Hey

I envy the way you all wake up. Your alarm:

See? 7:30… a NORMAL time to get up. Even considered sleeping in for most. Even the nice heart stopping “beep beep beep” is amazing.

How do I wake up? How do I wake up pretty much EVERY FUCKING DAY? Well let me tell you.

It all starts with Gir. My beautiful cat.

 He starts early, very softly meowing at the door. But the tone he does it in is kind of like a gentle “hey… hey… hey…” This is usually 40 minutes before I have to get up. It’s easy to tune out.

Then soon after, Lu joins in.

Everything he says sounds like a question. So I get the chorus of “Hey.. hey? Hey… hey? Hey… hey?”.

This is slightly less easy to ignore, but I can usually fall right back to sleep. And then…

HE comes in. Monkey. The devil of all cats. He throws himself against the door, slamming his shoulder into it, dragging his paws down it screaming “HEY! HEY!!!!! GET OUT OF BED, BITCH AND FEED ME! HEY! HEY!”

This cannot be tuned out. It cannot be tuned out at all. The slamming against the door, the screaming meow, all of it.  Finally, I drag my ass out of bed, open the door and:

Nothing. All cats are gone. If I go back to bed, it starts up again…

Why don’t I just let them sleep with me? Well, the thing about this is the door is in the way. Which is easier throughout the night. Usually they leave me alone til about 6:45am. I made the mistake one night of letting them in and about an hour later:

“PFFT!” I said to myself, I can just pull the blanket over my head. Smugly I do so.

About five minutes after that, there was a strange rustling at the foot of the bed…

Followed by:

Yeah. Damn you all and your alarm clock. I will TRADE you.

I can get away with murder

It’s completely true. I can get away with murder. I’ve watched pretty much all the versions of CSI, even the crappy one with the guy that gives skeezy stares to EVERYONE:

What I’ve learned from years of this is that I can commit the perfect crime. That’s right. I can kill you in your sleep and make it look like a complete accident. I’m like a ninja.

But one you don’t see:

An invisible ninja that is dressed like a cat:

It’s fucking terrifying, right? That’s right. So don’t piss me off. Because I’ll invisible cat ninja your ass, and no one will ever know.

“Oh what if they interrogate you anyway?”

Ha. Luckily I’ve got that covered too. If in the rare event this happens:

I know exactly what to do. I will be me. How will this work in my favour? Well, let me tell you how by explaining a story…

I was in the hospital with my friend, who had just been given morphine. Her eyes kept scanning going one direction really slow then right back to the other one really really fast.

Me: Uh, what the hell are you doing?

Her: Well, you know when you watch people walk?

Me: Frequently, yes…

Her: When you’re on morphine, they walk really really slow. Like, your eyes go normal speed but they’re trying to catch up to them. AND THEN THE DOG CATCHES THE FRISBEE!!!

Me: The dog… whatnow?

Her: You know, the dog. It catches the Frisbee.

Me: There is no dog in here. I’m pretty sure half that conversation just happened in your head and I wasn’t even part of it…

Her: Yeah… It’s kinda like talking to you.

That’s right, folks. Talking to me is like talking to someone high on morphine. And that’s me on a NORMAL day.

So, should I get called in for interrogation, it’ll probably go like this:

That’s right. I can get away with murder. You better watch yourself, because I’m like Chuck Norris, if he were an invisible cat ninja named Karin.

Scared? Yeah, I know you are. It’s ok. I would be to. If I weren’t me. DUN DUN DUN *scary invisible cat ninja theme music*

My First Love

As with almost every person on the planet, I fell in love early. I loved him more than I loved Lady Lovely Locks, the Easy Bake Oven* and My Little Pony. Combined. Riding a rainbow wave of delicious gummy bears:

But not orange gummy bears, because they’re the devil:

Yes… More than that.

Please note: I was five at the time

Who did I love, you ask? Well duh:

That’s right. I loved La Bamba himself. Ritchie Valens.

I would wander around the house singing his songs ALL DAY.

I planned our wedding on a daily basis. He would sing “Oh Donna” (changing it to “Oh Karin” though, obviously) as I walked down the isle, and we’d fly off into the sunset together on our way to our honeymoon where we’d go to West Edmonton Mall and stay with my grandparents (again, I was FIVE). Looking back on it, I’m thinking the plane ride was a bad idea….

One day on “mommy/daughter day” my mom decided that we should watch a movie together. Since she fully supported my love of Ritchie (because it’s sooooooooooooooooooooooooo cute), she decided it would be a great idea to watch….

Yes. My mother decided that watching a movie that ended with THE DEATH of the love of my young life, was an awesome idea. I’m pretty sure she didn’t remember that it was a movie based on his rise (and big assed fall…) in the music world.

