My Kids Don’t Live Here I believe this vandalism to be well-targeted. The criminal could have had more of an imagination although, a happy face is sort of rad. I say “person” because I believe this to be not the work of an angry youth, but the result of an adult pushed too far by the actions of others and the booze in their veins.

This leaves me wondering, “What are the next steps?”

The reaction of the sign owners was to turn the entire wooden structure around so that the happy face is smiling in the other direction – but this only showcases the artwork to more of the neighborhood.

The perpetrator(s) will only escalate and soon the signs will be beyond recognition or repair. The only logical solution will be to take down the signs that should never have been posted in the first place.

Perhaps a more appropriate (and less blinding) Alberta Transportation regulated sign will take their place.

Caution: Children Playing.”

It has a nice and less demanding ring, don’t you think?

Impulse Buys; Not DUI’s

Garage Sales: Trade your shit for cash.

Garage Sales: Trade your shit for cash.

Garage sale season is upon us and if this were the past couple of seasons, I would be PUMPED! Now the wedding is over and my house is full of absolute crap. It’s borderline hoarder crap, most of which I would be embarrassed to donate to the less fortunate. I want to turn it into a pot of gold just as much as the next guy, but you know what? That’s just not feasible.

If you’re wondering how many people actually sell their shit and make loads of moola, I estimate the rate to be approximately  +/- 0 out of 10. If you’re counting the hours of labour dedicated to pricing, cleaning, and counting, you’re looking at a net loss. Even if you recruit the neighbors’ kids to man the garage while you tan on the deck, you’re still out the cost of ice cream. And now you have to somehow attach a horn to a horse’s head because they were clever enough to know Unicorns do not exist, but were still convinced that Uni-horses thrive in our arid climate.

What I’m saying is: don’t waste your time unless you’re desperate. If you hear the voice of desperation knocking at your door, here’s how to exchange your crap for enough small coins to roll around in them. But everyone knows coins SOMEHOW have feces all over them, so please don’t forget your Purel.

1) Toss everything into the “sell” pile. People will buy ANYTHING if it is priced under $1.

2) Don’t bother with price tags. Let the customers believe they drive a hard bargain and out of guilt they will pay more for another item.

3) To draw more people to your sale, note “antique” or “rustic” items in your advertisement. You’re probably old enough that college text book is considered antique anyway.

4) Sell items as a “lot”. Pair up desirable items with less desirable ones and price the box based on the desirable item. Yes, you’re giving stuff away, but now it can junk up someone else’s house.

5) Serve booze – but only enough for impulse buys, not DUIs. The good news is you won’t be driving so you can drink as much as you desire.

The most important thing to remember is not to bet your first born’s college fund on the possibility that you’re actually going to have a successful sale.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a yard sale to prepare for because our garage smells like garbage and has a wasp infestation in the attic.

All Decked Out

My pretty new deck. (Now I don't have to get Jack to boost me into the house by my butt).

My pretty new deck. (Now I don’t have to get Jack to boost me into the house by my butt).

It took a week, a flat of beer, multiple trips to the hardware store, and a couple of bro-mance phone calls to my brother, but Jack has built us a new deck BY HIMSELF. I’m not sure if he can say it was completely a solo mission because I did fetch beer, cheese, pepperoni sticks, and sandwiches for my husband while he worked in the hot sun for hours on end. Being Lady Leisure, I often offered words of encouragement like, “what’s taking you so long?” and “that doesn’t look right”. I also candidly photographed his progress to share with all of you.

I made sure I took pictures of all the f-ups and Macguivers because this is just what I do.

Perhaps out of pity or in a drunken stupor my brother (who should be on the show “Brojects”) gave his official seal of approval on the deck. But there is a possibility that Jack did a good job and he should be upgraded to “Jack of ALL Trades”. Of course, I’m not ready for that.

It was around this point where he realized he couldn't rip 1" off a board, so he took to re-spacing ALL the boards.

It was around this point where Jack realized he couldn’t rip 1″ off a board, so he took to re-spacing ALL the boards.

Building a deck

Safety First! After much deliberation on whether the railing should be an innie or an outie, Jack finally decided on the latter.

Measure once, cut 3 times. Jack is cursing his decision to do an outside railing.

Measure once, cut 3 times. Jack is cursing his decision to do an outside railing.

alien arm

Lady Leisure “helping” by entertaining herself while her husband builds the deck alone.

Lady Leisure likes to point out imperfections

Lady Leisure likes to point out imperfections

Still not spaced evenly.

Still not spaced evenly.

The burnt spot on the lawn from when Jack used a frayed extension cord for his tools.

The burnt spot on the lawn from when Jack used a frayed extension cord for his tools and it caught on fire.

My Kids Don’t Live Here

Someone in our neighborhood pulled a “Claire” (Modern Family reference) and posted large and in charge signs about our choice of driving speed. Here they are:

Give Our Kids a Brake

Give ME a brake.

Yes it is. And I cannot possibly go any more slowly.

Yes it is. And I cannot possibly go any more slowly.

My kids do not live here. I do not have kids. But if I did, I would sure as SHIT- make sure they knew if they EVER played in traffic I would gently slap their hand and take away their iPad.

