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?

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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.