Then she looked at me…

That’s right, mom. This was a TERRIBLE idea. My tiny little heart broke into a million pieces. I cried and cried and cried for days. I sat in the corner of the living room crying to myself while singing “Oh Donna” in a wavering, heartbroken tiny voice.

It got to be too much for my parents. Finally my dad pulled me aside one day and explained something to me.

Ritchie Valens had been dead for almost 30 years. ALMOST THIRTY FREAKING YEARS. This started a whole new train of thought. What the fuck, mom. You let me plan my wedding to a GHOST? That’s just friggin’ sick!!!! Think of the children!!!!!

After that discussion, my love of Ritchie faded very very very quickly. I moved on to a new love.

Yes. Flying Spanish mice/human babies made more sense than ghost/human babies. Complete sense.

*I always wanted an Easy Bake Oven, but to this day, I still never had one. The broken hearted five year old inside me is still longing for it. Fuck you, normal grown up oven in my kitchen. You’re not the same. Not the same at ALL.

Gertrude

For those who don’t know me, I am directionally retarded. Severely retarded. It’s almost painful for those with me, I’m sure. Let me explain:

And then:

Followed by:

Yes folks, when it comes to following directions, I am THAT stupid. I don’t know why, I full heartedly believe I inherited it from my mom. Examples you say? 


Directions my mom was given: 


Turn left at 1st Street. Then go straight and turn right into the parking lot.


This should have taken her 15 minutes to get to the restaurant we were waiting at. 


**45 minutes go by**


Mom calls me, freaking out that we gave her shitty directions, and now she's in the middle of farm country in Langley, which is COMPLETELY THE OPPOSITE direction we gave her. She turned right at 1st Street. Then decided to correct this, she should go straight for a while, then turned left on a random road and was SHOCKED that the restaurant in a completely different city did NOT materialize. 


No one can inherit that directional retardation you say? Well....


This is a true conversation:

Person: Ok, at the lights, turn left.

Me: Got it! Left!

**two minutes go by**

Person: Turn left

Me: Yes!

**I turn right**

Person: …

**another minute goes by**

Me: Shit… you said left, didn’t you…

Person: …

Everyone rejoiced when I got  GPS. I was so excited, I could finally get directions said to me AS I was driving, no possible way to fuck up! Or was there…

Enter: GERTRUDE

Yes. I named my GPS Gertrude. Her robotic voice has the air of a snotty English woman who is so disappointed in me for merely existing, with her angry chiming at me for missing turns and not following her directions, her exasperated “Recalculating Route”, and repetitive nature completely earn the name Gertrude.

I am fairly confident I received a defective GPS. If I don’t follow her directions after 2 recalculatings, she turns herself off. It’s kind of like “Hey, Karin. Fuck you and your inability to follow my directions. Find your own damn way”. Except more British and snooty.

Karin, why do you not listen to the directions?

Well the answer is completely obvious. Gertrude is trying to fucking kill me.

Seriously.

She takes me to back woodsy areas where I’m fairly certain serial killers lurk, down dark alleys late at night where I could interrupt a potential drug trade, and out to roads that don’t exist. They’re simply “Unnamed Road” and really it’s a wall of fucking trees and NO ROAD.

My amazing friend Dee did not believe me on this fact.

“Karin, you’re just being paranoid”

Ohhhhhhhh really. REALLY? Well, to prove my point, I used Gertrude to direct us to a store. And this is what happened:

Me: See, she’s trying to kill us by making us drive over the edge!

Dee: No, she wants you to take the exit on the right at the end of the bridge.

Me: SEE!!!

Dee: No, she means the exit!

Me: LOOK!

Dee: No! Electronics don’t try to kill people like that!

Dee: … Holy shit she wants you to drive off the bridge!

Me: I TOLD YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Your plan failed Gertrude. I am now onto your shenanigans. Although I may be directionally retarded, I am not dumb enough to drive off a bridge. Just into dark alleys, dead end roads and forests… So until a serial killer IS waiting for me, you shall go on failing with your miserable plan.

The Seven Minute Rule

My boss confuses the fuck out of me. People think that *I* am random. They need to meet him. For the sake of this blog, we’ll call him Al from here on out. And the company I work for is Team O. 


One of my many confusing conversations with Al happened not too long ago, and resulted in the installation of the “seven minute” rule at work. What is the seven minute rule? Well, let me tell you how it all began …

One of my friends was looking for a job and we happened to be hiring. I asked him to send me his resume and I’d recommend him to my boss. Easy, right? Yeah… That’s what I thought. We both fail.

So I mosey down the hallway to Al’s office and ask if I can give him a resume. And the conversation went like this:

Karin: Hey Al, I have my friend’s resume. I think he’d be an awesome addition to the team!

