Clean your room


I talk to both my parents almost every night on the phone. My mom and I talk about lots of stuff. Books, the text conversation I had with my Nana (her mom) this morning, and my sex life. My dad and I talk about other stuff like what we did with our day, how much we slept, and what we’ve eaten that day. Tonight when I spoke to my parents I mentioned to my dad that I needed to wash my dishes again. I’m just one person living in a very small basement suite and I feel like I always have to do dishes. Or clean my bathroom. Basically, I walk behind myself and make messes as I clean.

Now my dad is texting me, asking if I did my dishes (I did) and if my room is clean. My room is sort of clean. I cleaned it yesterday. Except because I have this awesome super power of walking behind myself, making messes as I clean, my room is only “clean enough”. So dad told me to clean my room. Via text message. From over 400 kilometers away.

My first reaction?



Except…he’s my dad. And I don’t really want to see what happens if I don’t do as I’m told, so I’m off to clean my room. For the second time in two days.


Mowing the Lawn


An example of my handiwork…

Sunday my dad asked me if I wanted to learn how to ride our ride ’em lawn mower. And Hells to the yeah I did! Nothing seems more fun in my opinion than riding around on my lawn and cutting me some grass. It all would have been great! I would have drove that thing round and circles and mowed me some lawn like a champ…except for the fact that my hard is mostly hill. Steep-ish hill.

So my mom had me mow our side yard which is all weird incline and all kinds of lopsided. Raise your hands if you’ve ever ridden a ride ’em mower while it’s tilted so sideways that if you didn’t lean against the tilt you would have fallen off!

I’m totally raising my hand right now.

Not lying! Being on that side hill was a core workout as I tipped, leaned and held on for my dear life as I drove in lopsided circle-squares on our side lawn. It was all to the tune of my mom yelling “GIVE IT SOME GAS!” and me singing “She’ thinks my tractor’s sexy! It’ really turns her oooonnnnnn! She’s always staring at meeeee! While I’m chuggin’ alllllong!” Eventually she gave up on me mowing the side lawn and told me to pull it over to our front lawn…despite the fact there was this little tuft of grass that I’d missed child I was chuggin’ along.

You have to praise my mom’s patience at this point in my life. Raising a daughter who is perpetually dumb and fucking crazy can’t be easy. Especially since I have no common sense. So I rolled up on my front lawn and started to drive in crazy circle shapes while trying to mow the little side hill on the other side of my house. I was still singing about my sexy tractor and…

I don’t even know what to say except for the fact that by the time I was down mowing my lawn – Read: By the time mom made me stop mowing the lawn- my yard kind of looked like a blind monkey hopped up on meth and pixie sticks had attacked it with a dull hatchet.

Course practice makes perfect, so I’m waiting for the grass to grow again so I can hop back on my mower, sing about my sexy tractor and see if I can do it right…or slightly less horrific next time.

My Undies Are Trouble


Today I decided to do a load of laundry. There just happened to be a basket of dirty “whites” waiting for me and calling my name to be cleaned. And yes, some of my clothes were in there so that was the basket that was getting washed. However,  my undies happen to be trouble when in the wash, and today was no different. I tossed in the load of “whites” containing my gonch, my dad’s socks and undies and some of my mom’s bras into the washer and went to Barriere to grab a few groceries that mom said we needed for the night.

Naturally the washer was done by the time I got home so I let my dog, Moose, out to pee while I went to toss everything into the dryer. Or at least that was the plan until I realized there was a big clump of clothes stuck together at the bottom of the dryer that wasn’t going to come out unless I broke something. Initially I thought it was one of my mom’s bra’s that was the issue, but it wasn’t. As I slowly freed one sock after another and carefully extricated my dads socks without ripping them, I started see that everything was held together by a strip of black that had wrapped around the middle swisher thing in the washer. Again, I figured it was one of my mom’s bra’s being the douche canoe and holding up the laundry process.

And again I was wrong. I’m a super duper knot remover and take-er-apart-er. So after a few minuets of untangling socks, boxer-briefs, bras and undies I started to notice the black material holding together everything was cotton and elastic. Soon my Little Miss Trouble undies were free and I was glad to see they weren’t the culprit as I started to suspect. I mean, what other pair of undies would wreak such havoc with a load a laundry other than my Little Miss Trouble gonch?

Finally! Everything was set free except for three of my dad’s socks and one of my mom’s bra and I could see what had caused all of the trouble. See what I saw, I knew the trouble maker of that load of laundry was no longer salvageable so I ripped the material a part to free my mom’s bra and dad’s socks to come up with a very mangle and now torn up black thong.

It was one of my favorites too.

Sadly I know this is what happens when you try to cause too much trouble: Someone will eventually rip you a new one and you’ll be left out to dry where ever you happened to be tossed.

On another note: I’m sure my mom will yell at me later because she found a torn up thong laying somewhere random in our basement.

