Tag Archives: funny

Lucille Ballsy

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Lucille-Ball-i-love-lucyIt’s long folks, but it’s probably worth the read if you need to feel like a winner today.

I’m clumsy, and ridiculous, and things just happen to me. No, seriously…picture a movie scenario and I bet ya that has happened in my real life. I constantly get told my world is like a sitcom and I’m that bumbling comedic actress with poor spatial awareness and my foot in my mouth. And a beloved ginger to boot!

Picture a scenario where you have a fling with your ex’s best friend…and he tells him at the bar…with you there. You are literally standing in a line as this real-life horror movie telephone plays out…and then he puts his arms around you both and says, “Ya, that really just happened”. Imagine that in all the bars in a city of over 5 million people your common-law ex walks into your very bar with his birthday party, only weeks after breaking up, annnd he doesn’t even live in that  town. Break up on New Year’s Day only to have your car die on the way home in a snowstorm and because of that hallowed day there’s not a gas station open for miles, so your tow truck driver and his son dry your salty tears and obviously, offer you homemade chicken nuggets and fries too.

Stories like this just seem to go on and on. Ridiculous stories. Funny stories. Awful stories as long as they don’t happen to you. You eat Chinese food and you faint at the foot of your Asian co-worker, you get a flu shot and almost land in hospital (oh the irony). You tell your boss that he looks too young to have a 14 year old daughter and he answers “I am, and she’s 17…and I was 17 when I had her. She was an accident, but thank you.” You leave your purse on a subway and end up in a month-long battle with a hooker for its return. You order a cab and walk away with a proposal. Even more insulting? A friend of mine was offered two camels for her pretty little hand…and my cabbie didn’t offer me anything but arranged wedded bliss.  Aw shucks.

Not long ago, the funniest of all comedic moments happened to me. Warning, this may not work in writing the way it would on TV, but do your best to make a mental picture as we go. Trust me, like Nike says, just DO it.

I was trying to throw a load of laundry in at a friend’s place while she was at work, but we had partied like it was 1999 just the night before. She seemed cool with this arrangement, so long as nobody was there when she returned, she was tired, she was cranky, she was hungover. So, I threw in the load and headed triumphantly out the door to tackle some errands. Well, one thing led to another and like is life, everything took longer than expected. By the time I got back to her house I figured I had enough time to toss the load in the dryer and then mysteriously sneak out like I was never there. Like a ninja. Except…..it had stopped. The goddamn washer had stopped.

So, like a pregnant teenager, I furtively tried to convince myself it had finished the cycle, but as I continued to pull sopping, dirty, clothes out of the washer…I realized in horror, it had stopped about a minute after I left.

I just wasn’t in the mood to explain it wasn’t working or see her disappointed face when she got home, stupid people pleaser that I am. So, I did what any logical person would do, I continued to load the clothes into the dryer, literally dripping wet. As more and more water sloshed onto the floor, I naively convinced myself I could get them dry enough to still sneak out in time. It was going to work, it had to work.

But, the closer I got to the bottom of that basin, the more pooling water there was.  Pooling, brown, dirty water. I started frantically searching my mind trying to figure out how to get out of this mess. Soooo, I started scooping out the water with a cup, but, Martha Stewart washes her freaking dishes by hand (even with a dishwasher), so I needed to wash the damn cup to hide the evidence. But, there was not a dry dishcloth in sight, so I had to use a clean one and then refold it in the drawer as though it was never used…sneaky, sneaky. To get rid of the last little bit of water in the bottom of the basin, I was going to use paper towels, but she was out, so Plan B, toilet paper, but that was down to one roll too! Plan C – I used her hand towels. These became drippy, dirty little messes and no matter how much I tried to ring them out…they just didn’t appear dry. So, I threw em in the dryer…with the very, very, very wet, still-dirty clothes.

In the meantime, the inside of the washer was hairy and gross, so I ended up using a bit of the toilet paper to clear this new problem up. And yes, once again, I did what any rational person would do. I tried to flush the wad of dirty toilet paper down the actual toilet (can’t leave the evidence in the garbage can of course). However, as is my fate, the toilet overflowed…annnndddd she doesn’t own a plunger.

