Tag: blogger

Un Ananas Qui Parle?!?

Ya know,

Some of the strangest sequences of things which has happened since I published Far from Ordinary back in November is the amount of editing work that people have asked me to do since.

For a bit of context, I was a solid C+ / B – student in school. Most of my teachers probably gave me the “doesn’t apply himself” tag at one point or another.

That’s fair. I didn’t. I was a fairly intelligent kid, but school didn’t really appeal to me. Especially not in French.

Although to be fair, most of the programming I was exposed to as a child was reminiscent of a stoner on a really bad trip

So fast forward fifteen years or so, and all of a sudden people say I’m qualified to edit their shit.

Word to the wise: I’m not. Ask me about the rules of grammar or the best placement of a semi-colon. I dunno. That’s not what I’m good at.

If you give me a sentence with a mistake, well, I know that it doesn’t look right, but I couldn’t for the life of me tell you why it’s not right. This I blame on the 12+ years of French immersion which I went to.

This is about how much French I’ve retained, too

Hell, dude, I just write. I don’t have any interest in editing. Of course, in my experience, most writers don’t like that part. It’s just a necessary evil.

Besides, sometimes editing other people’s stuff only reminds me of how bastardized the King’s English has become. It’s all “LOL” this, “On Fleek” that. And that’s mui depresso.


But, even though I complain about it I guess I’m better than most. What surprised me, in getting to know different writer communities on Social was that there are a TON of writers who aren’t very good at English.

Oh, enough to get by for sure, but those things that are so intrinsic to me – when to use your/you’re/yore for instance – don’t come so easily to everyone.

Maybe those people just need a French education.

Other stuff

I’ve started training for a half marathon. It’ll be my 6th, so I’m not exactly a stranger to them. But this will be the first one I’m doing after thirty. My knees are going to kill me. But in the spirit of transparency, I’m doing it for fitness. I’m down about 8 pounds and counting.

My secret? Metamucil and no fast food. I’m a genius. Oh, and I’m on a diet. Why am I on a diet? Because my sister is on a diet. So I get shamed every time I eat a cheeseburger.

It’s working wonders.

Imagine how much I’d lose if I gave up drinking wine for a couple of months.


What did we learn this week?

  1. Don’t marinate shit in olive oil, then cook it over an open flame. I’m happy I still have eyebrows. I blame Lisa.
  2. If you have to get the cat high to have her scratch a post, maybe she doesn’t like the post
  3. If you’re Irish, the sun is your enemy and should be avoided at all times. You’re pale for a reason
  4. Apparently I dress up so little that, when I do, people assume I have an interview
  5. Cardio is always better when you drag along people to keep you company.

Until next week,


Cats are Evil. OR, Why Winter Sucks

It’s minus thirty today. Again. You can tell it’s cold because the sky is so clear. The cold air chases away the clouds and it’s invigorating. Cold and crisp.

It’s the type of day that you don’t want to do anything or go anywhere.

It’s also the type of day where my sister’s car doesn’t like to start.

“I’ll help – not a problem,” I said, even though the last time I helped her boost the SUV my jumper cables melted.

There’s only one problem, besides the obvious car-not-starting problem, I mean. I haven’t driven since last Wednesday. Since then there’s been two or three big snowfalls.

Winnipeg, amiright!

This might be a problem

“No worries,” says the sister-roommate. “We’ll just kick some of the snow away and it’ll be fine.”

Now I know right now some of you are asking: Why not just shovel it out!

Well, I think that’s a tremendous idea. If you own a shovel, that it. Maybe that was an oversight on my part. Maybe.

I admit to nothing.

Really, though, there’s been no reason for me to have a shovel until RIGHT NOW. I live in an apartment so they take care of all the shoveling needs, and my little balcony never really gets snow.

Regardless, no shovel.

So we kicked away all the snow and I got to the front of the car to push it out of the spot.

“Okay, we’re going to rock it out. Got it?” I said. The sister gives me the thumbs-up from the driver’s seat of my car.

“No, Lisa. We’re rocking it. That means you SHOULDN’T step on the gas. Last thing we want is for the tires to spin.”

I start pushing the car, rueing the fact that I left my glorious white snow boots at work yesterday as I stepped into a snow pile a foot and a half deep.

But try as I might, straining with all the strength in my arms, the damned thing wouldn’t budge.

“Should I have this thing in reverse?” The sister asks.



The cat hates me.

To give you a little bit of context, I’ve never been a cat person. To this day I’m allergic to em. My chest gets tight and I get sneezy.

But still I want this damned cat to like me.

I think she senses this.

And she judges

I don’t know why it bugs me so much. I think it’s a game for her now. She’ll stare at me at a distance. If I ever get too close to her she leaps away.


So you know how cats like to push things off counters, right? Well the Khajit likes to do that too. But ONLY to my things. She also likes to hang out in my closet and sit in my dressers.

But ONLY if I’m not around, of course.

No, I’m not crazy. She sheds EVERYWHERE. I find the hair in all the things

It’s some sort of a game to her – psychological warfare designed to slowly make me crazy, break me down.

A war of attrition.

But there is ONE place where she seems to adore me:

The bathroom.

It’s weird, I know. Just go with it. 

Sigmund Freud would have had a field day with this one. I really don’t know why she’s so obsessed with the bathroom. But she is. She paws at the door and meows until you do something about it.

And then she’s the most affectionate kitty in the world.

I think it’s another part of her psychological warfare. She’s probably constantly plotting of ways to kill me, and what better way than when I’m most vulnerable?

Or is it just her way of judging my shower-beer habit on weekends?

Nature’s deadliest predator. A seven-pound ball of soft fur and hate. The perfect killer.

She’s staring at me now. Wish me luck. If you don’t hear from me again, you’ll know why.

Blame the cat.

SO. What did we learn this week?

  1. It usually helps if the car is in the right gear. Or, at the very least, that it’s trying to move the way you’re pushing
  2. It’s best if your shower beer is Bud Light or PBR. They’re mostly water anyway
  3. Cats are cunning, intelligent creatures who WILL hold grudges for no reason
  4. It’s a lot easier to boost a car if you spent more than $9 on jumper cables
  5. If you don’t have one already, you should probably get a shovel

Until next time.

Later days,