“No more cyber baking for YOU, missy!”

My God, what have we done with our world and its inhabitants?

If my child were too young to comprehend that the road is a dangerous place, I would put it on an adorable backpack leash and let it get really excited about its bogus freedom. Everyone wins in this situation.

But now, we have these neighbors who MUST let their babies crawl or tweens bike ride on the road by themselves, where there is TRAFFIC! This is the only explanation.

I picture driving up to the offensive signs in my POS Malibu, opening the door and knocking them over. I wouldn’t even do it at night (like they did when they posted them). I want people to witness my outrage.

Just to clarify, the signs are not targeted at me. I drive the speed limit because I was born a goody two shoes, but Jack has been known to charge through the neighborhood at 5AM like a maniac on the odd occasion. Jack was born a shit disturber. However, if your kids are roaming around at that hour, something is deeply wrong.

After the weekend, there is a noticeable bright orange dot of spray paint on one of the signs. By the looks of it, some kid was trying to be a shit disturber (like Jack) and chickened out. If you’re going to vandalize property in this neighborhood, at least finish the job. Don’t be afraid to write something witty either; just get in there and graffiti.

My kids don’t exist, but if they did, they wouldn’t be quitters.

Country-Style Photos in Edmonton

Jack is a major fan of the great outdoors and loves to hunt; he would watch Wild TV every day if he could. When we tied the knot over Easter Weekend, it was practically winter out there still so we needed to find an indoor space for family photos. I approached the team at Cabelas who gave us the ULTIMATE outdoors-men photography experience.  If you’re looking for a venue for wedding photos, make sure to give Cabela’s a call. They have a beautiful fireplace and mantel upon entry and taxidermy throughout the store. The helpful staff were excellent at helping organize prior to the day, redirecting customer traffic during our session, and they gave us fudge to take back to our reception! Brock, one of our Groomsmen, ate an entire box to himself, so I’m sure his new-found belly can vouch for the quality of fudge Cabela’s makes in store.

Here are a couple of photos taken by 5 O’Clock Photography at Cabela’s North Edmonton:

Cabela's North Edmonton Fireplace Mantel

Cabela’s North Edmonton Fireplace Mantel

Cabela's North Edmonton Taxidermy - the hunter in his element.

Cabela’s North Edmonton Taxidermy -That elk is my new buddy!

What the Hell Are You Doing?

Keep your gum out of my face.

KEEP your gum out of my face. Seriously.

“What the hell are you doing?” A phrase I desperately want to utter whenever someone is chewing loudly just to spite me (I’m sure).

On the drive to the Cancun airport after our deadly honeymoon, a man was chewing his gum so provocatively I felt like he was sharing the whole inappropriate experience with me. And he wasn’t even European.

You know what I mean though, right? It is less offensive (or surprising) when an Italian man wears a banana hammock to the beach than if some redneck American struts his stuff in the same attire; although . . .Jack is half Italian and I do not fancy this type of behaviour coming from him.

This type of banana hammock is acceptable.

Acceptable.

redneck speedo

NO.

It’s a matter of cultural norms and if a European man (not a Brit because they are sickeningly polite) were to thoroughly enjoy his gum by smacking his lips – I would be like:

“Okay, this guy’s got an excuse. This is socially acceptable where he’s from.”

But if a Norte Americano sits behind me in a Mexican van and pulls that shit, I’m going to fantasize screaming my lungs out at him because he’s a rude mother-you-know-what and no, I do not appreciate him “gleeking” on the back of my seat – even though only a “little” got in my hair.

Jack chews nicotine gum and he says it makes his throat tickle. He coughs, and coughs, and then makes a sucking/smacking noise with his lips, and finally ends the abuse to my ears and test to my patience with another forceful cough for good measure. If this only happened once or twice in our lifetime it wouldn’t be worth mentioning, but I spend an ungodly amount of time with my husband. So don’t be surprised if over the next few months you hear I have been confined to either a white padded room or a steel cage; witnessed continuously shouting:

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

T-Shirt Time!

Sad reference, I know.

Here’s the deal: I want more followers. I NEED more followers. I crave them. In the least weird way possible.That’s where you, “LAUGHERS”, come in handy. Here’s what would be rad for you to do:

1) Head on over to the Lady Leisure Laughs Facebook Page and if you haven’t already done so, “LIKE” that shit.

2) Now, comment on the “T-Shirt Time Contest” post and tell me which Official Lady Leisure Laughs t-shirt design is your favorite.

3) Lastly, kindly “SHARE” the contest post on your personal Facebook page so all your friends can see how generous and hilarious I am.

Once you have done all of these things, you are entered into the Contest for a BRAND NEW Puppy! And by puppy, I mean the Official Lady Leisure Laughs t-shirt of your choosing. It’s just as cuddly and it doesn’t have accidents on your carpet.

Gentlemen . . . I haven’t forgotten about all TWO of you. I will manly-up the shirt design for you if you win.

Now go ahead and enter the draw – you deserve it!

WIN ME - Customized T-shirt with your name on the back!

WIN ME – Customized T-shirt with your name on the back! One of the designs available. 

Back of t-shirt with last name.

Back of t-shirt with last name.

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!