So, what now you ask? Well, I ended up having to fish it all out by hand and resort to Plan D, just toss it all in my bag to bring home. Still, there was now water at the top of the toilet bowl rim, so back to Plan A, out comes the now clean cup again to be rewashed. Saga over you think? Now I’ve poured toilet and dirty basin water into her sink…so mother fucker, the sink too you ask?  Oh yes, the sink too.

After all this is said and done, it gets even better…she texts me that she’s on her way back, EARLY.

So I go to grab my now not-even-remotely-dry clothes and all I’ve managed to do is cover the inside of her dryer with hair and animal dander. Ugh, so NOW, I’m shoving wet clothes into my bags, using more toilet paper to wipe out the inside of her dryer and trying to use her shower towel to get the water off the floor. Big sigh and heavy-hearted I hung all her wet dirty towels back in the guest bathroom and hoped by the time she went in there they would be miraculously dry.

Well, turns out they were. And a bit discoloured. And a bit oddly wrinkled. I guess she noticed a couple of weeks later. Also, those errands I went to do? Well, those errands were driving a third friend to a neighbouring town. So, as it turns out…weeks later she did go to use that bathroom…and discovered the toilet was indeed plugged. She blamed it on our friend (I knew she would) and oddly enough, she also wondered where her toilet paper went. So, when annoyed she told me that our friend had plugged her toilet and used all the paper, I burst into laughter. Damn, and I was so in the clear….ish.

Either way, as I sit here writing this, tears are streaming down my face. As they have been for the last hour or so….from laughter. The whole reason I started writing this entry in the first place was because tonight I was painting. Painting something for this very friend. And I used oil paint, which I never use. Bright, neon orange, oil paint. The more I tried to wash this off the brush, my hand and out of the sink, the thicker and more stuck it became. It just kept spreading and was becoming a gelatinous mess and in the meantime, a scab on my hand had peeled off…and I was bleeding…and eventually I didn’t know what was blood and what was paint. Soon it just looked like a murder scene…but, as I stared at my bright orange, gooey, blood-stained hand I laughed and thought…yes, a clown’s murder scene.

So, I hung my shoulders, shook my head, giggled and thought….sigh…this could only happen to ME…or….Lucille Ball.

Ricky, get dinner ready, because I’m coming home.

The Ginga Ninja

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Fist Pump Forever

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breakfastclub-benderWhen is the last time you had a night where you just talked and gossiped and laughed and bellowed?  Me?  A little while.  It’s not to say they don’t happen, but it seems as you get older, the opportunity to just hang with a friend, watch a movie, drink some wine and have no consequence seems to fade away.  We all have our own lives, too many plans and find ourselves preoccupied with well, preoccupations.

I for one love stupid movies.  I love stupid, funny movies where you need to pay close attention to see what is really going on.  I’m afraid recently that I almost missed the plot while oh-so-religiously checking my iphone to see if I was indeed invited to an oh-so-important bachelorette party.  However, my friend, well she kept catching the things I didn’t.  I realized that I needed to put down that phone and pay attention to this movie, because dammit, it was funny and I was missing it.  It was my life and I was missing it. Once I stopped and decided to focus on only one thing I realized how great the simple things can be.

For anybody who has seen “Pitch Perfect”, it’s an absolutely, horrifically, amazing movie.  It is purposely terrible and the plot is intentionallyvhs_red_571 ridiculous.  It can go up there with “Best in Show”, “Bring it On”, “Dodgeball” and “Scary Movie”.  But, just like those movies – you need to actually listen and actually watch to see all the nuances and underlying jokes and let me tell you…it’s been awhile since I’ve laughed, rewinded, and said “Did they really just say that?” so often with a friend.

We don’t get enough of these moments as we get older.  I know that ten years ago they were endless.  Ten years ago with roommates, hangovers, and procrastination…my ability to watch pointless movies and laugh…and cry…were daily.  The world seemed so big and the future so bright.  But, now?  Well, I don’t get them as often as I should, but the odd time I do…I think they mean that much more.

So, take a moment.  Watch a ridiculously awful, but ultimately wonderful movie.  Watch it with a friend.  Watch it and rewind. Watch it and laugh.  Watch it and cry.  Watch it open to falling in love with the worst leading man ever.  Watch it with the hopeful wide eyes of a girl who 10 years ago thought that those cheesy movie plot lines really could happen.  That the feelings in a John Hughes movie were real and that somewhere out there, whether it be family, friend, or more is a person who will pump their fist for you and sing “Don’t you Forget About Me”.  It may not be the world I live in now, but sometimes, just sometimes, it’s the world I want to live in always.

“Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” – Ferris Bueller

The Ginga Ninja

Oreo? Or…Eee…Oh.

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Red oreosWonder if I gave an Oreo?  Would it change the course of my world?  To be honest, my world is pretty great these days.  Buuuttt….what if there were really a simple little gift or simple little phrase you could pass along to change all people and all situations?

Oh wait, there is, it’s called the middle finger.  Kidding.

Okay, the middle finger is slightly true, but on the completely opposite end of this spectrum.  Either way, Oreo’s new advertising campaign tries to sell it as a wondrous little miracle; in fact the new tag line is wonderfilled.  I wish I had a secret little miracle I could pass to an angry boss, a moody sister-in-law, a butterfly-filled crush, or a reckless ex boyfriend.  It could appease all tense situations and it could turn everything in my favour, apparently even my run-ins with the ever-charming Dracula.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hDDwRI4LYFY

But, since sharing an Oreo for world harmony is a little far-fetched and my gorgeous smile just won’t do….I’ll have to settle for a little honesty, a touch of confusion and a lot of problem solving.  I recently read an article that unhappiness is not an issue with what you have, but a desire for what you don’ t have.  So, I’ll do my best to chin it up and relish under the breath comments, family dysfunction and car repairs.

Even though picturing sharks, squids and seals in a group hug and talking about the undead seems completely ridiculous…even I have to admit the song is catchy.  My girl Kate articulates my thoughts pretty darn accurately. http://jezebel.com/oreos-weird-new-commercial-will-lull-you-into-a-twee-c-504470002

So, I guess, what I’m really saying is make the best of what presents itself and just put up with the rest…even weird Oreo commercials.

The Ginga Ninja

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Going on a Manhunt

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red puma logoOkay, I’m not.  But, it is the main chorus of a kick ass song from the Flashdance soundtrack.

“I’m goin’ on a manhunt, turn it around
Women have been hunted, now they’re huntin’ around
Manhunt, we all got the need
The one that’s been waitin’ has taken the lead”

I’m a Cougar.  Nay, I’m a Puma.  Or at least that’s what I’ve been told.  I guess technically there needs to be at least a 9 year age gap to be considered a Cougar, or some garbage like that.  Either way, the point is that I’ve dated younger guys.  This isn’t something I planned, and once upon a time in my youth I actually dated substantially older guys, but either way, I have found my last two serious relationships were with younger men.  Seriously folks, last two…

A drunk homeopath who believes in astrology once told me that her sister was also a Virgo and kept dating younger men to feel perpetually youthful.  (A crystal ball would be nice right about now).  Last I checked that wasn’t my reason why, but who knows. Maybe my obsession with Disneyworld runs a little deeper than even I know.

But, seriously…what is the acceptable standard on dating nowadays?  It seems as though anything goes.  I was recently told that 4 years either side is most compatible and I’ve often heard of the “Rule of 7”…this means that you can date anybody within 7 years either side of your current age.  This very useful math equation means I can date as young as 24!  Even I begin to shy away at the 25 and under mark.  Though, I must admit, I really love Zac Efron.  Like, really love. Like would have his beautiful babies love…..

Aside from my love for that condom-dropping Highschool Musical star…for awhile there I was loud and proud with my kitten-nabbing skills.  This was however, when I naively believed they may be flings, or was around the time when Demi and Ashton first got together and showed the world how amazing an older woman can be.  But, he has since hooked up with Mila Kunis, she has landed herself in rehab, and me?

Well, I have found out that the tide just keeps washing away my line in the sand and things aren’t quite as clear as I once believed them to be.  I’m more forgiving of my friends than I am of myself, but I’ll keep looking at that horizon and watch the sun set on each and every day (in this analogy it’s the ocean….get it?)  Though I guess I should have gone with Serengeti or something very safari-ish…cougar…puma…nevermind, you get it. Either way, I’m trying my best to look forward to the next sunrise and the next adventure that unbeknownst to me is out there….older…or dare I say it…younger again.

red cougars“I was so much older then, I’m much younger than that now” – The Traveling Wilburys

The Ginga Ninja

Why Should You Never Iron a 4-Leaf Clover?