Falling Cows


This past week I’ve driven into Kamloops (The nearest city to where I live with my parents), four days in a row. And for four days in a row I’ve wound up giggling while driving through the same area. That means at least twice a day I was giggling my butt off as I thought about my mom and the crazy things she thinks of.

You see, one day we were driving into Kamloops and we drove past a set of cliffs that are along the high way and she asked, “What if a cow fell off the cliff?”

And then she started giggling.

I was convinced my mom had gone psycho because I thought it would suck if a cow fell off the cliff and it landed on somebody. So I said so, “Well it would suck if it landed on somebody. Image! You’re just driving along and then BAM! Cow in your windshield.

Then she started giggling even more and I wanted to pull over and switch drivers. My mother had clearly passed from being good-crazy into being take her drivers license away-crazy. Seriously, she couldn’t stop giggling. And my moms giggles are infectious too so to my horror I started giggling with her as I thought of cows falling on peoples windshields. I couldn’t help it: My moms laugh is always better than anything she’s laughing at. If she thinks it’s funny, then it’s funny because she’s just got one of those laughs. So I wound up giggling thinking about cows falling off cliffs and landing on some unsuspecting victims cars.

It also made me think of that scene from the movie Twister, where the cow was being whipped around by the tornado…

Anyway, the real reason why mom was giggling became clearer as she continued talking, “What do you think the other cows would do?”

I just looked at her weird and said, “I don’t know.”

At this point she had tears in her eyes as she laughed, “They would probably fall over the cliff too!”

I was flabbergastered. Are cows that dumb? So I asked, “Why because one cow jumped they’re all gonna jump?”

Mom started laughing even harder, “No. They would probably get curious, go and look and then fall off too!”

At that point I gave up asking about the falling cows. I was laughing too hard thinking about these lemming-cows falling off the cliff and landing on unsuspecting people. BAM! Cow in your face! And since then, mom has laughed just as hard every time we’ve driven past this spot and asked “What if a cow fell off a cliff?”

Do you have any parts of your day that continually make you giggle and are as funny the fourth time as they were the first time?

Weird Good-Byes


Ever since I was a child my mom has tried to lead me down a path of positivity and light. For the most part she has succeeded, for the rest of it, well…At least it’s funny and we have fun. My latest mantra is life is “When my mom judges me for what I do, then you can have a turn too.” I like it because it rhymes. I also like it because my mom mostly just laughs at my shenanigans. She is the first person to accept me for exactly who I am and the last one to ever stop supporting me. If my mom is mad at me, then I know I’m in trouble. With that said, over the years we’ve come up with a ritual for whenever I’m being left anywhere unsupervised.

I say: Okay, lady! Love you!

And then she says: Love you too, baby. Be safe, no kissing, no drugs, no drinking and no ritualistic killing of animals.

Or at least that’s what she used to say to me when I was a teen. Nowadays is different. Mom knows I have sex, she knows that I drink and…ok, these days my momma just says what she just texted me as I’m getting ready to head to town to visit a friend:

Parental Units-Momma: k b safe. no ritualistic killings…U know the drill

So these days I’m simply forbidden ritualistic killings and just have to be safe. I’m pretty sure it’ll be a scary day when that gets added to my list of things that I’m allowed to do like kissing, drinking and drugs. Though I guess it might be better than how my dad and I say good-bye…

I say: Kay. Love you, daddy. See you later!

And then he says: Love you too. Be safe.

So I say: I’m always safe.

And he replies: Except that one time.

Then I agree: Except that one time.

After all these things are done and said, I run out the door with my dads car keys and drive off into the horizon to obey my parents rules. I stay say safe (except that one time I crashed my car in 2005 that I haven’t lived down yet), I don’t ritualistically kill anything and I try to be home at reasonable hours. Because that’s what good kids do.

Growing Up Me


The other weekend I got a ride home with a friend for a quick weekend home with my dad. I needed it. On the trip home I was talking about my childhood and it really got me to thinking about how I was raised. Now, let me tell you, I had one of the best possible upbringings that any child could have. I had really easy going parents who weren’t overly strict, but at the same time really established a decent set of boundaries with my sister and I. Not only that but without really doing anything serious, they helped us learn the difference between right and wrong. Of course there were other people in our lives who helped us to grow, but the bulk of it was my parents and…I really don’t remember the presence of discipline in my life. Plus my parents did a great job at either allowing me my privacy or giving me a great illusion of privacy.