Al: come in please, and sit down.

**ominous feeling**

Karin: uh… ok?

**Karin sits**

Al: You know, Team O pays you every second Friday.

Karin: Right…. Bi weekly payments and such…

Al: The money is given to you every second Friday.

Karin: Ok.

Al: You always know when the money is coming in.

Karin: Right.

Al: If you start your own company, you never know when the money is coming in

Karin: …

Al: The grass is always greener you know. There 

are lumps and bumps in life but Team O helps you with those by paying you every second Friday.

Karin: …

**At this point I was listening down the hallway, hoping to hear someone coming down looking for me so I can leave**

Al: You always know when money is coming in, because it’s the same time every time. Every second Friday.

Karin: uh…

Al: Starting your own business is a bad idea. You know why?

Karin: I get paid every second Friday?

**Still watching the door, praying for someone to save me**

Al: RIGHT!

Karin: So…

Al: YOU WILL ALWAYS KNOW WHEN YOUR MONEY IS COMING IN

Karin: uh… About that resume?

Al: Have your friend call me.

**awkward silence**

Karin: Can I go now?

Al: Yes.

Please Note: This conversation actually went on like this for about 10-15 minutes.

I get up, walk as quickly as I can OUT of his office (so he can’t call me back in) and run back to my desk. I then have everyone in the room staring at me, and they go “WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN!” since I was gone for so long.

 I DON’T FUCKING KNOW, PEOPLE! I DON’T FUCKING KNOW WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED! BUT NO ONE FUCKING SAVED ME!

I had to explain the situation, which had the end result of:

To ensure this does not happen in the future, if anyone leaves their desk and is gone for more than 7 minutes, the search party will be sent. So far we have not had to enforce this rule, but you never know. 

THE BUTTONS

Recently my friend Jaime(NOT AIMEE) decided she wanted to learn to crochet. As I am a firm believer in group suffering, I agreed to learn with her. It took many (MANY) failed attempts, but we finally figured it out. Jaime promptly started making the cutest hats ever for her new son.

**please note a hobby like this will almost definitely make your child hate you in the future**

Her most recent achievement was a snowman hat:

(I edited out the world’s cutest baby as I don’t want random strangers seeing him. If he’s to be stolen, it will be by ME… this is NOT AIMEE’S baby)

After congratulating her for such an awesome hat, Jaime (NOT AIMEE) looks at me and goes:

Jaime: Want to know where I got the buttons?

Me: Uh…

Please note at this point I completely thought that she’d done something like ninja her way into a neighbour’s house to steal their clothes and rip the buttons off.

Surprisingly I was not far off…

Jaime leaves the room a moment and comes back with:

At first glance I was like “oh, a random blazer”, but no. NO. This was a dress jacket. You know, one of those fancy coats men wear when they have to look all nice and sophisticated. And on closer inspection:

Yeah. That’s right. It’s missing its buttons. ALL its buttons.

Me: So… yeah… that’s a jacket

Jaime: It sure is!

Me: Where did you get such a previously fine jacket?

Jaime: My husband’s closet

Me: …

Me: …

Me: …

Me: Ok. Why did you take the buttons of his coat rather than going to the store and buying said buttons?

Jaime: I didn’t feel like going out.

Me: Oh.

Surprisingly THAT seems logical to me!

Jaime: So… could you bring this to your work and get rid of it?

Me: Why?

Jaime: A missing coat is easier to explain than a coat that’s missing parts of it

This too seemed logical.

Me: Ok, I’ll drop it off at a donation bank or give it to a hobo

Jaime: Why would a hobo want a jacket with no buttons?

Me: What’s warmer??? A coat without buttons or NO coat?

Jaime: But it has no buttons.

Obviously our logic only follows the same line of reasoning on very limited things. 


On a completely unrelated note, my fortune cookie told me to “Learn Chinese, Beansprout”.

What the fuck does that even mean?????????

P.S. Anyone want a jacket?

P.P.S. I too learned to crochet, not as awesome as Jaime though… but look! I’m a kitty!

P.P.P.S. you can totally see my perfect eyebrows





****UPDATE**** IM conversation with Aimee (yeah it's totally Aimee...) earlier today:

Aimee: Jay read the eyebrow blog

Karin: hahahahaha

Aimee: He laughed so hard he had tears rolling down his face

Karin: did you hide the buttons from him

Aimee: I'm like ok yeah you think that's funny read the button one

Aimee: FYI I'm the only one laughing with tears rolling down my face lmfao

Karin: hahaha I'm laughing now.... did he read the buttons one

Aimiee: Yes he did 

Karin: and

Aimee: I told him one day he will find it just as funny

Karin: was he pissed

Aimee: Who cares nolans hat needed buttons lol