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  1. red baileys

Because you don’t want to press your luck!

Do you actually have to be Irish to get away with Irish Cream in your coffee?  God I hope not.

Either way, I’m an 1/8 Irish….so I like to think at a minimum, I can pull off Baileys in my coffee without a second dubious glance.  This of course only works when I don’t constantly announce how much I enjoy Baileys in my coffee, or try to use my ginger hair as proof I’m Irish and only if I can refrain from doing it daily.  But, who wants to refrain from doing it daily?

Once again I want to say I’m kidding.  And I can say I am….with a little uncertainty. Maybe I’m just kidding myself.red leprechaun

At Christmas and at cottages, I do get a bit carried away.  Baileys (or my poor girl’s version of it….Carolans, Panama Jack…you get the picture) tastes delicious in coffee, with milk, or just on the rocks. So, trying to refrain for financial, bodily and let’s face it…social stigma reasons do exist.  However, I did have an old co-worker, a creative type, an “Ad man” persay….who kept a bottle in his drawer and pulled it out shamelessly, proudly and in no way, shape or form was he (or did he pretend to be) Irish.  Italian if I remember correctly.

So, this is to my old friend Keith.  Keep drinking that Irish Cream buddy and I’ll raise a toast to you every day, especially St. Patrick’s Day.

The Ginga Ninja

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She’s Positively Positive

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red picklePickles.  Olives.  Garlic.  Panna Cotta.  Cream Cheese Icing.  Wheat Beer.  Red Wine.  Cats.  Music.  Art.   Movies.  Quotes.  Massages.  Long Hair.  Bright Colours.  Talking.  Reading.  Sleeping.  Cooking.

These are all things I like.  And every time I find myself down and out I need to remember all the things I like…all the things that make me ME and all the things I would miss if I weren’t around to enjoy them.

You don’t have to like these things, but there would be another similar and yet unique list for you.  A friend once told me to focus on one good thing that happened each day.  It puts into perspective that through all the hard times and through all the uncertainty…shines through compliments, bright shiny moments and ultimately things that you….like.  So, even if the world doesn’t always like you, there will be parts of the world you like.

So like that wonderful commercial with the curly-haired little blond girl who emits positivity and recites:

I like my dad, I like my cousins.  I like my hair, I like my haircuts.  I like my pajamas.  I like my stuff.  I like my room.  I like my whole house!  My whole house is great.  I can do anything good, better than anyone.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-kKswLd65Ws

Readers, I like you.

The Ginga Ninja

G is for Glutton, G is for Girl

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How often do you give up on dating?  Me?  About once a month.  Hell, probably about once a day.

I find that trying to find yourself can be a difficult thing if you aren’t used to being alone, however trying to know yourself without anybody else can be difficult too. Well, at least if the best version of you actually comes out when you are in a relationship. Oh the irony. Suddenly you have all the time in the world to be whoever you want to be and you aren’t always sure who that is.

I often find that my best version of me is actually the version of me that has somebody else to focus on.  I am organized, I am put together, I am doting, thoughtful, calm and all my affection and effort goes into somebody else’s life. I am more focused, less needy, more confident and less pensive.  But, what happens when they stop giving their all back?

It becomes a battle of being the best version of you who shines when with a partner, or being a version of you that deserves better. Or possibly even worse, trying to find the version of you that can learn to be alone. Or crazier still, the version of you that can learn to be alone and completely content. We all deserve the right partner back, but when does the benefit of having a partner outweigh the uncertainty of being just plain old you?

So, once a month I rule out boys.  I decide I’m not ready to date, or I don’t want to date, or nobody is good enough to date.  I don’t form real crushes that easily and yet I often go through the motions of dating because it seems like the healthy thing to do. Ya right, if guilt over not messaging people back, pushing off drinks, and checking your email a zillion times a day is healthy then I’ll be damned.  But, maybe the healthy thing to do is forget about men altogether.  Their strong arms…their scruffy beards…their warm embraces…

Who am I kidding?  I will continue to date.  I will continue to try to play it cool as a cucumber, but completely obsess when I believe I am being rejected. And though I will have many days, weeks, even months where I think being without somebody is easier…(and knowing I deserve the fairytale)…I may still secretly hope in my immature little girl way to meet somebody to complement me again.  Not just the better me, but maybe for once the best me.

The Ginga Ninja

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