Monday.

Some say Monday is the worst day of the week. It's the beginning, your weekend just ended and you are stating a whole new week of work. It can be long yes, so for those of you who are having a rough day I give you this image.

This is a man with such confidence, I thought it would be best if I could somehow pass on his energy, and get you through the day.

So smile folks, it's only Monday.

The Irish.

St. Patrick’s Day, a day celebrated annually on March 17^th. It dates the death of the patron saint of Ireland, Saint Patrick. In the spirit of my Irish roots I thought this story of my grandmothers, a true Irish lass, is one that fits today quite well.

So here’s the story:

When I was 16 my friends and I were downtown when we noticed a new storefront. Being curious we walked in where we found a lad standing behind the counter with all kinds of utensils. He held a microphone and was broadcasting out to the street goers in attempt to bring in customers. He was one of those people who had the pitter-patter that could sell you on anything, but that day no one was biting. Pathetically, he asked us if we would just pretend to buy so maybe he could draw some people in. “I'll give you your money back.” He told us. What’s the harm in that? We said sure, he started his pitter-patter and we bought everything he was selling. Still, no one came in. We got bored and told him we were leaving, so we stood and waited for him to give us our money back. He didn’t budge. This was all the money we had to live on. Gone, for now that is. I said to my friends to wait here, I’d be right back. Down a few blocks was there was a pool hall where all the town thugs hung out. I walked in and told them my story. A few minutes later I walked back into the store with 5 big, tattooed, scruffy lads by my side. Two stood by the door, their tattooed muscled arms crossed and three walked right up to the storeowner. “We understand you owe these girls some money.” As fast as you can blink an eye our money was back in our hands. By morning the storefront was closed. 

Moral of this story, don't mess with an Irish Lass.

Dance.

Dancing certainly does not come as a natural way of movement for everyone, however in my family whether you are "good" or dance like Elaine from Seinfeld you will get up and dance regardless. 

Here's the story:
Family motto, dance like no one's watching. 

Santa.

Santa Claus: the legendary patron saint of children; an imaginary being who is thought to bring presents to children at Christmas. 

Here's the story:

Breaking into the local mall's Santa display concludes in: dog is in fact a robot, the chair is incredibly comfortable and the escape results in weeks recovery of an agonizing twisted ankle and a very blurry photo. 

January 2013.

Reference:

"WordNet Search - 3.1." WordNet Search - 3.1. N.p., n.d. Web. 15 Feb. 2014. <http://wordnetweb.princeton.edu/perl/webwn?s=santa%20claus>.

Lorne.

Attending the wrong funeral is most definitely not something that occurs to everyone. My father on the other hand has a way of making what one could call a tragic event, into a laughable experience.

Here’s the story:

My dad along with his friend Troy met up at a local pub to have a drink in honour of the late Lorne – a mutual friend’s father – before the service. Chatting about memories each of them held of Lorne brought them both to the last sip of their beers.  The two made their way to the funeral home where they entered to find a line had developed with loved ones, all mourning the bitter loss. Shaking hands and hugging others in line, Troy and my father wait for their turn to pay respect. As they move closer to the open casket the two of them become slightly curious as to why they have yet to see someone they know. The two of them weren’t close with Lorne, but surely there would be someone they knew there. Approaching the casket the two discover they had been waiting in line for hours, giving their support for others, so they could pay their respects to a complete stranger. The murmur of my dad to Troy was all it took to break the silence, “Troy, Troy, that’s not Lorne.”
Making a rather quick exit, and in search of the right funeral home the two needless to say couldn’t stop cracking up. Lorne would have been in hysterics.

House Tour.

House tours are not for everyone; some however enjoy them more then others. There are the individuals who keep the place they call “home” in a presentable fashion, or there are the attendee’s of the dazzling home. These individuals are the ones that aspire to keep their house at least one tenth of the cleanliness of the so called “dream home”. My Grandmother, along with her friends is one of the many attendees of this – what they believed would be – a fun, summer house tour.

Here’s the story:

The day was planned; my Grandma along with a couple girlfriends had bought tickets for a Home Tour. They were given a list of homes they had the opportunity to explore, much like an open house. Arriving at the first house on the list the ladies stepped out of the car to a gorgeous limestone home. The landscape is that of a film; beautiful gardens surrounding both the house and the small rustic shed in the back yard. Following the front path to the house they enter and began their self-tour starting in the kitchen. It’s not soon after they noticed a rather untidy sink, dishes were piled up possibly from dinner the night before. Although this struck them as a little strange they continued the tour upstairs. They found a large master bedroom, with a master bath. Much like the untidy kitchen, the bathroom had toothbrushes and toothpaste in the sink. The ladies were in disbelief that the owner didn’t tidy up knowing their home was on the house tour. The house was, after all listed on the House Tour List. After checking out all the rooms they left the home, still slightly shocked. As more cars arrived they noticed instead of going into the house, the guests walked along the small path towards the rustic shed in the back yard where a blacksmith was bending iron into statuesque shapes. 

Turns out the tickets they bought had been for an Artisan’s Studio Tour not a House Tour.  

Laugh.

Laugh: to express mirth, pleasure, derision, or nervousness with an audible, vocal expulsion of air from the lungs that can range from a loud burst of sound to a series of quiet chuckles and is usually accompanied by characteristic facial and bodily movements (Dictionary.com, 2014). This is what one must do when faced with a situation that is, as some would say, rather embarrassing.

Here’s the story:

Traveling to school can take a toll, as my sister discovered one early fall morning. Like any other day of commuting, the air was dry and the bus was full, holding conversation was just something done regularly. Feeling parched, she grabs her Hoops for Heart water bottle and takes a sip. The bottle, as if in slow motion slips from her grasp and lands directly on her lap leaving a vast area that, to the uninformed eye, makes it look like she had peed herself. As the bus pulls into the school, she is prepared to make a beeline for the bathroom to dry off her jeans. Standing in the washroom, drying off her pants a fellow student enters the restroom. While trying not to make direct eye contact the student slips into the first stall available. My sister remains standing, drying off her pants, only to wait and see what happens when the student exits the stall. Minutes later, she hears the toilet flush and even though she's trying to avoid any awkward encounters looks in the general direction of the stall, the student exits and makes immediate eye contact. As the girl standing in her underwear, with pants in hand under an automatic hand dryer my sister feels it’s only appropriate to say something to her fellow student.

“You think this is awkward for you, I’m the one not wearing any pants.”

Reference:

Laugh. (n.d.). Dictionary.com Unabridged. Retrueved January 14 2014, from Dictionary.com website: http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/laugh