Oh wait! I lied. I remember two times in my entire life where my dad had to discipline me, specifically. The first time was when I spat in a guys face. Yes, I spat in someone’s face, but that was after he’d hocked up a huge boogie in my face. Obviously an eye for an eye wouldn’t work in this case…so dad grounded indefinitely. I went to my room, read a book, listened to music, regretted my actions and then the next day all was forgotten and I went outside to play with my sister and our friends. This was the only time that I’d ever gotten grounded and it really struck home for me: Dad was willing to slam down the hammer and actually ground me! Believe it or not, that lesson stuck with me until I was about 17. The other time that dad had to bring on the discipline was a couple years later when I was 14 and got a set of C’s. You see, I was allowed to get C’s, but not in Math, English and Science all at once. This time I lost my CD player, my CD’s and wasn’t allowed to watch TV until I fixed my grades. So what did I do? I read. I love and have always loved to read, so after dad dropped that hammer, I hung out in my room and read. Again, it didn’t matter that the punishment wasn’t the greatest of punishments, it was the fact that I was getting punished that put me back in line. I knew I did wrong and I tried not to do make that particular mistake. In fact the next time that I got a C was three years later in Math 11. I tanked trigonometry.

Outside of those particular incidences…I didn’t have a lot of rules that I had to live by. Here are come of the bigger rules my parents generally reminded my sister and I of:


  • Every time we went anywhere alone would tell us “No drinking, no drugs, no boys and no ritualistic killing of animals.” Then she would normally yell at us “MAKE GOOD CHOICES!”
  • Mom had the classic rule of “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” I would later amend that by saying “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all…unless you can make it funny.” Mom laughed at that one, so it became the official rules.
  • There was also a limit on the amount of swearing I could do around my mom – My sister couldn’t curse as much as I could and there were certain words that were forbidden in our world.


  • If you hit them and they get back up, you didn’t hit them hard enough – As bad as this rule sounds, it was a rule I lived by through most of my childhood. Normally the only time I really hit a girl playing sports was if she was playing dirty and picking on my teammates, or if she was really irritating me. In which case, yeah, I played dirty back and it rarely turned out well for the other girl.
  • Dad also made up the rule one day that if he ever caught me smoking, drinking or getting jiggy with it that there would be consequences – If I got caught smoking, he’d make me smoke a whole pack or baggie of whatever I got caught smoking. If I got caught drinking I’d have to drink an entire 40 of the cheapest tequila Dad could find. If I got caught getting jiggy with it or doing drugs, I’d have to move in with my Nana…ya know, he’d kick me out of the house for those offenses.
  • I also had to look out for my younger sister no matter what we were doing. I remember one time that she got hurt and I got into trouble for it because I should have been looking out for her.

Besides all of that, my parents were perfectly ok with the fact that I tended to moon just about anyone and everyone, cursed a little too much and tended to laugh at horrible things that I shouldn’t laugh at.

I’m not going to lie: I sometimes didn’t take my dad seriously. I never actually called him on his BS because I’d tried that in my younger years and it never turned out in my favor. So I barely drank until I left for university and when I did, I tried to be darn sneaky about it. I never wanted to test my dad, his rules and especially his punishments.

I think most of my growing up years were a fine balance of my sister and I picking our battles with our parents and vice versa. Sure, I mooned a lot of people and my mom as a result had to see more of my ass and more of the return moons than any mother should have had to deal with, but I didn’t dress like a prostit-tot or act like a raging hormonal skank. I may not have acted like a respectable person at times, but I think it was a win in my parents favor that I at least looked like a disease free human being that wouldn’t start the next plague.

Instead my sister and I are most likely to incite a riot of some sort just for shits and giggles…but that’s because we’re adults now and think as long as we make it funny, it’s ok.

See? We were raised with an excellent sense of morals!

3.10 – Cleaning


Most of this used to end up on the floor then get tossed back on the shelf whenever I cleaned.

I am about one of the messiest people that you will ever come across. For the most part it’s not an unsanitary mess, it’s just a lot of clutter on account of me being a little bit of a pack rat. As I’ve grown up my mess has moved from toys, books and forgotten sammiches to being books, clothes and random clutter.

As a result my mom will sometimes clean my room and I do my best to avoid that.

Now that I’m not living at home she waits until I leave for school and then I get a text in the middle of the week saying “I’m sorry” which means she just went in and cleaned my room. Basically she walks into my room and cleans up all the little bits of clutter that drives her crazy. Then I go home on my next break and make another mess.

We’ve gone back and forth like this for a while now. Mom knows that if she wants my room to be clean, she probably has to do it herself because when I clean, I make my room “clean for me” which is a “bloody stinkin’ mess” to her.

I can’t count the number of times my mom has given up on my idea of clean and has charged into my room to clean it herself…including that one time in my first year of university when she cleaned my dorm room in front of my dormmates because it was such a “frickin’ mess”. I helped her, but I wasn’t allowed to stop cleaning once we got to my standard of clean…we had to keep cleaning until she was happy with how tidy my little hole in the wall was. Thusly, I learned my lesson:

When mom comes to visit, clean your room!

So tonight I cleaned my room and it’s…clean compared to what it was before. Sadly, once I hit that point of clean I’ve cleaned my little heart out and I give up. I promise to try and wake up and clean some more and if I don’t…well time with my mom is time with my mom. Even if it’s spent with her telling me to quit screwing around and clean my room!